Guardsmen of Tomorrow 

Guardsmen of Tomorrow 

Copyright  2000 by Tekno Books and Larry Segriff. 
All Rights Reserved. 
Cover art by Bob Warner. 
DAW Book Collectors No. 1169. 
DAW Books are distributed by Penguin Putnam Inc. 
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. 
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The quote at the beginning of The Gemini Twins is reprinted from Mythology, copyright 1942, by Edith Hamilton, 
with permission of Lit-tle, Brown and Company. 
First Printing November 2000 123456789 


DAW TRADEMARK HfcCISTHUD 
US PAT OFT AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES 
-MARCA RECISTKADA. 
HECHO EN U S A 
PRINTED IN THE U S A 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

Introduction  2000 by Larry Segriff. A Show of Force  2000 by William H. Keith, Jr. Blindfold  2000 by Robin 
Wayne Bailey. Wiping Out  2000 by Robert J. Sawyer. Smart Weapon  2000 by Paul Levinson. Procession to Var  
2000 by Andre Norton. The Gemini Twins  2000 by Paul Dellinger. That Doggone Vnorpt  2000 by Nathan Archer. 
The Silver Flame  2000 by Josepha Shennan. Stardust  2000 by Jean Rabe. Keeping Score  2000 by Michael A. 
Stackpole. Alliances  2000 by Kristine Kathryn Rusch. A Time to Dream  2000 by Dean Wesley Smith. Endpoint 
Insurance  2000 by Jane Lindskold. 

CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION by Larry Segriff 
A SHOW OF FORCE by William H. Keith, Jr. 
BLINDFOLD by Robin Wayne Bailey 
WIPING OUT by Robert J. Sawyer 
SMART WEAPON by Paul Levinson 
PROCESSION TO VAR by Andre Norton 


THE GEMINI TWINS by Paul Dellinger 
THAT DOGGONE VNORPT by Nathan Archer 
THE SILVER FLAME by Josepha Sherman 
STARDUST by Jean Rabe 
KEEPING SCORE by Michael A. Stackpole 
ALLIANCES by Kristine Kathryn Rusch 
A TIME TO DREAM by Dean Wesley Smith 
ENDPOINT INSURANCE by Jane Lindskold 
* * * 
INTRODUCTION 

THE GEMINI TWINS by Paul Dellinger 
THAT DOGGONE VNORPT by Nathan Archer 
THE SILVER FLAME by Josepha Sherman 
STARDUST by Jean Rabe 
KEEPING SCORE by Michael A. Stackpole 
ALLIANCES by Kristine Kathryn Rusch 
A TIME TO DREAM by Dean Wesley Smith 
ENDPOINT INSURANCE by Jane Lindskold 
* * * 
INTRODUCTION 

Adventure stories. FTL ships rocketing through space; the Space Guard keeping vessels safe from 
pirates; ray guns, BEMs, and damsels in distress. These are the stories I grew up on, and these are 
among the stories I still like to read. 

Robert Heinlein. Isaac Asimov. E. E. Doc Smith. And, of course, Andre Norton. These are some of 
the people whose work I devoured growing upand, in Andres case, whose new books I eagerly look 
forward to. 

Space opera has changed a lot since the Golden Years of SF. The laws of science are followed more 
rigorously, for example (modern spaceships dont bank when they turn), and the people in the stories 
tend to be more well-rounded, and even more flawed more human, if you will. But the heart of space 
operathe rousing sense of adventure, the strong pacing, the exotic settings, the larger-than-life 
issuesthese havent changed. Or, if theyve changed at all, theyve only gotten better as the stories in 
this anthology prove. 

So sit back, turn the page, and enjoy but before you do, you might want to buckle your seat belt, 
cause its going to be a wild ride. 

A SHOW OF FORCE 

by William H. Keith, Jr. 

William H. Keith is the author of over fifty novels, divided more or less equally between science fiction 
and military technothrillers. While most of his SF is written under his own name, he writes the military 
novels under a variety of pseudonyms. His most recent work is Europa Strike, third in a planned series 
of military science fiction novels written under the pseudonym Ian Douglas. 

Watch your helm, Mr. Sotheby, Captain Fifth-Rank Greydon Hazzard said quietly. Put a dent in that 
thing up ahead and theyre going to be taking it out of your pay for the next ten thousand years 
objective. 

Aye, sir. Were at fifty-three meters per second, in approach. 


Hazzard could sense the drift of the ship, the tug of gravity, the caress of the photon breeze, the shrill, 
insistent drag of the interlocking magnetic fields of planet, star, and galaxy. The frigate Indeterminacy 
was edging gently toward the orbital moorings, primary sails folded, her impetus coming now entirely 
from way sails and jigs, her secondary drive barely ticking over. 

Hazzard could sense the drift of the ship, the tug of gravity, the caress of the photon breeze, the shrill, 
insistent drag of the interlocking magnetic fields of planet, star, and galaxy. The frigate Indeterminacy 
was edging gently toward the orbital moorings, primary sails folded, her impetus coming now entirely 
from way sails and jigs, her secondary drive barely ticking over. 

The moorings about the station were crowded with other vessels, and there was heavy traffic in the 
approach and departure lanes. The steady wink of IFF netbeacons and shipboard running lights crawling 
across three dimensions would have been a bewildering tangle of confusion to any observer not equipped 
with an AI that could make sense of the chaos and feed it in manageable chunks to the bridge. 

Approach Control signals were clear for Bay 12, the comm officer of the watch announced. That 
would be Midshipman cy-Tomlin. Bright kid. Steady, with a streak of laziness that watch-and-watch for 
a few subjective months would cure. And of course, with the cy-enhancements, he was of the Chosen 
and destined to go far in Union service. 

Very well. I see it. Text and flickering symbols overlaid sections of Hazzards view of the sensory 
feedscape around the vessel. He could see the steadily incoming trickle of navigational data both from 
the Indys helm and from Tribaltren Station Approach Control, see the traffic sites of other ships in the 
moorings, see the readouts for all departments and decks of his own ship. All of that information played 
across his brain, instantly accessible, but his responsibility was the whole, not any given part. He held 
back, aware of the rhythm of ship operations, giving orders when needed, but letting his people do their 
jobs. Indys officer complement was a good one, well trained and experienced. Her crew, like most 
crews in the fleet, was a melage of gutter sweepings, metplex gangers, and pressed c-men, but. by the 
Goddess, they were his sweepings, gangers, and c-men, and he was proud of how theyd shaken out 
over the past three months subjective. 

He took a moment to check crew deployment on the 

Indys starboard foremast, a constellation of golden stars, each light representing in netgraphic clarity the 
position of a sailhandler maintaining the delicate set and trim of the 2,000-ton frigates spacesails. At the 
moment, only the fore-waysIs were set, giving the ship just enough of a vector that she could maintain 
way. 

The image of Tommis Pardoe, Indeterminacys First Lieutenant, materialized to the right of Hazzards 
viewpoint. A good deployment, First, he said. The new hands shaped up well. Indy had been on 
blockade duty off Danibar, three months subjective pacing back and forth at near-c, which had translated 
to almost two years of tau minus. 

Thank you, Captain. He sounded worried. 

Problem, First? 

Just wondering what the urgency is, sir. The dispatch calling us in to Tribaltren was still smoking when it 
came across the comm station. Report immediately, it said. Wheres the war? 

All around us, Tom. Well find out in a few hours which particular part of the war is so urgent. 


I suppose so, sir. But its not like they dont have plenty of assets right here in port. 

I suppose so, sir. But its not like they dont have plenty of assets right here in port. 

An alert klaxon sounded through the shipnet. Bridge, port lookout! We have a collision alert. Incoming 
at port high at two-zero-three plus one nine! 

Hazzard spun his point of view, looking off Indys port beam. A ship moved athwart the blue-white 
crescent of Tribaltren IV. 

Mass reading! Ninety-eight thousand tons, range 705 kilometers. Its a first-rater Goddess! 

That last exclamation accompanied the deployment of a dozen sails, spreading across the first-raters 
yards. She was huge and blunt-prowed, a five-hundred-meter dagger shape carrying several square 
kilometers of mesh sail, a Galactic Union ship of the line. On Indeterminacys sensory feeds, she was 
painted a patchwork red and black, with white trim highlighting the lines of sealed firing ports along her 
three gundecks. The G.U. flag materialized across her forewaysls as their surface displays altered. A 
second emblem shimmered into visibility beneath the first, a family crest in red, gold, and black. 

Shes the Victor, Captain, Lieutenant Pardoe observed. One-oh-two. Captain First-Rank Arren 
Sullivese, commanding. Shes flying Admiral Starlord cy-Dennevers flag. 

Shes closing, Captain, the helm watch called. Oblique approach at one point one kilometer per 
second! Looks like shes trying to cut us off at the moorings. 

Damn it, cy-Tomlin said, we have right-of-way. 

Hazzard scowled, the expression safely hidden within the anonymity of the shipnet. Victor had been on 
normal approach, her velocity a bit high for that approach corridor. As soon as her helm AIs had 
identified a collision danger with the frigate Indeterminacy, though, Victors captain had crowded on 
more sail, hoping to pass the Indys prow, rather than slowing in order to pass astern. 

Technically, Victor should back down and allow the Indeterminacy to proceed; vessels to port and 
zenith always had right-of-way over ships to starboard and nadir. However 

You feel big enough to argue with him, Tomlin? Hazzard said gently. Maneuvering! Back full! In any 
case, Victor was the burdened vessel right now burdened with too much mass and too much speed in 
a claustrophobically narrow volume of space. First-raters had all the maneuvering finesse of a 
Thaldessian bloaterslug, especially when compared to the nimble sail-handling elegance of a frigate. It 
made more sense for the tiny Indeterminacy to defer to the drifting mountain of the Victor. Bring us to 
zero closure with the station! 

Maneuvering back full, aye, sir! 

Spread more sail! Deploy main topsls, port, starboard, and dorsal! 

Loosing main topsls, aye! 

Like all trihull lightjammers, Indy possessed three sets of masts and field-guide spars, canted out and 
forward from port, starboard, and dorsal fairings, mizzen and main masts astern of the gundecks, 
foremasts well forward, nine masts in all, not counting the trinity of bowsprits reaching far out ahead of 
her prow dome. 


Sails unfurled, popping taut under the snap of static fields. Their leading faces shimmered, then went 
mirror-silver as their trailing surfaces dulled to black, perfectly reflecting the star-misted black of space 
and the red-brown, black, and gray battlements of Tribaltren Station ahead. As yards pivoted, the 
reflective surfaces of the sails caught the light of Tribaltrens sun, as the mesh beneath the adaptive 
surface display grabbed hold of the local magnetic fields. The total energy striking the sails from forward 
was equivalent to less than a ten-thousandth of a gravity, and yet 

Sails unfurled, popping taut under the snap of static fields. Their leading faces shimmered, then went 
mirror-silver as their trailing surfaces dulled to black, perfectly reflecting the star-misted black of space 
and the red-brown, black, and gray battlements of Tribaltren Station ahead. As yards pivoted, the 
reflective surfaces of the sails caught the light of Tribaltrens sun, as the mesh beneath the adaptive 
surface display grabbed hold of the local magnetic fields. The total energy striking the sails from forward 
was equivalent to less than a ten-thousandth of a gravity, and yet 

Vector drive fields amplified any acceleration, however minute, drawing on the literally inexhaustible 
energy of quantum space through a singularity-induced Cashimir cascade to augment the ships vector or, 
as in this case, to arrest Indeterminacys forward momentum. Since everything within the field was 
affected uniformly, there was no sensation of deceleration as the Indy slowed sharply. A 
two-thousand-ton vessel moving with a relative closure rate of over fifty meters per second could not 
stop on the proverbial tenth-credit piece. Still, the Indeterminacy slowed rapidly as the Victor loomed 
huge to port. 

Incoming signal from Approach Control, cy-Tomlin said. 

I should think so. Lets hear it. 

 Slow to full stop and yield to incoming traffic. 

Already in hand. Mid. Acknowledge. 

Aye, sir. 

Too little and too scrabbing late, Pardoe muttered. What are those people playing at over there? 

Hazzard didnt know if he was complaining about Approach Controls tardiness or the heels-in 
maneuver Victor was attempting to pull off. The Victor was still two kilometers off Indys port beam, 
but through the magnification inherent in the ship optical sensory feed, the immense vessel loomed like a 
passing cliff face, with sponsons, barbettes, field projector arrays, and fairings turning hull metal into a 
landscape of faceted surfaces and complex topographies, with masts like forest giants, with gun ports 
grinning down her gundeck modules like bared teeth. 

Now, Pardoe said, just so long as he doesnt 

A shudder rolled through the Indeterminacy, a long, crunching lurch that seemed to rack the brain and 
twist the stomach. For a jarring few seconds. Hazzards linkfeed was interrupted; he was plunged into 
blackness and, for just an instant, was back on his jackrack, hot, drenched with sweat, as other 
command deck personnel shouted and screamed in the echoing close darkness around him. 

Then the feed came back on-line. Still queasyhe hated field interface transitshe scanned the cascade 
of data on his visual field. There were reports of disorientation, jacker shock, and obvious confusion 
but no damage, thank the Goddess, and no link dissociations. 

Damn them! cy-Tomlins voice said. 

As you were, Mid, Pardoe warned. But his own voice was barely under control. Victor had popped 
her drive field to further slow her lumbering mass just as she cut across the Indys bow. Vector drive 
fields worked on the fabric of space-time, a true space drive; a kind of curdling of bent space rippled 
along the interface between the inside of a deployed VDF and what lay outside. Though not dangerous if 
encountered at low speeds, it was disorienting and could damage delicate electronics. At high relative 


velocities, it could generate disruption enough to shred the largest vessel into scattered debris. 

velocities, it could generate disruption enough to shred the largest vessel into scattered debris. 

The bastards did that on purpose! Sotheby said. 

I very much doubt that, Lieutenant, he replied. They were already moving too fast, and spreading that 
extra sail moved them faster. They had to drag their fields to decelerate in time. Still, it did seem to be a 
calculated insult. As Indy came to a near-dead stop, Victor drifted across her bow a scant half kilometer 
distant, making for Mooring Bay 16. Cooling vanes like squared-off wings, the vast reach of her sails, 
shimmering as they fought to slow the behemoth, and the deadly complexity of the first-raters aft 
maneuvering drive Venturis passed slowly, a moving mountain. Indeterminacy rocked and shuddered 
again with the passing of the big ships wake, and then the way ahead was clear once more. 

Hazzard let out a slow breath. Things could have worked out much worse. Lets have the extra sail in 
now, Mr. Par-doe. Set sail for ahead, maneuvering dead slow. 

Furling all main topsls, Captain. Set sail for ahead, maneuver dead slow. 

What do you think, Captain? Pardoe said on their private link. Was Sullivese trying to be flashy for 
the admirals benefit? Or was he just being incompetent? 

Arren is not incompetent, Hazzard replied, a bit more sharply than hed intended. Sometimes, Pardoe 
spoke his mind a little too freely. Maybe theyre just in a hurry. 

Aye, sir. And maybe some cyberenhanced Starlords think theyre just a rung or two higher up the 
Darwin ladder than the rest of us. 

Hazzard said nothing. Pardoes bitter aside had struck just a little too close abeam. Their blockade 
deployment at Danibar had been cut short by the arrival of dispatches requiring Indeterminacy to make 
for Tribaltren Station with all due haste and for Greydon Haz/ard to report to the Port Admirals office 
immediately upon docking. With so many other vessels available within a few days travel of Tribaltren, 
why had the Indy been called in? 

Immediately, fortunately, was a flexible term in the Galactic Union Navy, however. There was the 
routine of seeing to it that the ship was safely docked, of course. Most of the minutiae could be properly 
left to his First Lieutenant, but there were reports to electronically sign and a grumpy Port Disbursement 
Officer to cajole into giving an upcheck to the pursers request for new condenser tubes for the galleys 
stasis units. 

And, perhaps more immediate, he needed to get presentable first. One did not visit a two-star admiral in 
shipboard skins. When he chose to make himself visible on the shipnet, of course, his icon could take on 
any appearance he chose which meant in uniform. When he came fully awake on the jackrack, 
however, the crisp and spotless Navy blacks were gone. In their place were gray skins soaked with 
sweat, and all the usual accoutrements for waste absorption, cooling, and nutrient tubes. A jackrack 
technician helped him unplug, took his helmet with its forest of electronic feeds and cables, and stood by 
as he swung his feet onto the steel grillwork of the deck. 

Forty minutes later, freshly showered with the last of this deciyears personal water ration, Hazzard was 
clad in his one decent set of dress black-and-golds, complete with shoulder half-cloak, visored cap, 
medals and decorations, and his personal computer woven into the left arm of his jacket, from shoulder 
to wrist, in closely worked patterns of what looked like liquid gold. 


You loog good, zur, Cadlud, his steward remarked, brushing his uniform with a static cleaner. The 
Irdikad hovered over him as it worked, its single eye in an elephantine head studying his uniform in minute 
inspection as all three tentacles twitched the fall of his cloak into perfect line. Zhip-zhape ond sqvared 
avay. 

You loog good, zur, Cadlud, his steward remarked, brushing his uniform with a static cleaner. The 
Irdikad hovered over him as it worked, its single eye in an elephantine head studying his uniform in minute 
inspection as all three tentacles twitched the fall of his cloak into perfect line. Zhip-zhape ond sqvared 
avay. 

A launch took him from the Indy, now moored alongside the towering bulk of the station, across to one 
of the turreted tower complexes extending above the main body of the twelve-kilometer-wide facility. 

The Port Admirals office was decorated in Late Jingivid Imperial, all mirrors and black trim in a jarring 
cacophony of light and reflections. Admiral Dalim cy-Koenin was a blunt, bullet-headed man with a 
no-nonsense attitude and little patience for protocol. Hazzard wondered, in fact, how the man had 
managed to survive politically long enough to be awarded two stars. Cy-Koenins implants encased parts 
of his head and were visible on the backs of his hands and extending down each finger to the tip. 

Well, that, as much as anything else, explained his rank and considerable power. 

Youre late was the way he greeted Hazzard, as the office door dilated and the ship captain stepped 
between the Marine sentries and into cy-Koenins inner sanctum. 

Yes, sir, he replied. Hazzard was familiar enough with the ways of admirals to know that excuses were 
neither desired nor appropriate. 

Wall screens displayed deep spacenot the view from Tribaltren, but someplace closer in toward the 
Galactic Core, teeming with orange suns and the mingled, softer glows of pale nebulae. The mirrors, 
black trim, and star projections made it difficult to see where the walls of the room really were. Hazzard 
wondered if he could even find the door again. 

Another man was in the room, reclining in a black synthliquid chair. Lean, hard, and angular, his face was 
faceted as though carved from obsidian. Both eyes were covered by a sensor array implant, and he was, 
if anything, more heavily intertwined with hardware than the Port Admiral. Admiral, cy-Koenin said, 
this is the young man I was telling you about. Captain Hazzard, Admiral Starlord cy-Dennever. 

Hazzard inclined his head, as courtesy required. My lord. 

Cy-Dennever looked him over coldly. A noncy? My dear Dal, you are joking, I trust. 

Noncy. Non-cybernetically augmented. That again 

I believe you will find me up to any task required of me, my lord. 

He sniffed and continued to address cy-Koenin, pointedly ignoring Hazzard. I specifically require a 
frigate captain capable of leading my in-system squadron and with a masters understanding of the 
Ordiku Anarchate and the political situation there. A noncy simply will not do. 

Captain Hazzard is whats available, Admiral, cy-Koenin replied. And he has personal knowledge of 
Kaden. Dont you, Hazzard? 

Yes, sir. I was an assistant diplomatic naval attache to the Anarchate home world for a year. My 
steward is Irdikad, in fact. 

Cy-Dennever gave him another look, harder this time. And how long ago was this? 


Oh, about eight years subjective, my lord. 

Oh, about eight years subjective, my lord. 

Hazzard had to consult his PC. Hed minused some subjective with this latest deployment at Danibar. 
How much? Nearly two years, this time. 

Nineteen years objective, sir. 

Nineteen years. Well, youll find the political situation within the Anarchate radically transformed. Im 
not so sure you will be of any use to me. 

Their politics may have changed, my lord, but I doubt that the Irdikad have. Theyre solitary, traditional, 
meticulous, a bit stuffy, even stubborn at times. They are also unflinchingly loyal. He smiled. Despite 
their interest in traditiontheir recorded history goes back something like nine thousand years-they 
respect, you might even say revere, madness. Insanity is rare, but its granted a special status in their 
culture, maybe to avoid the problems of stagnation. 

Ahem, yes, cy-Dennever said. All very amusing, Im sure. But the facts of the matter are that the 
Anarchate is now in negotiations with the Paaseni Orthodoxate. The Ministry of Political Intelligence 
assures me that a decision by the Anarchate is imminent, perhaps within the next ten days, and that 
Orthodoxate ships will almost certainly deploy before then to, urn, convince the Irdikad to come along. 

The Irdikad volume is small, but strategically placed, cy-Koenin added. They have a fleet a small 
one, true, but one capable of causing some considerable inconvenience should we extend our operations 
in that quarter. Lord cy-Dennevers orders are to present a show of force at the Anarchate capital. 

Exactly. My squadron has firepower sufficient to convince the Irdikads that joining with the Doxies 
would not be in their best interests. 

I should think their best interests would be obvious, Hazzard said. The Orthodoxate is 
anthropocentric. Rather virulently so, in fact. The Irdikads would be reduced to slave status or worse. 

Obviously. Cy-Dennever sniffed. And obviously, too, the Doxies are on their best behavior until the 
Anarchate planetary defense batteries are safely in their hands. Remember, most Irdikad dealings have 
been with the Union so far. They are a simple people. To them, all humans are the same. Planetary 
genocide by what they consider to be an honorable and civilized species is probably utterly beyond their 
comprehension. 

Hazzard held his peace at the patronizing nonsense of a simple people. The man acted like he was a 
few genes short of a full chromosome. 

If cy-Dennever represented Homo sapiens superioris, though, as his kind so often claimed, maybe he 
simply wasnt done evolving yet. 

The question of Anarchate neutrality is in the hands of the diplomats, cy-Koenin said. Your mission, 
Captain Hazzard, will be to take command of the in-system squadron, as a part of Admiral 
cy-Dennevers diplomatic show of force. 

Hazzard digested this. The in-system squadron would be the missions cutting edge, of course, patrolling 
within a few million kilometers of the Anarchate home world. Admiral cy-Dennever would have the 
heavies, the main squadrons ship of the line out on the fringes of the Kaden system, accelerating back 
and forth at near-c so as to be ready for a near-immediate jump in-system at need. Aye, sir, he said. 


It is vital, absolutely vital, cy-Dennever put in, that you not fire on Irdikad assets. Enemy vessels, of 
course but under no circumstances will you fire on the locals, even if you are provoked. 

It is vital, absolutely vital, cy-Dennever put in, that you not fire on Irdikad assets. Enemy vessels, of 
course but under no circumstances will you fire on the locals, even if you are provoked. 

Well done! That is precisely what I am saying. These negotiations are too delicate, and too much is at 
stake to risk He stopped and looked at cy-Koenin. Are you certain there are no augmented frigate 
captains available? I cant be expected to trust a mere biologicals reflexes or instincts in a situation this 
precarious! He doesnt even have the hardwiring to handle his ship properly! His vessel very nearly 
fouled mine during our approach a few hours ago! 

Cy-Koenin glanced at Hazzard, then looked hard at cy-Dennever, saying nothing outwardly. Hazzard 
decided the two must have shifted to a telepathic exchange, one he was not privy to. Micro-radio 
transceivers implanted in their skulls allowed Starlords to converse privately, in much the same way that 
Hazzard could open a private channel to Par-doe when they both were on-line. 

At last, cy-Dennever sighed and looked away. Very well. But you are responsible, sir, if this goes 
wrong! 

Of course, cy-Dennever, cy-Koenin replied. 

What ships will I command? Hazzard asked. 

Besides Indeterminacy, cy-Koenin said, there is Decider, a frigate of thirty-three guns, Captain-sixth 
Bellemew. The other vessels are smaller Swift, twenty-seven; Fire Angel and Ferocious, both 
twenty-one; and Uriel, of eighteen guns. All five are already on-station or will be by the time you arrive. 
Four line battleships will be on blockade station out-system within two days objective. Admiral 
cy-Dennevers Victor will bring that to five, under his flag. Your full operational orders will be 
transmitted to your ship. You are clear for departure as soon as you complete taking on necessary stores 
and provisions. 

Aye, aye, my lord. 

Should be an easy deployment, Greydon, cy-Koenin added, dropping into less formal speech. The 
Irdikad arent hostile, and they wont pick a fight with one of our line battle squadrons! 

Clarification, cy-Dennever said. Theyre not hostile yet. 

Mm, cy-Koenin said. As always, minus-tau is against us. We need you at Kaden as quickly as 
possible. Assume one day for refit, five days for the trans-c jump to Kaden. You will have a three-day 
margin, some of which will be lost to minus-tau. 

Tau is of the essence, you might say, cy-Dennever added, smirking at his own joke. 

Admiral cy-Dennever will be there in Victor within five days more, cy-Koenin went on, ignoring him. 
It will be up to you to assess the situation when you arrive, and to report to Admiral cy-Farrol, currently 
in command of the Kaden Squadron. You will have dispatches and orders to deliver to him. 

Aye, my lord. 

Dismissed, Captain Hazzard. Inform me when your vessel is fit for space. 

Aye, aye, sir. 


As he left, the two Starlords were arguing in low but nova-hot tones. 

As he left, the two Starlords were arguing in low but nova-hot tones. 

A vessels spacesails could ride the almost nonexistent currents of light, gravity, and magnetic flux, while 
her Cashimir cascade array boosted milli-G accelerations to accelerations measured in kilogravities. As 
the ship crowded c, a phantasm seeming to recede like Xenos Paradox the harder the ship boosted, 
space around the vessel turned strange, warped by the starships own pyramiding relativistic mass. A 
command from the bridge, and the trans-c primaries engaged, kicking her into highspace where they 
devoured light-years by the handful. 

But star travel came with a cost. Each time a ship approached the pace of light before engaging her 
highspace drives, relativistic effects invoked the steadily mounting curse of minus-tau. Three minutes 
subjective at 99.9 percent of the speed of light translated as almost an hour objective; sixteen weeks on 
patrol at .95 c saw the passage of over a year. C-duty, as it was called, carried c-men and of-ficers alike 
into the future, sundering the bonds of family and friends left behind. 

It made for tighter bonding among the men and women serving aboard for, after accumulating a 
minus-tau of a scant few decades objective, they had few ties left to the planet-lubber populations of 
world surfaces. Others within the crew became family 

Greydon Hazzard, though, had no one aboard. As captain, he was expected to stand apart, to command 
without seeming to have favorites or cliques. It made for a painfully lonely life, one marked by periods of 
watch and watch and the inexpressibly vast deeps of emptiness between the sundered suns. 

Tell me about your world, Cadlud. Tell me about your people. 

They sat in Hazzards day cabin, a tiny office aft of the gun decks. Or, rather, Hazzard sat behind his 
desk, while Cadlud squatted in a bulky huddle in the center of the deck. Irdikad were humanoid, more or 
less, if massive, blunt, and elephantine to human sensibilities. Each shoulder sprouted a heavy tentacle 
with a graceful, sinuous tip; a third grew from the face, above the inverted-V slash of a mouth and 
beneath the single, slit-pupiled eye. Most Irdikad wore ornate robes with patterns expressing individual 
tastes and artistry, but Cadlud generally went naked aboard ship. Indeterminacys crew spaces were 
warmer than he was used to, and his species seemed never to have developed nudity taboos quite 
possibly because their genitals were located in their central arm, and sex for them was the equivalent of a 
casual handshake. 

My people are my people, the Irdikad said with stolid indifference. The tips of his tentacles twitched to 
some emotion beyond human ken. There is little to zay. 

Well you could tell me why theyre interested in joining with the Orthodoxate. The Doxies and their 
allies are all human, or human-derived. Some of them hate non-humans, have vowed to eradicate them 
across the Galaxy. Why would any nonhuman civilization join such an alliance as that? 

Cadlud stared at him for a long moment with that liquid, glittering eye. Zur, many humans, they make 
miztaig. Think all Irdikad are zame, think zame. Not zo. 


I know your culture is focused on the individual 

I know your culture is focused on the individual 

I remember. His months as Naval attache to the Irdikad home world had been confusing at best, 
bewildering at worst. Each region, each continent, each valley seemed to have its own language, its own 
religion and gods, its own festivals, its own philosophies. I remember too well! When I was there, no 
one paid attention to anyone else, and it was a miracle if anything got done. Seemed like an exercise in 
chaos theory as applied to social studies. 

A shrug, an enigmatic slight lift of all three tentacles. It worgs. For us, anyway. 

But why would your people embrace the Alliance? It doesnt make any sense! 

For nearly twenty years now, objective, the Galactic Union had been in a standoff with the Grand 
Association of Humankinda revolutionary jihad sweeping through vast sections of the Galaxy, tracking 
down and killing all cy-bernetically or genetically enhanced humans and often nonhuman beings as 
well, for no better reason than that they were different. Four years ago objective, the Association had 
struck a formal alliance with the Paaseni Orthodoxate, a very old human empire seeking to define what 
was truly human. The Alliance of the two, founded at the Treaty of Garth, promised real trouble for the 
beleaguered Galactic 

Union and for every sentient species in a vast and war-torn Galaxy. 

My people, zur, have been here for a long, long time. Perhaps they grew bored. 

What? Youd risk extinction because youre bored? Thats crazy! 

Yes? The single eye watched him steadily, as if waiting for him to make his point. Remember that we 
have no government, as you use term. No rules. We use guidelines, only. And do what zeems best. 

Irdikad behavior seemed insane to humans more often than not, but it was consistent and it was sane 
within the context of their society correction, societies. With a recorded history going back at least 
nine thousand years, Irdikad civilization was static, even stagnant, almost as though all the good, new 
ideas had long ago been thought of, acted upon, and forgotten. They were a study in contrasts. They 
prized originality and spontaneity, but during his entire tour on Kaden, Hazzard had seen little variance 
among the natives, save in their dress, which ranged from none at all to costumes of indescribably 
complex and bizarre design. A herd of blandgroth was how the Union Ambassador had described 
them, sheeplike followers of fashion, adopting the philosophy, the religion, the attitude of the moment. It 
was the same problem faced by human gangers in the big metroplexes, tattooing lightshow art onto their 
bodies, grafting on biomechanical prostheses, growing animal heads, downloading minds to fantasy 
bodies, all in the name of being different and in the end, losing their individuality to a group where 
everyone was the same because everyone was bizarrely different. 

The one truly distinct social group on Kaden was the military, which by definition required a measure of 
uniformity. The military 

Irdikad society also respected strength, an obvious outgrowth of a society where individualism ruled. 

Tell me about the Anarchates military, Cadlud. 

Again a shrug. They are crazy. And strong. And therefore respected. They control the planetary 
defense batteries and the Vleet, but you know this. 


Yes. I remember. The Union had long been courting the Anarchate, seeking to win their help against 
the Alliance. The military had been the worlds single loudest, most unified voice, and it had been dead 
set against any alliance, with anybody. 

Yes. I remember. The Union had long been courting the Anarchate, seeking to win their help against 
the Alliance. The military had been the worlds single loudest, most unified voice, and it had been dead 
set against any alliance, with anybody. 

I dont believe anyone would risk extinction simply because they were bored, Cadlud, Hazzard said at 
last. Theres more to this. I just wish I knew what it was. 

You would be zurprized, zur, the Irdikad replied, at how tedious zameness can be. 

At her best trans-c pseudovelocity, Indeterminacy crossed the nearly eight hundred light-years between 
Tribaltren and Kaden in five days, an extra-spatial time frame fortunately beyond the reach of Einstein 
and not subject to the grasp of minus-tau. At a meticulously calculated moment, she dropped from 
highspace in a burst of blue-shifted photons and a crawling, twisting effect as local space momentarily 
assumed the topological characteristics of a Klein bottle. Hazzard, occupying the image virspace of the 
shipnet, grimaced at the crawl and wrench as the Indys acceleration field expanded, seizing hold of the 
space-time fabric as the familiar rules of physics once again took hold. 

The literal bending of space at the field interface with the S-T continuum was not harmful of itself. All 
space is curved slightlythe effect is called gravityand since the effect is uniform, the fact that a 
straight line isnt is never noticed. When the effect is sharply localized, however, and moving quickly, 
there is some inevitable dislocation. At low velocities, the deployment of the acceleration field was 
noticeable as a distinct queasiness; at high speeds, matter, from ships hull to electronic circuitry to human 
neurons, could be sharply disrupted and even destroyed. 

Needless to say, the field was deployed slowly. As usual, as the nausea twisted in his stomach, Hazzard 
wondered if the jackrack crews were going to have to clean up his inert body. 

The Indy had emerged with the same velocity shed carried upon entering highspace, a fraction of a 
percent below light speed itself. At Hazzards command, sails unfurled, snapping into place, shimmering 
with the field effect distortions twisting time and space. The sensory feedscape showed the universe 
turned strange, with all of the sky compressed into a cold ring of light ahead of the ship as she plunged 
forward into darkness. As always, the computers handling sensory input corrected the image, eliminating 
the visual distortion effects of near-c travel. 

Now, with a saner sky, an orange beacon glowed dead ahead. Here, light-centuries above the Galactic 
Plane, the Galaxy was a vast pinwheel of pale, pale silver-white light viewed not quite edge-on. The 
result was a sky divided in twain, to one side a vast, softly glowing wall of stars spread out in a distinctly 
spiral panorama, the Galactic Core in the far distance, swollen and gold-hued, a fuzz of myriad suns rising 
above the dark blots and smears of nebulae; opposite, the sky was empty, save for the scattered, solitary 
stars here at the Verge and the inconceivably distant smudges of radiance representing other galaxies 
adrift on the Ocean of Ultimate Night. 

Closer, much closer at hand, an orange sun glowed cool and ancient, and worlds shone in darkness. 
Kaden was the second world of four, tucked in close enough to the K4 primary that it enjoyed cool but 
not frigid climes along its equator. 

Indeterminacy had emerged nearly half a light-hour from Kaden. Dumping velocity in space-twisting 
torrents of bleed-off energy, the frigate dropped toward the orange-lit world, six hundred million 
kilometers distant. 

Through the magnification of the sensory inputs, ice caps gleamed in the orange light, together 


encompassing nearly half of the worlds rugged surface. Hazzard opened a display showing a 
computer-generated image of the world, slowly rotating, as the actual planet swiftly grew from an isolated 
point of light to a tiny crescent, to a living world, a scimitar of white and silver and orange bowed away 
from its sun, with three small moons in attendance. 

encompassing nearly half of the worlds rugged surface. Hazzard opened a display showing a 
computer-generated image of the world, slowly rotating, as the actual planet swiftly grew from an isolated 
point of light to a tiny crescent, to a living world, a scimitar of white and silver and orange bowed away 
from its sun, with three small moons in attendance. 

Out-system, in the comet-haunted deeps two light-days out, were the four ships of the line of the Union 
show of force, led by the old seventy-five-gun Trimirage, keeping blockade station as they awaited the 
arrival of the Victor. Their field-distortion wakes, generated as they cruised close to c, were distinctly 
visible against the night as crisp, blue cones of light in line-ahead formation. 

Blockading a star system required careful timing and reliance on the physics of highspace. Clearly, it was 
impossible to englobe an entire planetary system in order to intercept vessels that might leave at any time, 
on any heading. By having a blockading squadron cruise back and forth at near-c velocities, however, 
the ships were able to drop into highspace with a few minutes warning and reappear within seconds 
anywhere in-system they needed to be. The problem, of course, was that the light informing the blockade 
that enemy units were in motion in-system took hours or days to reach the blockade station. That was 
why light-ratesfrigates and lesser craftwere used in-system to provide early warning and to carry 
information out to the battle line at trans-c velocities. Even at usual planetary velocities, they could 
accelerate to c within an hour or so. Larger vessels, the big ships of the line, took a lot longer to reach 
near-c, and so were vulnerable to intercepts by the blockading squadron. 

There were numerous vessels in-system, close by Kaden itself. Ive got radio transmissions, Captain, 
cy-Tomlin announced. Military bands, VHP through UHF. Hazzard could see the transmission point 
sources on his panorama. Four showed friendly IFF signatures, and the data tags beside each vessel 
identified them further as Decider, Swift, Fire Angel, and Ferocious. Close beside them were other 
targets, six of them, these showing red on Indeterminacy^ visual display. At Hazzards triggering 
thought, schematics of each vessel appeared to one side, together with lists of stats showing mass, 
acceleration, vector data, and range. The situation unfolding there was make it twenty minutes old, 
now, as Indy closed with them. Thanks to the speed-of-light time lag, they were looking that far into the 
past, watching the maneuvers unfold with bewildering apparent speed. Fortunately, their absolute 
velocities were low enough that they didnt appear to be moving anywhere fast. 

Six hostiles, Captain, Lieutenant Pardoe announced, as additional schematics drew themselves on the 
feedscape ornate hulls, curved masts, triple gundecks set far back on the spine. They look like 
Paaseni. Two ships of the line seventy-twos or seventy-fives, four frigates. 

A fifth point transmission was closer, climbing out of the system, high above the plane of the ecliptic on a 
bear-ing straight for the out-system blockades, broadcasting on an emergency band. That would be little 
Uriel, accelerating clear of what obviously was a major squadron action. Four of her masts were 
missing, though, and her spread of sail was ragged, putting a sharp limit on her ability to hump Gs. 

Time passed, achingly slow. The battle ahead was unfolding slowly, the Union ships apparently trying to 
maneuver clear of incoming Orthodoxate ships. Subjective time crawled, while the universe outside 
Indys isolated space-time reference point seemed to race along. And it would take timeanother forty 
minutes yetto decelerate to battle speed. 

Communication coming in from the Uriel, Captain, cy-Tomlin said. 

Lets hear it, please. 


 attack by Orthodoxate ships. We are heavily outgunned, and planetside defense batteries on Kaden 
have opened fire, causing severe damage. Indeterminacy, please acknowledge. There was a long 
pause. At this range, there could be no true conversation due to the speed of light time lag. The message 
would begin playing again in just a 

 attack by Orthodoxate ships. We are heavily outgunned, and planetside defense batteries on Kaden 
have opened fire, causing severe damage. Indeterminacy, please acknowledge. There was a long 
pause. At this range, there could be no true conversation due to the speed of light time lag. The message 
would begin playing again in just a 

As the message played itself through, Hazzard checked range, vector, and time lag. Uriel was eight 
light-minutes away, and sixteen had passed since their emergence from highspace. The sloop must have 
begun broadcasting as soon as theyd become aware of the Indys arrival. 

Uriel was clearly making for the line ships two light-days out but was still moving at only about half the 
speed of light. With the damage shed suffered to her rigging, though, it would be another hour, at least, 
before she would be able to engage her trans-c drive and make the jump to the blockade point. 

Mentally, Hazzard engaged a side communications band, one linking him not with other men and women 
strung together in the shipnet, but to an ordinary radio in his physical quarters, deep in the bowels of the 
ship. Cadlud? This is the captain. Are you there? 

I am here, zur. 

Ever hear of something called the Kaden Military Council? 

No, zur. It zounds most un-Irdikad. 

It does to me, too. It also sounds like theyre making decisions for your worlds government. 

Kaden does not have a world government, Cadlud reminded him. Guidelines, zur, not rules. 

Thank you, Cadlud. He broke the link. 

A cyberenhanced starlord, he thought, might have been able to tap directly into local communications and 
informational channels, might have accessed ocean-deep volumes of material on the current political 
situation on Kaden. He trusted, however, his own intuition, and the observations of his steward. 

Hazzard studied the tactical display spreading out before him against the visual field of his mind. The 
other four Union ships were closely engaged with the Paaseni squadron half a million kilometers past the 
crescent of Kaden. An hour before Uriel could summon help from Tri-mirage and her consorts a 
little less, possibly, if Indeterminacy began accelerating to c and made the jump to the blockade point 
herself. The Union in-system squadron was in serious trouble, though. Pounded by the Paaseni heavies 
and by Anarchate planetary defense batteries, Fire Angel was a mass of fiercely radiating wreckage 
drifting down the walls of Kadens gravity well, and Decider appeared to be crippled. Ferocious and 
Swift were both still firing, but their life span could only be measured now in minutes, unless they were 
able to win clear. 

At the moment, Indeterminacy was moving at just under .9 c, and still slowing; at that velocity, 
twenty-five seconds of shipboard time translated as almost a minute in the outside universe, and so the 
battle appeared to be evolving at breakneck speed as the Union frigate plowed through the photons 
revealing the conflict ahead. Add to that the fact that thanks to c-lag, he was still seeing things as they 
had been, fourteen no, make it thirteen minutes ago. He had to decide quickly 


He shifted his attention to a global display of Kaden, with the locations of known planetary defense 
batteries plotted as gleaming yellow sparks scattered along the equator. As on most technic worlds 
throughout this sector of the galaxy, the locals had been beefing up their PDS against the possibility that 
they would be dragged into the spreading war between Union and Alliance. There. The eight or ten 
Planetary Defense System emplacements stretched along the Dalacradak Peninsula were likely the ones 
firing on the Union squadron. 

He shifted his attention to a global display of Kaden, with the locations of known planetary defense 
batteries plotted as gleaming yellow sparks scattered along the equator. As on most technic worlds 
throughout this sector of the galaxy, the locals had been beefing up their PDS against the possibility that 
they would be dragged into the spreading war between Union and Alliance. There. The eight or ten 
Planetary Defense System emplacements stretched along the Dalacradak Peninsula were likely the ones 
firing on the Union squadron. 

Planetary defense batteries tended to be immense fortresses, buried, for the most part, under kilometers 
of bedrock, with only the surface turrets mounting the massive singularity cannon visible on the surface. A 
return bombardment from space, with the throw-mass possible for a frigate like Indeterminacy, might 
damage some of those batteries, but it wouldnt knock them out not before the Indy herself was 
smashed into blue-hot fragments. 

But there might be another way 

Range to the battle was now eleven light-minutes. The light announcing Indys arrival in-system still 
hadnt reached Kaden but would in another make it ninety-five seconds. He reached out through the 
ships senses, trying to feel the accelerated flow of the situation, to guess what was actually happening 
now. 

Captain? Pardoe said, perhaps wondering if Hazzard had his mind on the situation at hand. Shall I 
order more sail and a shift to acceleration, Captain? Clearly, fleeing for the safety of the out-system 
stationand giving warning to the heavieswas where duty lay. 

Or 

Affirmative, Hazzard snapped. Have all hands prepare for hopskip. 

A microjump? Were not going to warn the squadron, sir? 

If we do, Bellemew and the inshore squadron are dead. Uriel can warn the fleet. And maybe we can 
make a difference down there. Speaking quickly and with a calm he could not feel, Hazzard described 
what he was planning. 

Pardoe hesitated only a moment before giving a sharp-edged Aye, sir. 

Lets go to battle stations, if you please, Mr. Pardoe. We will be engaging within a few minutes. 

Under the frantic urgings of rigging rats and spiders tele-operated by Indys c-men, jacked in from their 
racks deep within the ships hull, the frigates sails transfigured, top andtgallant sails unfolding, sail 
surfaces turning from silver to black forward, and swinging on the yards to set the ship accelerating 
toward the battle, instead of slowing down. 

Minutes crawled as she built back her velocity, reaching toward the speed of light as her primary drive 
compounded the minute accelerations of photon flux and magnetic field into near-c jamming. Ahead, a 
fuzzy, hard-to-look-at sphere the color of the back of ones eyelids began condensing out of empty 
space, the singularity created and focused by Indeterminacy^ fast-increasing relativistic mass. At 
velocities above .99 c, the singularity became a doorway for the ship into trans-c. 

Indeterminacy ready for microtransition, Ishiwara, the drive engineer, reported. 


Strike the sails, Hazzard ordered. Stand by for transit! 
The crescent of Kaden swelled rapidly ahead as the frigates sails collapsed and furled. By now, even 
with lights snail-pace crawl, the Paaseni squadron had noted the frigates initial arrival, and their ships 


were redeploying to intercept this new threat. They wouldnt know yet, however, that the Indy was 
coming to meet them. 
Helm, were feeding you transit course corrections. 
Aye, sir. Got em. 
Sails furled, Pardoe said. Vessel ready in all respects for transit. 
Punch it! 
Indeterminacy dropped into the singularity, in a sense swallowing herself whole. At the last moment, the 


helm used the singularitys intense gravity to bend the frigates course slightly, adjusting her heading as 
she dropped into utter strangeness 


 and reemerged, a fractional blink of an eye later. 
A scant light-minute ahead, huge in the magnified display, Kaden hung in orange, ice-capped splendor. 
Hazzards commands crackled through the shipnet. Deploy full sail! All back! Ishi, dump V into the 
drive fields! 


Like the Victor at Tribaltren Station, the Indeterminacy 
was now barreling into the fray with far too much velocity. Much could be dumped as energy fed directly 
into the drive fields, expanding them across well over a hundred kilometers of empty space where it 
could actually be applied to braking the ships headlong plunge forward. Still, V could be translated into 


energy only so quickly. By the time they neared Kaden, they would still be moving too quickly to engage 
the enemy vessels. 
Mr. Ishiwara, Hazzard said. I want you to stand by on the drive controls. Were going to pop our 


fields out full as we round the planet. 


The fields are already extended all the way, Captain. The larger the volume of Indeterminacys 
space-warping wake, the more velocity could be safely dumped. 
I know. Were going to pull an anchor drag. 
He heard the pause, as loud as a shout, as the engineer digested this. Sir 
Do it. Planetary encounter in twenty-eight seconds, now. 
Aye, aye, sir. 
Hazzard took a last look at the Indys alignment with the fast-growing planet and the squadron battle 


ahead. This was going to be damned tight 


Strike all sails, he ordered. Smartly now! Helm youre on thrusters, now. Hang on to her! Shes 
going to buck! 
Swiftly, as rats and spiders swarmed through the rigging, Indeterminacys spread of sails collapsed, 


folded, and vanished, furling into their storage lockers on mast and spar. 



All hands below! Hazzard ordered. He didnt want to lose anyone with this maneuver though that 
was a fairly forlorn hope. What he was trying to do was not exactly recommended in Yardleys Book of 
C-Manship. Set ship for close passage! 

All hands below! Hazzard ordered. He didnt want to lose anyone with this maneuver though that 
was a fairly forlorn hope. What he was trying to do was not exactly recommended in Yardleys Book of 
C-Manship. Set ship for close passage! 

There wasnt time for a full close-passage deployment. They were going to take some damage here, in 
another few seconds. The question was how much? 

As Indeterminacy had approached Kaden over the course of the past few minutes, the ships display 
computers had been steadily recalculating magnification factors and redisplaying the view forward. 
Hazzard noted with a small kick of surprise that the magnification factor was down to one, that the planet 
now filling his mental view ahead was as it really was outside the all-too-thin walls of Indeterminacys 
hull. They were crossing the terminator now, swinging low across the white and orange curve of the 
world into day-side. He could sense the growing tug of gravity though far, far too weak to capture the 
frigate at her current velocity of over ten percent of the speed of light itself. 

Ahead, close along the equator, just south of the mo-tionlessly sprawled swirl of a tropical storm, lay the 
ragged, mountainous thrust of the Dalacradak Peninsula, thrusting out from the eastern coast of Alekred 
and into the violet-blue, cloud-dappled reaches of the Zurkeded Ocean like a Valosian scimitar, straight 
at the hilt, wickedly curved at the tip, Cape Zhadurg. Goddess! He could see the big guns of the PDS 
firing up ahead, each discharge like a straight-line bolt of lightning stabbing into space from the wrinkled, 
snow-capped barrenness of the mountains as they smoothly rolled over the horizon and into view. 

Captain? It was cy-Tomlin, the bridge teams Starlord-in-training. Were not supposed to fire on the 
Irdikads! He sounded outraged. Especially not their planet! 

As you were, Mid, Pardoe said. 

Im not about to fire on them, Hazzard explained gently. Im about to make a mistake 

Sir? 

Hazzard smiled to himself. Starlords might have all the advantages with their hardwired personal 
technology, but they were hampered, sometimes, by an almost desperate need to play by the rules. 

Rules that, sometimes, could be bent 

Altitude three hundred two kilometers, the helmsman reported. Now two fifty-five kilometers. One 
hundred eighty-one One hundred seven 

I can read the altitude data, Mr. Sotheby, thank you. Bring us up just a bit, plus zero-two. 

Maneuvering thrusters, fueled by water from the ships forward tank, imparted a scant few kilos of thrust, 
amplified by the drives. Hazzard was completely focused now on the dance of numbers 
Indeterminacy& heading, altitude, dwindling velocity 

Ahead, almost below now, the big guns kept firing, hurling pinpoints of dazzling sunlight into the tangle of 
star-sailing vessels ahead. Decider had just taken several more hits, as microsingularities from both the 
planet and the Paaseni smashed through drive barriers, sails, and hull with equal ease, savaging armor 
plate, splintering bulwarks, slashing through the deep-buried vitals of a dying ship. 


Captain! Ishiwaras voice said. Were dragging upper atmosphere. Contact with the surface in five 
seconds four 

Captain! Ishiwaras voice said. Were dragging upper atmosphere. Contact with the surface in five 
seconds four 

Even empty space has substance, on the quantum level, the eleven-dimensional structure of emptiness 
sometimes called the fabric of space-time, the stuff a starships drive fields grab hold of during maneuvers 
and acceleration. Now, though, the interface surface of Indeterminacy^ drive field was intersecting solid 
rock as the frigate hurtled low across the Kadenese surface. At low velocity, space would bend, 
gravity-like, with no noticeable effect. At several percent of the speed of light, Indys current velocity, the 
fringe effects of a drive field dragging through unyielding rock 

There were effects. 

Indeterminacy slowed, first of all, decelerating sharply and for free at tens of thousands of gravities, 
though the drive field kept the velocity change uniform and unfelt aboard fortunately for the men and 
women belowdecks. 

On the surface, solid rock flexed warped then snapped as stress points were reached and 
surpassed. 

The interface shock wave dragged along the Dalacradak Peninsula well astern of the hurtling starship, 
visible from space as a frothy white V arrowing across land and sea alike. The south face of Gadeddej 
Mountain shuddered, shouldering slightly skyward, then collapsed, a thundering, booming detonation of 
rock avalanching into the Drudep Valley below, carrying with it the bristling array of deep-space sensor 
antenna and wave guide towers mounted there. 

The shock wave boomed across Egezhur Bay, slammed into the Drugid Cliffs, and hit the Razurig 
defense facility like an oncoming storm wall straight from the depths of hell. The main gun turret, its 
muzzle cocked at a point in the sky above the eastern horizon, tipped crazily, spun, then shredded under 
the impact of fast-moving discontinuous space. The military garrison town of Krebur vanished as 
buildings shook themselves to pieces in the seismic quake rolling along behind the storm front. Mount 
Gadez, long dormant, awakened as its lava plug shattered and long-pent energies deep within the crust 
were catastrophically released. 

The close passage, as Indeterminacys wake lightly brushed the planets surface, lasted less than three 
seconds. As the frigate arrowed now back into the interplanetary depths of the Kaden system, the 
planet receding astern showed evidence of the ferocity of that encounter. The shock wave continued to 
ripple east across the Zurkeded Ocean, though with fast-fading force. Storm clouds were gathering in 
white-swirling fury above the peninsula, and Mount Gadez glowed in the depths of its fast-expanding 
cloud of dark gray volcanic ash. 

And every one of the planetary defense batteries on the Dalacradak Peninsula, from Razurig to Cape 
Zhadurg, was silent now, lost in the pall of the gathering storm. 

Aboard the Indeterminacy, all was darkness, chaos, and confusion. Despite the insulating effects of the 
drive fields, the shock of the planetary close encounter had wracked and twisted the frigate, knocking 
vital systems off-line, including the shipnet itself. Hazzard blinked into a smoky darkness filled with 
screams and yells and the intermittent flare of small electrical fires. Circuit breakers had tripped, knocking 
whole ship sections off the power grid; in some places, power feeds had arced, melting circuits and fuses 
and setting fires. Damage control robots swarmed like spidery hands, weird shadows against the flames, 
and Hazzard caught the acrid stink of burning insulation and fire-smothering kaon gas. 


Terror clawed at the back of his brain, but he fought down both the panic and the urge to unstrap from 
his jack-rack. Either full power would be restored in a moment or the Indeterminacy, blind and 
helpless, would drift into the squadron melee, a crippled target. Either way, there was nothing he could 
do at the moment to change things, nothing to do but wait and pray that automated DC systems would 
bring the ship back to life. 

Terror clawed at the back of his brain, but he fought down both the panic and the urge to unstrap from 
his jack-rack. Either full power would be restored in a moment or the Indeterminacy, blind and 
helpless, would drift into the squadron melee, a crippled target. Either way, there was nothing he could 
do at the moment to change things, nothing to do but wait and pray that automated DC systems would 
bring the ship back to life. 

At least he had awakened. In ship-to-ship combat, between vessels crewed by the disembodied uploads 
of men and women into the machines that handled the sails and fired the guns, the danger was not so 
much outright death, though that possibility was real enough, as it was the possibility that the data linkages 
between your mind within a machine and your comatose body might be abruptly broken. In one sense, 
your mind did not actually leave your body; the remote spider or rigging rat crawler was no more than an 
extension of your sensory organs, not of your brain. 

Still, too many minds were destroyed when the machinery failed, in the crippling trauma of dissociation. 
When the shipnet had gone off-line, most of the officers and crew had reawakened on their jackracks. 
Most 

Hazzard, like most c-men, dreaded insanity more than outright death. 

At least this time, hed come through okay. But next time 

Light, life, motion, sensation flooded his brain, replacing the fire-shot blackness of the jackrack deck as 
the ship-net came back on-line. The damage the damage was bad, though arguably not as bad as it 
could have been. Indeterminacy was in a slow tumble, falling away from Kadens orange-and-white 
disk at 29,000 kpha slow-drifting crawl by interplanetary standards. Her dorsal fore and mainmasts, 
her port mizzen, her starboard mizzen, main, and foremasts were gone, snapped off by the violence of 
their close passage. Wreckagethe shards and tangle of splintered masts and shredded riggingtrailed 
alongside, threatening to fur-ther cripple the vessel as her spin fouled the remaining masts and spars. 

Get that wreckage cut away! he yelled into the confusion of the net. Helm! Get this tumble under 
control! 

Ahead, less than a hundred thousand kilometers distant now, four ornately decorated Paaseni warships 
were moving into line-ahead for an intercept, the lead vessel the Gilaadessera, a seventy-five-gun ship of 
the line. Her sails spread slowly, catching the outwind of the local sun, their lead surfaces adazzle in 
shifting, light show display. It was a race now, between those oncoming warships and Indeterminacys 
damage control parties, ship handlers, and machines. 

Hazzard glanced astern, at the slowly receding, slowly tumbling disk of the planet. Make a signal to 
Kaden, he told cy-Tomlin. Put it in all of their major dialects. Tell them tell them, Sorry for the 
miscalculation. I guess we cut that one too close! 

Do you think theyll believe our brushing them that way was an accident? Pardoe asked. 

Hazzard gave a mental shrug. It gives both sides a bit of something to save face with, he replied. And 
at least we stopped those damned guns! 

I hope the Admiralty sees it that way, sir. 

Skek the Admiralty! The curse was more bitter than hed intended. Theyre not here! 

Bursts of plasma from Indys maneuvering thrusters slowed, then arrested the ships spin. A large tangle 


of wreckageremnants of the entire starboard mast arraybroke free a moment later, imparting a slight 
yaw to port. 

of wreckageremnants of the entire starboard mast arraybroke free a moment later, imparting a slight 
yaw to port. 

The port yaw was turning the Indy relative to the oncoming enemy line, bringing her dorsal gun deck 
around. 

Naval tactics were dictated by the physics of ship handling and the nature of ship design. Vast arrays of 
sails and rigging forward and astern meant that a warships guns all but her relatively small bow and 
stern chasersfaced outward, abeam. The wooden warships that had sailed the oceans of ancient Earth 
four thousand years before had adopted tactics quite similar to these, shaped by the cold hand of 
physics. 

Port roll, Hazzard ordered. Dorsal guns, run out! Fire as you bear! 

In those long-vanished sailing vessels at the dawn of history, shipboard guns had used charges of 
exploding chemical powder to impel spherical lumps of inert metal across hundreds of meters of open 
sea. Aboard Indeterminacy, guns used magnetic fields to launch artificially generated micro-singularities 
across far greater gulfs of empty space. Indys largest guns were 32s, each accelerating a 
thirty-two-kilogram mass, compressed to a volume rivaling that of a single proton, to a velocity of nearly 
twenty percent of c. 

Along the checkered surface of Indeterminacy$ dorsal gun deck, hatches swung open and the blunt, 
black muzzles of the singularity launchers snubbed forth. They fired, the massive, rippling broadside 
slamming the frigate sideways in hammering recoil, the dead hand of Isaac Newton rocking them back in 
all the fury of his Third Law. Indys drive fields absorbed much of the recoil, and the massive shock 
absorbers housing each of her guns dissipated much of the rest. Still, the effect of a broadside on those 
aboard the vessel was one of jolting, thundering power barely contained by the drive fields. 

Hazzard felt the lurch and rumble, driven to the core of his being. 

Indys first broadside struck home. 

Maintain port roll! he called. Starboard deck, roll out! Fire as you bear! 

A ships drive field could be fluttered, distorting space enough to bend laser and particle beams safely 
clear of the vessel or to crumple and shred the electronics of any missile, or the fusing of an incoming 
explosive warhead. Microsingularities, however, smaller than an atomic nucleus and moving at velocities 
only slightly less than relativistic, tended to slide through a fields fringe interference effect, and the 
damage they wreaked on the target came not from exploding warheads, but from the simple kinetic 
destruction wrought by high-velocity mass. 

Like the shipboard guns of an earlier era, Indeterminacys singularity cannon pounded away at the lead 
Paaseni ship, puncturing main courses, jibs, and topsls, slamming home into her ornately painted prow. 
Where most Union warship prows were broad, flattened domes, fifty meters or more across, Paaseni 
vessels bore clusters of twelve spherical water tanks, held together by gilded frames that gave them the 
look of bizarre baskets of fruit. Each impact blew glittering bits of hull metal, basket loads of scrap, and 
gushing white plumes of escaping steam, crystallizing almost at once into frost-gleaming clouds of ice-fog. 
Every starship carried a small lake in its prow storage tankwater for the crews use, for use as fuel in 
the fusion reactors, and reaction mass for the thrusters. Storing the water in a prow tank provided 
protection from particulate radiation when the ship was at near-c velocities. 


Indeterminacy?, broadside had holed at least half of Gil-aadessera s tanks. Water exposed to hard 
vacuum expanded quickly, turning to steam then condensed almost immediately into ice crystals. In 
another moment, Gilaadessera was wreathed in fog as water gushed from savage rents in the storage 
tanks. As Indys second broadside tore into the enemy vessel, high-speed microsingularity rounds 
scratched dazzling blue threads of light through the ice-fog. 

Indeterminacy?, broadside had holed at least half of Gil-aadessera s tanks. Water exposed to hard 
vacuum expanded quickly, turning to steam then condensed almost immediately into ice crystals. In 
another moment, Gilaadessera was wreathed in fog as water gushed from savage rents in the storage 
tanks. As Indys second broadside tore into the enemy vessel, high-speed microsingularity rounds 
scratched dazzling blue threads of light through the ice-fog. 

Indeterminacy continued her roll, bringing her port side guns to bear, loosing a third broadside with 
devastating accuracy. One of Gilaadesseras bowsprits and foremasts collapsed in a tangle of broken 
spars and whiplashing, severed rigging. A moment later, the main mast on that side followed, crumpling 
under the deadly barrage. 

But the big Paaseni vessel was yawing now to bring her own guns to bear. Worse, the three light rates in 
her van were moving past her now, accelerating beyond her debris cloud, angling for a clear shot. They 
would pass astern of the Indeterminacy within another two minutes. 

And the Indy had fired all three broadsides. It took time to reload; the power requirements for readying a 
singularity and launching it at the target were enormous, and a naval gun could simply not cycle faster than 
a shot every three or four minutes. All guns were being reloaded, but it would be another two minutes 
before the dorsal gun deck was ready for another broadside. 

And in that time 

For what we are about to receive, Tommis Pardoe said, speaking an ironic prayer from the days of 
wooden ships on water oceans, may we be truly thankful 

Not bad, all in all, Sotheby added. Three broadsides, and not a shot in reply! He sobered. Too bad 
were half crippled, though, or we could keep the dance going! 

Hazzard ignored the byplay. Helm! Bring us right fifteen degrees, down minus five, he said. Take us in 
closer! If they could swing beneath the enormous Gilaadesseras shattered prow, they could continue 
to pound the line battle-ship and perhaps find some protection from her consorts fire. 

The ship of the line began firing as soon as the first of the guns on her port gun deck could be brought to 
bear. Holes, neat punctures, appeared in Indys portside forecourse and mainsl, which were still just in 
the process of deploying. A jarring shudder ran through the shipnet imagery as singularities slammed into 
the ships hull, smashing through her prow. Her dorsal bowsprit shattered under an impact, debris 
spinning back, colliding with rigging, knocking off a port main spar. 

More hits, more shudders. Indeterminacy lurched to port, tumbling again. Sotheby was firing the 
maneuvering thrusters almost constantly now, fighting the ship, trying to maintain both control and way. 
The frigate continued drifting ahead, her straight-line course carrying her along just slightly faster than the 
ponderous Gilaadessera could turn. As Indys gun decks reported ready to fire one after the other, 
Hazzard ordered all decks to commence general firing. 

More rounds struck home, sending deck-wrenching shudders through the Union vessel, and now some 
of the rounds were coming from the stem quarter, as the lead Paaseni frigate cleared the Gilaadessera 
and brought her guns to bear. One of /m/ys stem cooling vanes tore free, fluttering away into night end 
over end. Her dorsal mizzen shuddered, twisted in its mounting, and then tore free, the shriek of 
shredding metal echoing through the frigates manned spaces, loudly enough that the sound crossed the 
jacking barrier and was heard by the men within the virtual environment of the shipnet. A scattering of 


golden sparkstele-operated spiders bearing the minds of Indys dorsal mizzen sail handlersspilled 
into emptiness. 

golden sparkstele-operated spiders bearing the minds of Indys dorsal mizzen sail handlersspilled 
into emptiness. 

There was nothing to be done beyond the minor comfort of prayer, and no time even for that. Seven 
rounds slammed into the gun deck section, ripping out bulkheads, upending guns. 

Ferocious and Swiff were attempting to join Indeterminacy now, though they were badly damaged. 
The Swift bore only three masts now, one on each deck, while little Ferocious had only a single 
foremast left, thrusting out from her starboard deck with a single topsI filled. 

The remaining two enemy ships appeared to be concentrating on the crippled Decider, closing with her in 
order to board. 

Make to Ferocious and Swift Hazzard said. Tell them to bear clear and make for the out-system 
rendezvous. 

A moment laterFerocious and Swift both say theyre too badly damaged for transit, Captain. Both 
say theyre going to stay and fight it out. 

Damn. Indeterminacys sacrifice was going to be in vain. Hed hoped that by making the microjump, he 
could distract the Paaseni forces long enough for Decider, Swift, and Ferocious, at least, to make their 
escape. Fire Angel, he saw, was beyond hope, her hull wrecked and glowing with savage, blue-white 
heat. 

And it now appeared as though all three ships, and Indeterminacy as well, were going to be in a similar 
condition within the next few minutes. 

Indeterminacy loosed a long, rippling broadside from her dorsal guns, round after round slamming into 
the inert hulk of the huge Gilaadessera, her leaking, fog-wreathed prow now less than three hundred 
kilometers abeam. Indys port-side guns were engaging the Thaspasin, a thirty-three-gun Paaseni 
frigate, while her starboard guns dueled with the ship of the line crowded up alongside the Decider. 

Another broadside struck home aboard the Union frigate. 

Her port foremast was snapped in two, halfway out, and tumbled away, cordage spinning. She could 
barely crowd on enough sail to maintain acceleration, now, and she was in immediate danger of losing all 
maneuvering way. 

Captain, port lookout. I think I think theyre getting ready to board. I see boarding pods on their 
foredeck. 

Pardoes shipnet image looked at him, the mans long face drawn and tight. It was a good run, sir. I 
didnt think wed make it this far. 

Id hoped to give the squadron a chance to escape, he said. I guess I miscalculated after all. 

He was facing that bitterest of moments in any ship captains career, the moment when he knows he can 
fight no longer and must surrender to an overwhelmingly more powerful foe. 

Bridge! Dorsal lookout! Highspace entry point forming, at one-three-eight, plus two-five! We have 
incoming vessels! 


Goddess! More Paaseni? 

Goddess! More Paaseni? 

Its the goddamn cavalry to the rescue! Pardoe shouted. Its a skekking miracle! 

Not a miracle, Hazzard replied, trying to keep his voice from breaking. Not a miracle. Just very, very 
good timing 

 it is the judgment of this court, furthermore, that Captain Fifth-Rank Greydon Hazzard acted at all 
times within the very best traditions of the naval service, rendering timely assistance to four smaller 
embattled friendly vessels and almost certainly preventing their destruction or capture by the enemy. 

This court of inquiry finds him not guilty of criminal negligence and urges his immediate restoration to 
com-mand. Admiral-Fourth Howard looked up from his computer display. Congratulations, Captain. 

Thank you, my lord. 

The court of inquiry would have been necessary even if Admiral cy-Dennever hadnt filed charges against 
Hazzard in the wake of the Battle of Kaden, as it was being called now. After the fight, and the surrender 
of the Gilaadessera and two of her consorts, Indeterminacy had barely been able to make it to light 
speed for a long, heart-in-the-throat highspace jump back to Tribaltren. She would be in space-dock 
undergoing repairs for at least the next six months. Twenty-five of her crew of three hundred were dead, 
another fourteen mindless, helpless dissociates. 

A hell of a butchers bill to pay. Poor cy-Tomlin. He was one of the dissociates, the circuitry projecting 
his mind into the shipnet burned out during the final, savage enemy broadside. The poor kid had never 
had a chance. 

Hazzard knew hed done it to save the other ships. That didnt make the loss any easier to bear. The loss 
of his own was like a small piece of himself dying. 

A bell rang. These proceedings are completed. Dismissed. 

Hazzard straightened to attention as the three admirals behind the imposing cliff of a judgment desk 
stood, turned, and walked toward the wings of the courtroom. One of them stopped, though, at the 
door, spoke for a moment with the others, then walked toward Hazzard. 

That, Admiral Dalim cy-Koenin said softly, was one of the stupidest battles Ive ever seen played on 
an after-action report. 

Hazzard stiffened. Yes, sir. 

You should have run as soon as you saw how badly you were outgunned. You know that, dont you? 

Yes, sir. 

If Lieutenant Lasely hadnt had the bright idea of expending nearly all of Uriels water reserves in a 
last-ditch attempt to boost to c using his maneuvering thrusters, it would have been another hour or more 
before Victor reached you, and you all would have been dead or prisoners by then. 

I only wanted to save those ships and men, sir. I knew Uriel would win clear to the squadron. I thought 
I might be able to slow the Paaseni enough to let some of our ships get clear. 

Risking your ship and crew that way was misguided at best, stupid at worst. 


Which was no more than Hazzard had been telling himself since the battles end. Yes, sir. I have no 
excuse, sir. 

Which was no more than Hazzard had been telling himself since the battles end. Yes, sir. I have no 
excuse, sir. 

Lieutenant Lasely deserves the medal, Admiral. Hes the one that saved all our tails. 

Hell get it. Dont worry. Cy-Koenin placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. Damn it, Dad. 
Sometimes I despair of you. But well done! 

Hazzard released the breath hed been holding in his lungs. His son extended a hand, and Hazzard took 
it. 

Then they embraced. 

It was one of the costs of a naval service that depended on near-c velocities for each jump to highspace 
or for riding the light barrier endlessly on blockade or patrol off the shoals of enemy systems. Greydon 
Hazzard had ten portwives on various worlds and, at last count, at any rate, had seven children, four 
girls, three boys, by different mothers. All but three were older biologically than Hazzard now, because 
most of their lives had been spent groundside and one, also a Navy captain, was sometimes older, 
sometimes younger when they met, depending on how much tau-minus each had accumulated in the 
intervening subjective since their last meeting. 

Hazzard had racked up a hell of a lot of tau-minus over the objective years. His portwife on Groller, 
nearly seventy objective years ago, had been one Lauri cy-Koenin. 

She was long dead, but their son, Dalim, had gone to the Union Naval Academy at Napola, risen through 
the ranks, commanded half a dozen ships in his illustrious career, and finally been promoted to admiral. 
With far less tau-minus on the books than Hazzard, he was now fifty-eight standard-objective years old 
and twenty-two years older than his father. 

You know, dont you, that cy-Dennever was right to bring you up on charges. 

A pause. Yes, sir. Reluctantly. 

The Anarchate was this close to declaring war after your little stunt with their PDBs. Youre just 
damned lucky their military council decided to switch sides. 

That was news to Hazzard. I hadnt heard that, sir. 

Just came through on the last dispatch boat from Kaden. Turns out there was a faction of the Anarchate 
military that had decided to side with the Alliance because they were strongest and, sooner or later, when 
the Alliance beat us, the Anarchate would be wiped out by the Alliances human-onlies. They figured that 
if they joined the Alliance, helped them, the Irdikad might be able to find a place in the new regime, even 
if only as second-class citizens. 

Huh. Maybe their decision wasnt so crazy after all. It made sense, after a fashion, according to Irdikad 
psychology. 

Yes, well, it seems that our winning that battle against those odds convinced them that we were the 


strongest, and therefore the ones to side with. Although 
Sir? 
What they said was, Anyone crazy enough to pull a stunt like that is worthy of respect. A rough 


translation, of course. He shook his head. First time a Fleet officer has won a battle and a new ally by 
being insane. 


I prefer the word lucky. 
Someday, Dad, cy-Koenin said with a grin, when youre as old as I am, youll know that relying on 
luck just doesnt always pay off the way you expect. 


We make our own luck, son. Sometimes, its just a bit harder and more expensive than other times. He 
didnt add that often the price was a little piece of your soul. Poor cy-Tomlin 
You in the mood for a bite to eat, Admiral? Courts of inquiry make me hungry. 
Thought youd never ask. 
Together, father and son, they strode from the chamber. 
BLINDFOLD 


by Robin Wayne Bailey 

Robin Wayne Bailey is the author of a dozen novels, including the Brothers of the Dragon series, 
Shad-owdance, and the new Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser novel Swords Against the Shadowland. His 
short fiction has appeared in numerous science fiction and fantasy anthologies and magazines, including 
Far Frontiers and Spell Fantastic. An avid book collector and old-time radio enthusiast, he lives in 
North Kansas City, Missouri. 

Chilson Dawes stumbled out of the doorway of Madam Satterfields brothel and into the dark Martian 
night. He stank of alcohol and sex. He didnt care. He still had money in his pockets, and pale dawn was 
hours away. He rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin, drew his cloak about his shoulders, and smacked 
his lips, thirsty for another drink. 

A burly bear of a man in a worn leather spacers jacket leaned near the door. He stubbed out a cigarette 
with a booted toe. Youre killin yourself, you know. A note of weariness softened the gruff voice. 
Why dont you call it a night. 

Dawes heard the limping scrape of boot soles on the pavement. He groped for an offered arm and 
clutched it. Mister Donovan, he said with a cheerful slur, when I want a medical opinion, Ill call a 
doctor, not a broken-down washed-out wreck of an Irish freighter pilot like yourself. He patted the 
hand at the end of the arm. Youre a lousy friend, but like a good old dog always there when I call. 

We are a pair, arent we? Donovan said. Sobrothel, bar, or casino? 

That was the problem with a city like Tharsis. Too damn much to offer. All the sins and vices a man 
couldnt get on civilized Earth anymore, pleasures undreamed of for someone with too much money and 
too much time. Chilson Dawes had both. 

Just walk, he said with a sudden, self-pitying melancholy. 

Donovan obeyed. Dawes, with a secure grip on the Irishmans arm, listened to the sounds around him as 


they wandered. The streets were alive tonight: music gushing from the open doorways of taverns; a 
womans coarse laugh; a pair of boastful spacers drunk as Dawes himself; the rattle of what might have 
been a blowing newspaper; the soft rustle of his own cloak. A harlot called his name and an offer as 
Donovan led him on. Strong whiff of perfume. He waved a hand and grinned, wondered who she was. 

they wandered. The streets were alive tonight: music gushing from the open doorways of taverns; a 
womans coarse laugh; a pair of boastful spacers drunk as Dawes himself; the rattle of what might have 
been a blowing newspaper; the soft rustle of his own cloak. A harlot called his name and an offer as 
Donovan led him on. Strong whiff of perfume. He waved a hand and grinned, wondered who she was. 

Donovan slowed his pace only a little. Chilson Dawes imagined the big man staring upward. Deimos is, 
swollen and full, like a ripe tangerine. 

Bastard, Dawes muttered. 

Something else is up, too, Donovan whispered. His hand closed over Dawes as he subtly increased 
the pace. Were being followed. 

Dawes frowned, his heart quickening. This was a rough part of Tharsis, but he was known here. The 
locals protected him and left him alone. Still, he trusted Donovan; he did his best to keep up. He had 
enough money on him to make robbery tempting. Maybe someone had followed him from Madam 
Satterfields. 

Donovan led the way quickly through the streets, around comers, down winding alleys into new streets. 
Carnival sounds swirled; cotton candy smells and body stink, urine, trash can noises, conversation, 
laughter. Another turn, and a quieter street. 

Donovan stopped suddenly. A rush of footsteps. Donovan pushed Dawes hand away and turned. A 
grunt, harsh intake of breath, sound of body falling. 

A rough hand grabbed Dawes shoulder. Not Donovanshe knew that familiar touch too well. Angry, 
concerned for his friend, Dawes leaned sideways, twisting even as he thrust out a foot. Someone went 
flying over his leg. Someone else caught his wrist. He heard his name; so they knew him! With his free 
hand he snatched the attackers wrist, twisted hard, heard bone snap as he dropped to one knee. A 
sharp, deep-throated scream of pain, another flying body. 

His name again, then an energy whine, heat-sizzle past his ear, and an explosion of stone and brick 
behind him. Dawes! 

An ozone reek filled the air, and he rose cautiously. He knew a warning shot from a laser pistol. He 
groped for the still-warm wall, leaned against it, fingered the catch of his cloak nervously, and huddled 
inside its folds as he waited. 

Damn you, youve injured two of my best men. 

From either side new pairs of hands gripped his arms. A loud electric crackle, and anguished gasps. 
Four, Dawes corrected with a horrible grin, as two more bodies fell groaning. He relaxed a little; he 
recognized the voice that had addressed him. Next time you want to see me, Colonel, make an 
appointmentlike everybody else. He paused. No one else tried to grab him, so he touched the catch 
of his cloak again, deactivating the microcircuitry hidden in its weave. 

Youve been inventing again. 

There was a certain pitying sympathy in Samuel Strafs voice that irritated Dawes. A stun-cloak, he 
said. What the hell did you do to Donovan, and what the hell do you want with me? Ive got nothing to 
do with your damned Stellar Guard anymore. 


Im okay, Chil. Donovans voice said he was a little less than okay, but alive at least. Just too slow on 
this bum leg. I turned into a left hook. 

Im okay, Chil. Donovans voice said he was a little less than okay, but alive at least. Just too slow on 
this bum leg. I turned into a left hook. 

As if Chilson Dawes gave a starmans damn what Samuel Straf thought. The Guard had dismissed him 
and shit-canned his last civilian research project on Strafs recommendation. Stuff it, Colonel. He held 
out his arm for Donovan, instructing his friend, Get me out of here before this skunk stinks up the place. 

Ive got a job for you, Straf said stiffly. Youre still drawing a Guard paycheck. Technically, you never 
retired. 

Dawes gripped Donovans arm. You fired me when you canceled the Sabre. 

I put you on medical leave, Straf shot back. Youre blind, Chil. 

Chilson Dawes felt his heart freeze. Stay away from me, Sam, he said through clenched teeth. Just 
stay away! 

Ill give you back the Sabre, Straf said. A controlled but unmistakable urgency filled in his voice. Im 
authorized. Its fueled and ready. 

Youre full of it, Dawes answered. But he listened. And shortly, he found himself sober on an 
atomic-powered tram from Tharsis City to the Guard starport at Valles Mari-naris. 

In two hundred years of starfaring, humans had discovered no other intelligent races. Recently, that had 
changed. Only a year after Dawes had lost his sight, the first exploratory ships had ventured past Vega 
into a sector named Burnham space after the astronomer who had mapped it. It was in Burnham space 
that the earthship Lancelot, under the command of Captain James Murray, first encountered the Kaxfen. 

Murray barely got his ship back to our outpost on Orth, Colonel Straf explained to Dawes over cups 
of steaming coffee. The Kaxfen weapons werent necessarily superior, but their numbers were. They 
swarmed over the Lancelot like insects. 

Donovan spoke from the window that overlooked the starport. If youve got a name to call them by, 
you must have established some kind of communication. 

Nothing face-to-face, Straf answered. Only voice communications. Theyve warned us out of 
Burnham space. Theyre claiming it as their exclusive backyard, and theyre quite territorial about it. They 
promise to destroy any ship that ventures near it. 

Dawes sipped from his cup. So humans have finally found neighbors in space, and managed to make 
enemies of them in our first meeting. I guess some things never change. He leaned forward, felt for the 
edge of Strafs desk, and set his cup down. What do you expect me to do about it? 

There was a brief silence. Straf cleared his throat. You brought the Sabre home like a sighted man, 
Chil, he said. Even with your optic nerves burned out. Nobody knows that ships systems, controls, or 
capabilities better than you. Nobodys touched her since you. No one dared. 

You cant be asking what Im thinking, Donovan interrupted, his voice turning angry. 

Strafs boots scuffed as he came around the desk closer to Dawes. Im asking if you think you can pilot 
the Sabre. 


Donovan exploded. Goddamn you, hes! 

Donovan exploded. Goddamn you, hes! 

I wasnt exactly truthful when I said no one had touched her, Straf admitted. Ive had her outfitted 
with the new Kleinowski planet-killer lasers. Shes not totally defenseless. 

Or without offense either, Dawes said. But whats this all about? 

Sound of paper rattling, and a light breeze fanned over Dawes face. He envisioned Straf shaking a sheaf 
of pages as if Dawes could see them. It stopped suddenly, and Straf cleared his throat again. Weve got 
a cryo-ship 

An ice-wagon? Donovan said from the window. Who the? 

Dont be crude, Straf said, then he continued. A cryo-ship. Yes, theyre antiquated, but certain 
religious groups prefer them to translight travel. 

Dawes nodded. Because they think the laws of nature and God dont apply to hypespace, they refuse 
to go there. Theyd rather travel like a tray of ice cubes. 

Straf cleared his throat again. Theyre entitled to their beliefs. But weve got a problem. The Via 
Dolorosa launched from Earth fifteen years ago, well before we knew about the Kaxfen. Its carrying a 
complement of five thousand New Hope congregationalists all in deep sleep to a new m-class planet in 
System 2X-185. Their course skirts right across the edge of Burnham space. 

Dawes frowned as he leaped ahead of Strafs slow explanations. Like most ice-wagons, the Via 
Dolorosa is operating only on computers. Its also totally defenseless. You want me to save some 
fundamentalist butt. 

There was more than a hint of indignation in Strafs response. My parents are on the Via Dolorosa he 
answered. Ive pulled strings to give you back the Sabre, Chil. And if thats not enough incentive, Ive 
got another trick up my sleeve. 

A brittle click as Straf thumbed an intercom switch on his desk. A moment later the door opened. By the 
whiff of lavender perfume and a soft tread, Dawes guessed that a young woman had entered the room. 
Donovan gave a low, appreciative whistle. Youd like the look of her, Chil, he said. 

A tiny scrape of metal; a barely audible creak as of a lid opening. A stronger whiff of lavender as the 
woman bent close. A soft weight settled on Chilson Dawes shoulder. For a moment, he sat tense, 
expectant. Then, he felt a creepy scuttling sensation near his neck. He gave a startled cry and lunged from 
his chair to encounter cool glassthe windowunder his palms. What are you! 

Whatever the thing was, it clung to him. Scores of small caterpillar feet clutched his collar, prickled over 
his bare neck. 

He shot out a hand for Donovan. Get it off! Get it Gripping the Irishmans arm, he caught his breath 
suddenly and froze. 

Like a black mist, the darkness that had filled his eyes for three years dissolved. Through the reflected 


glare of his own face in the glass, he saw the freighters and gleaming starships in the port yards, beyond 
those the dark Martian mountains and escarpments, and above the glimmering stars in the night sky with 
Phobos high as Deimos sank in the west. 

glare of his own face in the glass, he saw the freighters and gleaming starships in the port yards, beyond 
those the dark Martian mountains and escarpments, and above the glimmering stars in the night sky with 
Phobos high as Deimos sank in the west. 

Unexpectedly, the room seemed to rotate. Without turning, he saw Strafs worried face, older than hed 
remembered, then another face, very feminine and quite amused. The creature on his shoulder began to 
purr softly. 

Dawes regained a measure of self-control. Donovan hadnt lied. The woman was indeed something to 
see, even in her shapeless lab coat. The creature seemed to like her, too, though Dawes wasnt sure 
quite how he knew that. He reached cautiously up to touch the thing on his shoulder. His first impression 
had been right; it was much like a caterpillar, lightly furred, but nearly twelve inches long. 

I dont understand, Dawes said, half afraid the miracle would end. He stroked the creature with a 
forefinger; it nuzzled against his ear, and its purring increased. 

The woman laughed lightly. Neither do we, she said. A team of explorers found it and its kin on a little 
mud-ball planet in the Mintaka system. They dont seem to be intelligent, but were not sure. They do 
have a weird form of tactile telepathya defense mechanism, we think, against the numerous predators 
on their world. As long as youre in physical contact, you can share sight, hearing, sensation. It doesnt 
seem to have a sense of smell, though. And when you feed it She laughed again. Id put it down if I 
were you and put up with a few moments of blindness. 

Dawes looked at Donovan, then back to the woman. I only have black-and-white vision. 

She nodded. Youre seeing through its eyes, Mister Dawes, not your own. Those are still quite useless. 

I had this flown in for you, Straf said. There are only a couple in the entire Sol system. I need you, 
Chil. Not only for my parents sakes. We cant let five thousand people just be slaughtered in their sleep. 
Even at translight, our nearest ships cant reach the Via Dolorosa before she enters Burnham space. 
Only the Sabre can. 

Why Chilson, Colonel? Donovan demanded. Youve had nearly two years to locate and divert this 
icethis cryo-ship. 

Straf frowned and seated himself on the edge of his desk. His voice turned harsh. Frankly, we screwed 
up. Because the Via Dolorosa launched so long ago and is moving so slowly, the bureaucrats in 
Tracking Control forgot about her. On top of that, the Guards been distracted with a lot of pirate activity 
lately. He paused and rubbed his chin. When he spoke again, the harshness was gone from his voice, 
replaced with an obvious fatigue. Last week would have been my parents wedding anniversary. Im 
older now than they were when they launched with the other con-gregationalists. Id just entered the 
Guard back then. Maybe Im getting sentimental, Chil, because on a whim, I pulled out an old star chart 
my father left me outlining their course. I hadnt looked at it since I was a punk. When I saw the danger, I 
started pulling strings and bending a lot of rules to arm the Sabre, then trace you down, to 

Dawes mind raced as he considered all the angles. An excitement he hadnt known in three years filled 
him. What do you call this thing? he interrupted, continuing to stroke the creature. It had a strangely 
soothing effect. 


We call it a Mintakan mind-worm, Straf answered. 

We call it a Mintakan mind-worm, Straf answered. 

Even at translight, our nearest ships cant reach the Via Dolorosa before she enters Burnham 
space. Only the Sabre can. 

God, how it must have killed Straf to make that admission. From the beginning hed been skeptical of 
Dawes project. Once a translight pilot himself, the colonel had done his best to delay funding and make 
himself an obstacle around which Dawes and his research team had had to dancebecause, if 
successful, Project Sabre meant a total retooling, perhaps even a dismantling, of the Stellar Guard as it 
existed. 

Project Sabre represented that kind of a revolution. 

Translight vessels were the fastest ships ever developed by mankind. They had given humans the stars, 
allowed them to explore, to settle new colony worlds, given man frontiers undreamed. Yet, even 
translight vessels, traversing hyper-space, required time to journey from one point to another. Sometimes 
that time factor was a matter of weeks, sometimes a matter of months. Sooner or later, as mankind kept 
pushing out, it would be years, until even translight travel would become insufficient. 

Project Sabre was the answer to thatthe next step. With massive engines built into the body of a Foss 
Starfish, the largest ship in the Guard fleet, the Sabre not only folded space, it creased it. This fold-space 
drive system, Dawes brainchild, made translight travel slow by comparison, obsolete. Practically 
instantaneous, in Dawes opinion it was as close as man was likely to come to teleportation. 

There were only two drawbacks. The field generated by the fold-space drive was, as Dawes liked to 
describe it, gravitationally sensitive. The ship had to be in deep space beyond the range of any stellar 
object before it was activated. That meant the ship had to carry a translight drive as well as the 
fold-space drive. This required a big vessel like the Foss Starfish. Nor could any other ship be within a 
parsecs distance because of the destructive distortion ripple caused by the field. 

It was the second drawback, however, that had caused the Sabres cancellation after only a single 
experimental flight, a flight Dawes himself had piloted. Something about the drive system, or about that 
brief moment in fold-space itself, destroyed a humans optic nerve, leaving a person blind. 

Now alone, speeding between the orbits of Uranus and Neptune, Dawes sat once more at the controls 
of his one-of-a-kind vessel. He trembled as his thoughts returned to that first flight. Out beyond the range 
of Pluto hed sat, the same point toward which he was heading now. Then, his thoughts had been on far 
Proxima Centauri. Hed triggered the Sabre, experienced a moment of blinding whiteness such as hed 
never known, followed by congratulatory voices from his communications console. Voices rising out of 
darkness. 

Hed barely kept it together long enough to make the re-turn flight home. After thathis shot glass had 
never been empty. 

Through Hookahs eyes, he stared at the trigger control. The little creature stirred restlessly on his 
shoulder as if it sensed his nervousness. It wriggled, and the view shifted from the control to his own ear, 


then to the back of the cabin. 

then to the back of the cabin. 

He ran a finger along Hookahs back; the creature began to purr. 

Dawes, too, had unexpected hope for a new life. Port Authority, he said, activating the communications 
console. Redesignate Sabre. That had only ever been the projects name anyway. Record new 
designation, Archangel. Register. He waited, pleased with himself. The archangels were heavens 
warrior class. 

A voice that sounded like Strafs came back over communications. Archangelauthorized and 
registered. Now get your butt moving, civilian. Yep, the old man himself. 

At seven-tenths the speed of light, he streaked by Pluto. Beyond the orbit of the Oort Cloud he pushed 
his vessel into translight. 

He continued to pet Hookah, drawing reassurance, even courage, from the contact, and the creature 
rewarded him by watching the view screen where stars blazed like fiery beacons. Each one called his 
name; hed thought hed never see them again. 

His hand hovered over the fold-drive trigger. He was far enough beyond Sol now, and the computer had 
his destination coordinates. Still he hesitated. Fold-space had blinded him before. What if it hurt him 
some other way this time? 

And what about Hookah? Doctor Halamathe woman in Strafs officetheorized that nothing would 
happen to the mind-worm, that the creatures biology was too different. Still, it was only theory. What if 
he lost this second set of eyes? Hookah shivered on his shoulder, picking up on his fear. 

Five thousand lives. 

Another trip through fold-space, or another trip to the bottom of a bottle. 

He knew which one he couldnt face again. 

He hit the trigger. 

With eyes or without, a burning white light swallowed him, a tiny instant spark that went supernova in his 
brain and expanded to engulf the stars in the viewscreen, the control console, the ship. Everything 
vanished into whiteness. He fell, fell, blinded by that light. And he screamed. 

Then, he was looking at himself screaming, his mouth wide open, jaw straining. Sweat beaded on his pale 
face. The muscles in his neck stood out tight as cords, veins bulged. 

He looked foolish. Ridiculous. Hookah scuttled to his other shoulder and nuzzled his ear. Dawes thought 
he looked just as silly from that side and shut his mouth. Hookah began to purr again. 

I think youre laughing at me, Dawes said, drawing a finger along the creatures furry back. 

His trembling slowly ebbed as did the adrenaline fear-rush. He marveled that, even blind, he had 


experienced the white light phenomenon, and he wondered again if it was even light at all, or some 
property of fold-space itself. It suggested a new direction for his research. 

experienced the white light phenomenon, and he wondered again if it was even light at all, or some 
property of fold-space itself. It suggested a new direction for his research. 

Scan for the Via Dolorosa he instructed. 

The computer answered: Two point four parsecs to starboard. Just crossing the border into 
Kaxfen-claimed territory. 

Through Hookahs curious eyes, Dawes watched himself scowl. While he congratulated himself for the 
pinpoint accuracy of the fold-space jump, he cursed Straf, who had assured him the New Hope 
congregationalists were two days from Burnham space. Dawes had hoped for time to turn around, reach 
the Via Dolorosa, and reprogram its course computers to skirt the region. 

Archangel he addressed the computer, scan for approaching vessels, known or unknown. 

A pause. Archangel answered: Five vessels of unknown configuration approaching at maximum 
translight. 

Kaxfen ships. It took only a moment more to determine that they were heading straight for the 
defenseless Via Dolorosa. Dawes considered that he might do the Stellar Guard a favor while he was 
out here and instructed the computer to backtrack probable trajectories for those ships. If they were 
flying a straight course for the congregationalists, perhaps he could discover the location of their home 
world, or at least one of their bases. 

Meanwhile, he ran some hasty calculations and weighed his options. Six ships, and no idea of the arsenal 
he faced. But then, the Kaxfen knew nothing about him either. They had to be wondering where the 
Archangel had come from. Better, he decided to engage the Kaxfen out here as far away from the 
congregationalists as possible. 

Archangel. The computer answered Dawes promptly. 

See if the Via Dolorosas computers will respond to a hailing signal. 

The computer responded: Affirmative. Contact established. 

Dawes relaxed a little. Hookah, growing restive, crawled down the front of his shirt and gave him a 
glimpse of his own knees. He picked the little creature up and returned him to his shoulder. He gave his 
attention back to the computer. 

Archangel, he called again. Transmit a continuous recognition signal to the Via Dolorosa. Dawes 
mind raced. He had to assume that since some form of contact had been established with the Kaxfen, the 
aliens could read his transmissions. But piggyback an encoded Stellar Guard priority override command 
with that signal. If the Via Dolorosas computers acknowledge, seize control of that ship. Then 
re-program its course computers so that it exits Burnham space as quickly as possible. Determine a new 
course to its destination, and inform me the instant the ship begins to turn. 

That left Dawes to deal with the aliens. At sublight speed, there was no chance the Via Dolorosa could 
exit Burnham space before the faster Kaxfen reached it. His fingers danced over control panels. Even 
blind he could have piloted this vessel; hed designed every circuit, programmed every data crystal. 

He directed Archangel straight for the approaching Kaxfen. 


Five of the alien ships turned to meet him. One broke formation with the others. Dawes cursed; he didnt 
need a computer to guess that lone ships intent. In the view screen, through Hookahs eyes, he watched 
its energy wake, sizzling like a burning lance across the dark of space. 

Five of the alien ships turned to meet him. One broke formation with the others. Dawes cursed; he didnt 
need a computer to guess that lone ships intent. In the view screen, through Hookahs eyes, he watched 
its energy wake, sizzling like a burning lance across the dark of space. 

Archangels computer addressed him. The Via Dolorosa had accepted the encoded priority override. 
Archangel now controlled the ice-wagon, and the lumbering vessel was turning. 

Get it the hell out of here! Dawes muttered as much to himself as to his computer. He thought of the 
five thousand people whose lives depended on him, of Strafs sleeping parents, all unaware of the danger 
unfolding. 

He drew a deep breath, and stroked a finger along Hookahs back. Okay, little fella, he said, its you 
and me. And, he added silently, the finest ship ever designed. He resisted a laugh. For the first time in 
three years he felt alive! 

He raced toward the aliens point-ship. It fired on him, but from a distance beyond the effective range of 
its weaponry. On the Archangels instrument panel, an energy spike registered, then dropped off 
sharply. Archangel was untouched. 

My turn. He brought the Kleinowskis on-line and counted down ten seconds. Ever closer he drew to 
the alien point-ship. Then, Archangel, fire! 

The Kleinowski planet-killers drew on the translight engines for their power. That had no effect on the 
vessels present velocity, however. Across space twin beams of searing light stabbed. The Kaxfen ship 
exploded in a titanic fireball. Archangel sailed through the heart of its vaporizing debris. Dawes watched 
it all in grim black-and-white. 

He placed his palm on the communications console. Attention, Kaxfen ships, he said with a calm he 
didnt feel. Break off your attack. The sublight vessel you came for is under my protection. Break off 
now! He grinned suddenly as Hookah gave him an exploratory view of the in-side of his left ear. He 
took the creature in one hand and pointed it at the view screen. 

Archangels computer informed himthe four alien ships continued to close. One of them fired, still too 
far away to effectively harm him. He touched the communications console again. 

Final warning, he said. Break off. Or I will seriously fuck you where it hurts the most. He shrugged, 
wondering where that might be on alien anatomy. 

Though he kept the communications channel open, no response came from the Kaxfen ships. They 
plunged toward him, drawing their squeeze play tight. An energy beam lanced across the bow. 

A clean miss. However, Archangel estimated the aliens were now within weapons range to inflict 
damage. 

Looks like they need another demonstration, Dawes instructed the computer. Target the vessel that 
just fired on us and destroy it. 

A second time the Kleinowski planet-killers lanced outward. To starboard, a Kaxfen ship went nova in a 
horribly beautiful twinkling of disintegrating debris. But unlike the first time, the Archangel shuddered as 
its lasers fired. 


What was that? Dawes demanded. His vision reeled suddenly with rapid views of the console, the view 
screen, the back of the cabin, his own nervous face. Hookah squirmed in Dawes too-tight grip. He 
forced himself to relax; he returned Hookah to his shoulder and stroked the creature to calm it. Sorry, 
he apologized. 

What was that? Dawes demanded. His vision reeled suddenly with rapid views of the console, the view 
screen, the back of the cabin, his own nervous face. Hookah squirmed in Dawes too-tight grip. He 
forced himself to relax; he returned Hookah to his shoulder and stroked the creature to calm it. Sorry, 
he apologized. 

Dawes slammed his fist down on the instrument console. At the same instant, another energy spike 
registered there. Laser beams danced just beyond the view screen as the 

Archangel took automatic evasive action. He couldnt dodge them forever, though, he knew that. 

Computer, he called, wheres the Via Dolorosa now? 

Just exiting Burnham space, it answered. 

And the pursuing alien ship? 

Still in pursuit. 

Try the planet-killers again! he ordered. He cursed Straf and himself; so confident had they been in the 
big guns they hadnt installed any secondary armaments. With the Kleinowskis off-line, he was as 
defenseless as the ice-wagon hed come to save. 

The Archangel rocked under a glancing laser blast. On his shoulder, Hookah quivered. Through the 
creatures anxious eyes, Dawes did his best to watch the view screen. The Kaxfen ships drew near. He 
could almost feel the heat of their beams on his face. 

Unexpectedly, two of the enemy ships slowed and hung back, covering him. The remaining ship came on. 
An electronically distorted voice crackled across his communications console. You have invaded our 
territory, it stated coldly. Surrender your vessel, human, and prepare to be boarded. 

Chilson Dawes experienced a moment of dread and an almost overwhelming sense of failure. He saw 
himself reflected in a bottle of despair as five thousand corpses tumbled through space amid the ruptured 
ruins of their cryo-ship, never to achieve their sought-after miracle of a new life in a new world. Through 
it all came Donovans condescending cluck and Strafs accusing eyes burning in his brain. 

He shook himself and forced himself to think. Planet-killers be damnedhis brain was his best weapon. 
He couldnt let the Archangel be boarded, couldnt let its revolutionary technology fall into the hands of 
hostile aliens. 

Abruptly calm, he sat back down in his chair and placed his hand on the communications console. I 
warned you, he said angrily. Our two species might have been friends, but you forced this debacle. The 
result is on your heads, you bloody bastards. 

He triggered the Sabre drive system. In the split-instant before the white light blinded him, he saw the 
resulting fold-space ripple, strike, and shatter the three Kaxfen vessels. 

When the white light subsided, he took a moment to assure himself that he was all right, and that Hookah 
was all right, too. Then, by touch alone, he examined the controls. Archangels computer spoke up to 
tell him what he already knew. 

He was back where hed started from, beyond the Oort Cloud, just at the edge of Sols diminishing 
gravitational influence. Hed programmed the ship to bring him home in case of an emergency, or as close 


to home as the Sabre drive system allowed. He turned Hookah toward the view screen. Sol winked in 
the center of it, only a little brighter than the surrounding stars. 

to home as the Sabre drive system allowed. He turned Hookah toward the view screen. Sol winked in 
the center of it, only a little brighter than the surrounding stars. 

He wasnt ready, though, to return home. His job wasnt finished. 

Archangel. He waited for the computer to acknowledge. Calculate another jump. Estimate the Via 
Dolorosas current position and program coordinates for a fold-space exit just outside the minimum 
parsecs distance with an added five-percent safety zone. 

He waited impatiently. Placing Hookah on his lap, he stroked and stroked the creature until it purred 
loudly. Good baby, he murmured softly. Good baby. 

The computer finished its assignment. Dawes reached out for the trigger. 

Yet again he fell through fold-space, seemingly alone without walls or ship to surround him. Yet, strangely 
in his mind this time he felt a presence, that purring, and knew his isolation was false, that he had a 
companion. 

The stars resolved themselves once more in the view screen. As if anticipating him, Hookah stared 
outward and relayed the magnificent vision into his brain. Dawes caught his breath. 

The Archangel had emerged into normal space near the Spider Nebula. Looming gigantic off the ships 
port bow, its great glare lit the abysmal darkness. Staring into its heart was like staring into a furnace. 
Around that blazing heart clouds of dust swirled in constant motion. Particles collided, exploding in 
twinkling bursts. At its edges, great tenuous columns of stars rose up in weblike strands, light-years thick, 
to stretch and shimmer across the black firmament. 

Even with only the muted shades of Hookahs vision, Dawes gaped in silent awe. Another man might 
have missed his own eyes more acutely in that moment; instead, he gave thanks for those borrowed ones 
he had. 

Weve seen the Temple of God, he whispered to his pet. Oddly, he thought of Donovan and wished 
his friend was with him. 

The Archangels computer spoke his name. They were now within one parsec of the congregationalists 
cryo-ship, it informed him, and speeding straight for it. It detected no sign of the remaining Kaxfen vessel. 

Keep searching, Dawes instructed. And resume control of the cryo-ships computers. We may have 
to move fast. He realized with a mixture of irritation and amusement that he was addressing the 
computer as if it were a teammate. In a very real sense, it was. 

In only a little time, the Archangel came abreast of the Via Dolorosa. The vessel glimmered dully in the 
reflected light from the Spider Nebula, an immense metal ball with conventional fusion drives jutting from 
its rear. Compared with the sleek designs of translight vehicles and with his own ship, it was an ugly 
monster without grace or beauty, a relic from another age. 

And yet, though it crawled across the star trails like a slug in its shell, there was nobility in its ugliness, for 
it carried within it men and women who were explorers, adventurers, and world-builders, the seed of 
mankind, the carriers of Humanitys torch. For all that he disdained their means of transportation, Chilson 
Dawes admired the people within. As if possessed of a sense of pride, the Via Dolorosa slowly rotated, 
showing itself off. 


Then with a start, Chilson Dawes discovered where the Kaxfen ship had been hiding. It hung in docking 
position attached to the cryo-ships hull. Through Hookahs eyes, he saw it clearly. 

Then with a start, Chilson Dawes discovered where the Kaxfen ship had been hiding. It hung in docking 
position attached to the cryo-ships hull. Through Hookahs eyes, he saw it clearly. 

Still without weapons, Dawes swallowed hard before settling himself in his chair. He couldnt destroy this 
alien ship with a fold-space ripple without destroying the Via Dolorosa as well. What to do? 

He ran a bluff. 

Placing one palm on the communications console, he hailed his foe. Kaxfen ship, he said calmly. Ive 
destroyed your five companion ships. Dont force me to make it six. This ancient vessel and my own are 
now outside your claimed territory. Go home. 

He waited, either for an attack or for an acknowledging voice on his console. Neither came. The Kaxfen 
ship took no action at all. It seemed to hang in space, watching him, waiting as he waited. Dawes 
wondered what went through the alien mind of an uncertain star captain. 

The answer was an anticlimax. The Kaxfen ship banked away and sped back toward Burnham space. 

Dawes breathed a sigh of relief. Well, Hookah, he said to his pet, I guess we know the color of their 
stripes, eh? 

With the little Mintakan creature purring in his ear, he maneuvered the Archangel toward the port where 
the Kaxfen had docked to discover any damage caused by their sudden departure. Laser burns on the 
hull revealed how they had blasted their way through cargo air lock doors. Through the rent, he could see 
drums and crates floating, prevented from escape into space by networks of secure webbing that 
bespoke an admirable foresight on the part of the ships occupants. 

But why hadnt the Kaxfen simply destroyed the Via Dolorosal Their lasers were powerful enough. 
What had they sought within? 

He decided to find out. 

There was too much damage at the cargo air lock, so he searched for another. Hookah wiggled on his 
perch while Dawes worked the controls. A gentle thump shivered through the hull as docking clamps 
took hold. Dawes rose from his seat and moved through a series of corridors, pausing at a weapons 
locker to select a pistol and a communications link that would keep him in contact with Archangel. This 
he slipped onto his wrist like a wristwatch. 

With Hookahs eyes showing the way, he moved into the air lock and crossed an umbilical bridge into 
the Via Do-lorosa. Hookah seemed to sense what Dawes needed, and kept its attention focused 
forward. Indeed, without speaking or giving instruction, Dawes seemed able to direct the creatures eyes 
as if they were his own. It took but a little concentrationas long as Hookah felt calm. 

The air was stale. His bootheels rang in a passageway that had not known sound in twelve years. Inside 
the Via Dolorosas air lock, a dozen pressure suits hung limp and empty on their racks, ghostly in the 
darkness. They seemed to watch him, and Dawes felt suddenly bleak and lonely in their presence, like an 
invader walking where he didnt belong. He found himself stroking Hookah, and was somewhat 
gladdened when it purred and rubbed his jaw. 

Fluorescent lighting panels shone dimly and illumined what seemed to be miles of dull gray corridors. The 
ships engines were silent; the Via Dolorosa sped toward its destination on inertia; its passengers slept 
without even the throb of machinery for their lullaby. 


He had entered at an air lock near those engines. Seven levels above, and for seven levels above that, 
five thousand men, women, and children slept in liquid nitrogen coffins. Another deck above those were 
sperm and egg banks, frozen genetic legacies from another five million donors who would never know 
their offspring. 

He had entered at an air lock near those engines. Seven levels above, and for seven levels above that, 
five thousand men, women, and children slept in liquid nitrogen coffins. Another deck above those were 
sperm and egg banks, frozen genetic legacies from another five million donors who would never know 
their offspring. 

He had to see them. 

A core-shaft elevator ran the length of the ship from bow to stern. He found it and ascended. When the 
doors opened, he nearly didnt get off. He hesitated, considered closing them again, then stepped 
forward. 

Hed never seen the inside of a beehive, but he knew it was something like this. The central chamber was 
vast, overwhelming, deep. It curved around the core-shaft, blurring into gloom, reappearing again, 
Armor-glass coffins lined the walls, side by side and stacked one on top of the other. Through the misty 
shimmering ice that clung to the containers, he could make out pale outlines of naked bodies, their arms 
outstretched as if crucified. 

A chill shivered down Dawes spine, and he found himself gasping. He hurried, stumbling, back to the 
elevator. Hed never considered himself a coward; hell, here he was, a blind man fighting to defend these 
people. Yet, what they were attempting was so far beyond his definition of courage that it left him 
beggared. No, hed never understand these people. They were as alien to him as the Kaxfen, and 
standing in their presence, he felt an unfillable emptiness. 

He stepped back into the elevator and ascended to the command deck. Nothing there but empty chairs 
at empty stations, and computers, their lights winking in the yellowish gloom. He spoke to Archangel 
through his corn-link. How much extra time did we add by rerouting the Via Do-lorosa? 

Their journey would take an additional twelve years. Total time to their new paradiseone hundred 
thirty-three years. Through fold-space he could get them there in the twinkling of an eye. 

And blind them in the process. 

He checked each of the stations on the command deck, then all of the computers, assuring himself 
everything was operational. Then stepping back into the elevator, he descended, intent on making his 
way back to his ship and heading for home. 

When the elevator doors opened once more, he stepped out. Then he paused. The fluorescent lighting 
panels, dim as they werewhy were they on at all? Hed been too creeped out to notice before. But 
with everyone asleep, the Via Dolorosa should have been tomb-dark. 

Pistol in hand, Dawes softened his tread and headed for the air lock. Maybe his presence had activated 
the lights. Maybe the Kaxfen had done so. Hookahs many feet dug into the fabric of his shirt as he 
hurried back the way he had come. 

From ahead, the metal barrel of a pistol glinted. Barely in time, Dawes flung himself aside. An energy 
beam whined past his head. Deep in his brain, he felt a shock of pain, and the lights went out. Stretched 
on the floor, he fired his own weapon wildly. 


He didnt see the beam. 

He didnt see the beam. 

Archangel! he shouted into his corn-link. Archangel had control of the cryo-ships computers. Maybe 
his foe couldnt see in darkness any better than he could. Turn off the lights! On every deck! Through 
his fear, he tried to think. The Kaxfen ship had left one of their crew aboard. With no other way to get 
home, the alien had made its way to where the Archangel was docked. In a more controlled voice, he 
whispered into his corn-link. Withdraw the umbilical and move away to a distance of one mile. 

A moment later, he felt a vibration through the deck as the Archangel withdrew its docking clamps. 

He was alone with the alien then, but his thoughts turned to Hookah. He groped on the deck, aware of 
his vulnerable position, but unwilling to retreat without his pet. At last, he found the furry body; it didnt 
stir when he poked it, nor move when he picked it up. Tears stung his blind eyes. Angry tears, he told 
himself. 

He fired a shot up the corridor, then rolled to the opposite wall. The alien returned fire, aiming for his old 
position. Even without sight, the whine of the pistol told Dawes what hed hoped for. He spoke into his 
corn-link again. Archangel, seal the interior air-lock door! 

The soft, sliding scrape of metal within a metal track made him smile. He sat up in his private darkness 
and hugged Hookah against his body. His exploring fingers found scorched fur. The little creature wasnt 
moving, hanging limply from his hand. 

His anger grew. He hadnt gotten a look at all at the Kaxfen. His first contact with an alien species, and it 
was trapped beyond an air-lock door not a hundred feet away. His curiosity should have been eating him 
upbut it was anger that consumed him. He raised the corn-link once again. 

Archangel. His voice was hard, cold as space. Open the outer air-lock door. 

He waited. And waited. He slipped Hookahs body inside his shirt, feeling its fur against his skin, hoping 
for some sense of life from it as he waited. 

At last, there was no point in waiting any longer. Rising, he steadied himself with one hand on the wall as 
he moved toward the air lock. He summoned Archangel, and felt the impact of its docking clamps, the 
vibration of the umbilical bridge attaching itself. He tried to remember the layout of the air locks interior; 
hed have to make his way across it. He waited again while Archangel repressurized the chamber. Then, 
he opened the door and cautiously began his way across. 

Something struck his wrist and he dropped his pistol. Thickly gloved hands seized him. He felt himself 
lifted and tossed through the air to strike the deck clumsily, painfully. 

The pressure suits! The alien had taken refuge in one and saved himself. 

He felt those thick hands on him again, felt himself lifted to his feet. But this time he reacted, catching one 
of those hands, twisting hard as he swept with one foot at the suits ankles. The alien fell, metal helmet 
slamming on the deck. 

Dropping to his knees, Dawes groped desperately for his pistol. He spied it suddenly, just inches beyond 
his fingers. Snatching it up, he fired as the Kaxfen, on its feet again, lurched toward him. 

He burned a precise hole through the center of its chest and watched as it staggered and collapsed. 


Chilson Dawes sat back panting. Then, with a surge of joy he realized hed seen! Hed seen the pistol, 
seen the Kaxfen die! He felt for Hookah. His shirt had been ripped open; the little mind-worms head 
poked out curiously. 

Chilson Dawes sat back panting. Then, with a surge of joy he realized hed seen! Hed seen the pistol, 
seen the Kaxfen die! He felt for Hookah. His shirt had been ripped open; the little mind-worms head 
poked out curiously. 

Archangel, he said into his corn-link, were going home. 

As he climbed to his feet, he paused over the fallen Kaxfen. He couldnt leave without a look under that 
helmet. Odds were very good hed started a war. He had to know the face of his foe. 

With Hookahs eyes to guide him, he bent and removed the helmet. For a long time, he stood there 
looking. He knew why it hadnt fired its laser pistol; the gloved fingers wouldnt fit inside the trigger 
guard. Disappointment mingled with relief as he turned away and crossed the umbilical to the Archangel. 

It wasnt alien at all, he explained to Colonel Straf when he was home again on Mars. The Kaxfen 
were a hoax perpetrated by pirates to keep the Guard away from their strongholds. He shook his head, 
still filled with a cer-tain disappointment. An alien species! Surely somewhere among the stars But 
where? 

He was glad he hadnt started a war. 

Straf poured two more cups of coffee and set one in front of Dawes. For my parents and myself, I 
thank you, Chil. Given everything, its a miracle you saved those people. 

Chilson Dawes groped for his cup with one hand. With the other he stroked Hookah, who was curled 
purring on his lap. He had an amusing view of the underside of Strafs desk, numerous secret wads of 
chewing gum, and his own crossed legs. 

I never believed in miracles, he said after a thoughtful silence, but the blind were made to see. 

WIPING OUT 

by Robert J. Sawyer 

Robert J. Sawyers novels The Terminal Experiment, Starplex, Frameshift, and Factoring 
Humanity were all finalists for the Hugo Award, and The Terminal Experiment won the Nebula 
Award for Best Novel of the Year. His latest novel is Calculating God. He lives near Toronto; visit his 
Web site at www.sfwriter.com. 

They say flashbacks are normal. Five hundred years ago, soldiers whod come home from Vietnam 
experienced them for the rest of their lives. Gulf War vets, Colombian War vets, Utopia Planitia 
vetsthey all relived their battle experiences, over and over again. 

And now I was reliving mine, too. 

But this would be different, thank God. Oh, I would indeed relive it all, in precise detail, but it would only 
happen just this once. 

And for that, I was grateful. 

In war, youre always taught to hate the enemyand we had been at war my whole life. As a boy, Id 


played with action figures. My favorite was Rod Roderick, Trisystems Interstellar Guard. He was the 
perfect twenty-fifth-century male specimen: tall, muscular, with coffee-colored skin; brown, 
almond-shaped eyes; and straight brown hair cropped short. Now that I was a Star Guard myself, I 
dont think I looked quite so dashing, but I was still proud to wear the teal-and-black uniform. 

played with action figures. My favorite was Rod Roderick, Trisystems Interstellar Guard. He was the 
perfect twenty-fifth-century male specimen: tall, muscular, with coffee-colored skin; brown, 
almond-shaped eyes; and straight brown hair cropped short. Now that I was a Star Guard myself, I 
dont think I looked quite so dashing, but I was still proud to wear the teal-and-black uniform. 

But, regardless of the appropriate pronoun, I hated that toy Altairianjust as I hated every member of 
its evil species. 

The Altairian action figure could explode, its six limbs and forked tail flying out of its body (little sensors 
in the toy making sure they never headed toward my eyes, of course). My Rod Roderick action figure 
frequently blew up the Altairian, aiming his blaster right at the center of the things torso, at that hideous 
concavity where its heart should have been, and opening fire. 

And now I was going to open fire on real Altairians. Not with a blaster sidearmthere was no 
one-on-one combat in a real interstellar warbut with something far more devastating. 

I still had my Rod Roderick action figure; it sat on the dresser in my cabin here, aboard the Pteranodon. 
But the Altairian figure was long gonewhen I was fifteen, Id decided to really blow it up, with 
explosives Id concocted with a chemistry set. Id watched in giddy wonder as it burst into a thousand 
plastic shards. 

The Pteranodon was one of a trio of Star Guard vessels now approaching Altair III: the others were the 
Quetzal-coatlus and the Rhamphorhynchus. Each had a bridge shaped like an arrowhead, with the 
captainme in the Pteranodon?, caseat the center of the wide base, and two rows of consoles 
converging at a point in front. But, of course, you couldnt see the walls; the consoles floated freely in an 
all-encompassing exterior hologram. 

Were about to cross the orbit of their innermost moon, said Kalsi, my navigator. The Allies should 
detect us soon. 

I steepled my fingers in front of my face and stared at the planet, which was showing a gibbous phase. 
The harsh white light from its sun reflected off the wide oceans. The planet was more like Earth than any 
Id ever seen; even Tau Ceti IV looks less similar. Of course, TC4 had had no intelligent life when we 
got to it; only dumb brutes. But Altair III did indeed have intelligent life forms: it was perhaps unfortunate 
that first contact, light-years from here, had gone so badly, all those decades ago. We never knew who 
had fired firstour survey ship, the Harmony, or their vessel, whatever it had been named. But, 
regardless, both ships were wrecked in the encounter, both crews killed, bloated bodies tumbling against 
the nighthuman ones and Altairians, too. When the rescue ships arrived, those emerald-dark corpses 
were our first glimpse of the toothy face of the enemy. 

When we encountered Altairians again, they said wed started it. And. of course, we said theyd started 
it. Attempts had been made by both sides to halt the conflict, but it had continued to escalate. And 
now 

Now, victory was at hand. That was the only thing I could think about today. 

The captains of the Rhamphorhynchus and Quetzal-coatlus were both good soldiers, too, but only one 
of our names would be immortalized by historythe one of us who actually got through the defenses 


surrounding the Al-tairian home world, and 

surrounding the Al-tairian home world, and 

Incoming ships, said Kalsi. Threeno, four Nidichar-class attack cruisers. 

I didnt have to look where Kalsi was pointing; the holographic sphere instantly changed orientation, the 
ships appearing directly in front of me. Force screens to maximum, I said. 

Done, said Nguyen, my tactical officer. 

In addition to my six bridge officers, I could see two other faces: small holograms floating in front of me. 
One was Heidi Davinski, captain of the Quetzalcoatlus; the other, Peter Chin, captain of the 
Rhamphorhynchus. Ill take the nearest ship, Heidi said. 

Peter looked like he was going to object; his ship was closer to the nearest Nidichar than Heidis was. 
But then he seemed to realize the same thing I did: there would be plenty to go around. Heidi had lost her 
husband Craig in an Altairian attack on Epsilon Indi II; she was itching for a kill. 

The Quetzalcoatlus surged ahead. All three of our ships had the same design: a lens-shaped central hull 
with three spherical engine pods spaced evenly around the perimeter. But the holoprojector colorized the 
visual display for each one to make it easy for us to tell them apart: Heidis ship appeared bright red. 

The Q is powering up its TPC, said Nguyen. I smiled, remembering the day I blew up my Altairian toy. 
Normally, a tachyon-pulse cannon was only used during hyperspace battles; it would be overkill in orbital 
maneuvering. Our Heidi really wanted to make her point. 

Seconds later, a black circle appeared directly in front of me: the explosion of the first Nidichar had 
been so bright, the scanners had censored the information rather than blind my crew. 

Like Peter Chin, I had been content to let Heidi have the first kill; that was no big deal. But it was time 
the Pter-anodon got in the game. 

Ill take the ship at 124 by 17, I said to the other two captains. Peter, why dont 

Suddenly my ship rocked. I pitched forward in my chair, but the restraining straps held me in place. 

Direct hit amidshipsminimal damage, said Cham-plain, my ship-status officer, turning to face me. 
Apparently they can now shield their torpedoes against our sensors. 

Peter Chin aboard the Rhamphorhynchus smiled. I guess were not the only ones with some new 
technology. 

I ignored him and spoke to Nguyen. Make them pay for it. 

The closer ship was presumably the one that had fired the torpedo. Nguyen let loose a blast from our 
main laser; it took a tenth of a second to reach the alien ship, but when it did, that ship cracked in two 
under the onslaught, a cloud of expelled atmosphere spilling out into space. A lucky shot; it shouldnt 
have been that easy. Still: Two down, I said, two to go. 

Afraid not, Ambrose, said the Heidi hologram. Weve picked up a flotilla of additional Altairian 
singleships leaving the outer moon and heading this way. Were reading a hundred and twelve distinct 
sublight-thruster signatures. 


I nodded at my colleagues. Lets teach them what it means to mess with the Trisystems Interstellar 
Guard. 

I nodded at my colleagues. Lets teach them what it means to mess with the Trisystems Interstellar 
Guard. 

They were wrong. 

I didnt want to use our tachyon-pulse cannon; it depleted the hyperdrive and I wanted to keep that in full 
reserve for later. Shove some photons down their throats, I said. 

Nguyen nodded, and our lasersthoughtfully animated in the holo display so we could see 
themlanced out toward first one and then the other Altairian cruiser. 

They responded in kind. Our force screens shimmered with auroral colors as they deflected the 
onslaught. 

We jousted back and forth for several seconds, then my ship rocked again. Another stealth torpedo had 
made its way past our sensors. 

That one did some damage, said Champlain. Emergency bulkheads are in place on decks seven and 
eight. Casualty reports are coming in. 

The Altairians werent the only ones with a few tricks at their disposal. Vent our reserve air tanks, I 
said. Itll form a fog around us, and 

And well see the disturbance created by an incoming torpedo, said Nguyen. Brilliant. 

Thats why they pay me the colossal credits, I said. Meanwhile, aim for the struts joining the parts of 
their ships together; lets see if we can perform some amputations. 

More animated laserfire crisscrossed the holobubble. Ours was colored blue; the aliens, an 
appropriately sickly green. 

Weve got the casualty reports from that last torpedo hit, said Champlain. Eleven dead; twenty-two 
injured. 

I couldnt take the time to ask who had diedbut Id be damned if any more of my crew were going to 
be lost during this battle. 

The computer had numbered the two remaining Nidichars with big sans-serif digits. Concentrate all our 
fire on number two, I said. The crisscrossing lasers, shooting from the eleven beam emitters deployed 
around the rim of our hull, converged on the same spot on the same ship, severing one of the three 
connecting struts. As soon as it was cut, the beams converged on another strut, slicing through it, as well. 
One of the cylindrical modules fell away from the rest of the ship. Given the plasma streamers trailing 
from the stumps of the connecting struts, it must have been an engine pod. Continue the surgery, I said 


to Nguyen. The beams settled on a third strut. 

to Nguyen. The beams settled on a third strut. 

Heidi, aboard the Quetzalcoatlus, was trying to draw the swarms fire, but with little success. And if she 
fired into the cloud of ships, either her beams or debris from her kills might strike the Rhamphorhynchus. 

I swung to look at the hologram of Peters head. Do you need help? I asked. 

No, Im okay. Well just 

The fireball must have roared through his bridge from stern to bow; the holocamera stayed on-line long 
enough to show me the wall of flame behind Pete, then the flesh burning off his skull, and then 

And then nothing; just an ovoid of static where Peter Chins head had been. After a few seconds, even 
that disappeared. 

I turned to the holo of Heidi, and I recognized her expression: it was the same one I myself was now 
forcing onto my face. She knew, as I did, that the eyes of her bridge crew were on her. She couldnt 
show revulsion. She especially couldnt show fearnot while we were still in battle. Instead, she was 
displaying steel-eyed determination. Lets get them, she said quietly. 

I nodded, and 

And then my ship reeled again. Wed all been too distracted by what had happened to the 
Rhamphorhynchus to notice the wake moving through the cloud of expelled gas around our ship. 
Another stealth torpedo had exploded against our hull. 

Casualty reports coming in began Champlain. 

Belay that, I said. The young man looked startled, but there was nothing I could do about the dead and 
injured now. Whats the status of our cargo? 

Champlain recovered his wits; he understood the priorities, too. Green lights across the board, he said. 

I nodded, and the computer issued an affirming ding so that those crew members who were no longer 
looking at me would know Id acknowledged the report. Leave the Nidichars; lets get rid of those 
singleships before they take out the Quetzalcoatlus. 

The starfield wheeled around us as the Pteranodon changed direction. 

Fire at will, I said. 

Our lasers lanced forward, taking out dozens of the single-ships. The Quetzalcoatlus was eliminating its 
share of them, too. The two remaining Nidichars were now barreling toward us. Kalsi used the ACS 
thrusters to spin us like a top, lasers shooting off in all directions. 

Suddenly, a black circle appeared in front of my eyes again: there had been an explosion on the 
Quetzalcoatlus. A stealth torpedo had connected directly with one of the Qs three engine spheres, and, 
as I saw once the censor disengaged, the explosion had utterly destroyed the sphere and taken a big, 
ragged chunk out of the lens-shaped main hull. 


Wed cut the singleship swarm in half by now, according to the status displays. Heidi powered up her 
tachyon-pulse cannon again; it was risky, with her down to just two engines, but we needed to level the 
playing field. The discharge from her TCP destroyed one of the two remaining Nidichars: there was now 
only one big Altairian ship to deal with, and forty-seven single-occupant craft. 

Wed cut the singleship swarm in half by now, according to the status displays. Heidi powered up her 
tachyon-pulse cannon again; it was risky, with her down to just two engines, but we needed to level the 
playing field. The discharge from her TCP destroyed one of the two remaining Nidichars: there was now 
only one big Altairian ship to deal with, and forty-seven single-occupant craft. 

And the Pteranodon rocked again. A structural member dropped from the ceiling, appearing as if by 
magic as it passed through the holobubble; it crashed to the deck next to my chair. 

Evasive maneuvers! I shouted. 
Not possible, Captain, said Kalsi. That came from the planets surface; its rotation must have finally 
given a ground-based disrupter bank a line of sight at us. 


Cargo status? 
Still green, according to the board, said Champlain. 
Send someone down there, I said. I want an eyeball inspection. 
Heidi had already moved the Quetzalcoatlus so that the remaining singleships were between her and the 


planet; the ground-based cannon couldnt get her without going through its own people. 
The remaining Nidichar fired at us again, but 
Way to go, Nguyen! 


A good, clean blast severed the habitat module from the two enginesa lucky guess about which was 
which had paid off. The habitat went pinwheeling away into the night, atmosphere puffing out of the 
connecting struts. 

We swung around again, carving into the remaining singleships. Heidi was doing the same; there were 
only fifteen of them left. 

Incom shouted Kalsi, but he didnt get the whole word out before the disrupter beam from the 
planets surface shook us again. An empty gray square appeared in the holobubble to my right; the 
cameras along the starboard side of the ship had been destroyed. 

We wont survive another blast from the planets surface, Champlain said. 

It must take them a while to recharge that cannon, or theyd have blown both of us out of the sky by 
now, Heidis hologram said. Its probably a meteor deflector, never intended for battle. 

While we talked, Nguyen took out four more singleships, and the Quetzalcoatlus blasted another five 
into oblivion. 

If it werent for that ground-based cannon I said. 

Heidi nodded once, decisively. We all know what we came here to doand thats more important than 
any of us. The holographic head swiveled; she was talking to her own bridge crew now. Mr. 
Rabinovitch, take us down. 


If there was a protest, I never heard it. But I doubt there was. I didnt know Rabinovitchbut he was a 
Star Guard, too. 

If there was a protest, I never heard it. But I doubt there was. I didnt know Rabinovitchbut he was a 
Star Guard, too. 

The Quetzalcoatlus dived toward Altair III, its sublight thrusters going full blast. Its force screens had no 
trouble getting it through the atmosphere, and apparently the ground-based cannon wasnt yet recharged: 
her ship crashed right into the facility housing it on the southern continent. We could see the shock wave 
moving across the planets surface, a ridge of compressed air expanding outward from where the 
Quetzalcoatlus had hit. 

Nguyen made short work of the remaining singleships, their explosions a series of pinpoint novas against 
the night. 

And Altair III spun below us, defenseless. 

Humanity had just barely survived five hundred years living with the nuclear bomb. It had been used 
eleven times on Earth and Mars, and over one hundred million had died but the human race had gone 
on. 

But our special cargo, the Annihilator, was moremuch more. It was a planet killer, a destroyer of 
whole worlds. Wed said when Garo Alexanian invented the technology that wed never, ever use it. 

But, of course, we were going to. We were going to use it right now. 

It could have gone either way. Humans certainly werent more clever than Altairians; the technology 
wed recovered from wrecked ships proved that. But sometimes you get a lucky break. 

Our scientists were always working to develop new weapons; there was no reason to think that Altairian 
scientists werent doing the same thing. Atomic nuclei are held together by the strong nuclear force; 
without it, the positively charged protons would repel each other, preventing atoms from forming. The 
Annihilator translates the strong nuclear force into electromagnetism for a fraction of a second, causing 
atoms to instantly fling apart. 

It was a brilliant invention from a species that really wasnt all that good at inventing. With the countless 
isolated communities that had existed in Earths past, youd expect the same fundamental inventions to 
have been made repeatedlybut they werent. Things we now consider intuitively obvious were invented 
only once: the water wheel, gears, the magnetic compass, the windmill, the printing press, and the camera 
obscura arose only a single time in all of human history; it was only trade that brought them to the rest of 
humanity. Even that seemingly most obvious of inventions, the wheel, was created just twice: first, in 
Mesopotamia, six thousand years ago, then again, much later, in Mexico. Out of the hundred billion 
human beings who have existed since the dawn of time, precisely two came up with the idea of the wheel. 
All the rest of us simply copied it from them. 

So it was probably a fluke that Alexanian conceived of the Annihilator. If it hadnt occurred to him, it 
might never have occurred to anyone else in the Trisystems; certainly, it wouldnt have occurred to 
anybody any time soon. Five hundred years ago, they used to say that string theory was 
twenty-first-century science accidentally discovered in the twentieth century; the Annihilator was perhaps 
thirtieth-century science that wed been lucky enough to stumble upon in the twenty-fifth. 

And that luck could have just as easily befallen an Al-tairian physicist instead of a human one. In which 
case, it would be Earth and Tau Ceti IV and Epsilon Indi II that would have been about to feel its effects, 


instead of Altair III. 

instead of Altair III. 

But one was all it would take. 

Of course, wed have to engage our hyperdrive as soon as the annihilation field connected with Altair III. 
The explosion would be unbelievably powerful, releasing more joules than anyone could even countbut 
none of it would be superluminal. We would be able to outrun it, and, by the time the expanding shell 
reached Earth, sixteen years from now, planetary shielding would be in place. 

The kill would go to the Pteranodon; the name history would remember would be mine. 

They teach you to hate the enemythey teach you that from childhood. 

But when the enemy is gone, you finally have time to reflect. 

And I did a lot of that. We all did. 

About three-quarters of Altair III was utterly destroyed by the annihilation field, and the rest of it, a 
misshapen chunk with its glowing iron core exposed, broke up rapidly. 

The war was over. 

But we were not at peace. 

* * * 

The sphere was an unusual sort of war memorial. It wasnt in Washington or Hiroshima or Dachau or 
Bogota, sites of Earths great monuments to the horrors of armed conflict. It wasnt at Elysium on Mars, 
or New Vancouver on Epsilon Indi II, or Pax City on Tau Ceti IV. Indeed it had no permanent home, 
and, once it faded from view, a short time from now, no human would ever see it again. 

A waste of money? Not at all. We had to do something people understood that. We had to 
commemorate, somehow, the race that wed obliterated and the planet wed destroyed, the fragment left 
of it turning into rubble, a spreading arc now, a full asteroid belt later, girdling Altair. 

The memorial had been designed by Anwar Kanawatty, one of the greatest artists in the Trisystems: a 
sphere five meters across, made of transparent diamond. Representations of the continents and islands of 
the planet that had been Altair III (a world farther out from that star now had that designation) were 
laser-etched into the diamond surface, making it frostily opaque in those places. But at the gaps 
betweenrepresenting the four large oceans of that planet, and the thousands of lakesthe diamond 
was absolutely clear, and the rest of the sculpture was visible within. Floating in the center of the sphere 
were perfect renderings of three proud Altairian faces, one for each gender, a reminder of the race that 
had existed once but did no more. 

Moments ago, the sphere had been launched into space, propelled for the start of its journey by invisible 
force beams. It was heading in the general direction of the Andromeda galaxy, never to be seen again. 
Kanawattys plans had already been destroyed; not even a photograph or holoscan of the sphere was 
retained. Humans would never again look upon the memorial, but still, for billions of years, far out in 
space, it would exist. 


No markings were put on it to indicate where it had come from, and, for the only time in his life, 
Kanawatty had not signed one of his works; if by some chance it was ever recovered, nothing could 
possibly connect it with humanity. But, of course, it probably would never be found by humans or anyone 
else. Rather, it would drift silently through the darkness, remembering for those who had to forget. 

No markings were put on it to indicate where it had come from, and, for the only time in his life, 
Kanawatty had not signed one of his works; if by some chance it was ever recovered, nothing could 
possibly connect it with humanity. But, of course, it probably would never be found by humans or anyone 
else. Rather, it would drift silently through the darkness, remembering for those who had to forget. 

Memory revision will let us put the Annihilator genie back in the bottle. And, unlike so many soldiers of 
the past, unlike all those who had slaughtered in the name of king and country before me, I will never 
again have a flashback. 

What if we need the Annihilator again? 

What if we find ourselves in conflict with another race, as we had with the people of Altair? Isnt it a 
mistake to wipe out knowledge of such a powerful weapon? 

I look at the war memorial one last time, as it drifts farther and farther out into space, a crystal ball 
against the velvet firmament. Its funny, of course: theres no air in space, and so it should appear 
rock-steady in my field of view. But its blurring. 

I blink my eyes. 

And I have my answer. 

The answer is no. It is not a mistake. 

SHIRT WEAPON 

by Paul Levinson 

Paul Levinson, Ph.D., is the author of The Silk Code, which won the Locus Award for Best First Novel 
of 1999, and non-fiction books Mind at Large, The Soft Edge, and Digital McLuhan, as well as more 
than 150 articles on the philosophy of technology. His science fiction has appeared in Analog, Amazing, 
and the anthology Xanadu III. He is Professor of Communication and Media Studies at Fordham 
University. 

The driving sleet lashed Treenas face like a whip. She showed no sign of it as she surveyed what was 
left of the planet we were about to abandon. 

Time for the weapon, I said through the cold. I beckoned her to take the seat beside me in the hopper. 

No. She shook her head slowly, eyes still fixed on the terrain. We cant risk it. 

Lets continue this conversation upship, I said, and motioned her again to join me. 

She took one last look at the sleet on Eridani II. Its not even snow, she said. Snow would have at 
least had the decency to cover the dead. 

The thirty-six-hour trip back to Mu Cassiopeaie was no joy. Our latest stardrive made a light-year an 
hour. But it was still too long when your only companion didnt feel like talking. 

The scenario you outlined is still valid, I tried again over breakfast on the last day of our voyage. And 
were running out of other options. 


I know that! She smashed her fist on the table. Two cups of tea, one mug of juice, and one glass of 
water from the fourth planet of Chi Ceti all shimmered precariously. I know that, she said a bit more 
calmly. What about the cc-20s? 

I know that! She smashed her fist on the table. Two cups of tea, one mug of juice, and one glass of 
water from the fourth planet of Chi Ceti all shimmered precariously. I know that, she said a bit more 
calmly. What about the cc-20s? 

She frowned. She was pretty in a blonde sort of way, but that meant nothing to me. Its not only a 
question of winning the war, she said slowly. Its a question of what kind of universe well have after 
that. Weve respected the ban for so longboth sides. To break it now could be worse than losing. 

Losing means death, I replied. Like those bodies on Eridani II. More than that. The death of our 
culture. Our way of life. What could be worse than that? 

She looked at me with her deep brown eyes. Dont you see that breaking the ban would also kill our 
culture? Its the one thing that keeps usand themhuman. She shuddered. No. Were not at that 
point yet. Inspect the troops after we dock, and give me a full report tomorrow morning. 

As you wish, General. 

I had to admit that the troops looked sharp in the G5V sunlight of Mu Cassiopeaie. They gleamed 
brightly as they marched in formation on the fourth planet of this yellow sun, not only bigger but richer 
than Sol in its light. But appearances werent everything. 

Colonel Boden briefed me on their readiness. So you see, Adjutant, that theyre superior to the enemy 
on every count. 

Im afraid I cant share your optimism. 

Bodens beefy face creased in surprise. But the numbers are on our side. Surely 

Numbers arent everything, I interrupted. Besides, weve got to look at the entire picture on this. 
Sometimes winning a battle can lose you the war. 

At this point, losing any major battle could lose us the war, Boden countered. 

Not if losing the battle got us to change our tactics, I replied. 

So youre suggesting, what? Boden asked, struggling in vain to fathom what I was getting at. 

That I could use a second opinion on your troop assessment, I said, and leveled the new brain 
scrambler that Id acquired on Eridani II at the earnest colonel. 

Medic! I shouted. Sudden cessation of brain function still happened from time to timemuch like the 
cerebral hemorrhages of the ancientsespecially to officers who labored under the colonels burden. 
Hed be irrevocably dead before any medical attention arrived. 

Tsung-Yung, Bodens replacement, was supposed to be more cautious than the late colonel. I certainly 
hoped the reports on her were right. 

I told her, I agree with you and the colonel that our force here is more than equal to the enemy. The 
cardinal rule in convincing opponents was to first show them how well you understood their position. 
But thats precisely why I think we need to be careful, and not risk everything on this one battle. 

Tsung-Yung considered. Rain clouds caused the triple moonlight to flutter on her face as we walked 


along the shore in the cool evening. It made her look even more anxious than she was. I need more time 
to think about this, she said. 

along the shore in the cool evening. It made her look even more anxious than she was. I need more time 
to think about this, she said. 

Its all happening too quickly, she protested. I never expected Colonel Boden to die like thiswere 
assessment officers, not battle leaders. Why didnt he record his assessment? 

We dont make records of such assessments. You know why. Too many eyes and ears of the enemy 
among us. 

Treena reluctantly embraced Tsung-Yungs recommendation and sent out only three quarters of the force 
from Mu Cassiopeaie. Im not happy about sending out a weakened force, she said to me, but I guess 
its always good to leave a little in reserve. 

Im not happy about sending any force in these circumstances, I responded. We need to think in 
radically different directions. 

Treena waved me off. Weve been through that already. Forget it. 

No chance of that. In fact, all was going according to planeven if the plan was last-minute and 
desperate. 

But I didnt foresee the next step at all. I want you at the battle sceneI dont trust anyone else, 
Treena said. Ive got a zip-ship ready to take you. Youll join the main force at our staging area around 
Iota Persei in sixteen hours. 

Iota Persei? Another surprisewe had decided to change the staging area because word might have 
leaked out to the enemy 

Yes, Treena replied. Undoing a change meant to con-fuse the enemy can sometimes be the best 
confusion. Can you leave right now? 

Of course. What choice did I have? 

Iota Persei was a strange star systemactually, not a star system at all, because it had no planets. But it 
looked and was much like Sol, which raised questions. Why no planets? Why was bright Persei without 
family? Could its planets have been destroyed in some earlier war between foolish intelligences? 

The lack of planets, at least, made the star ideal as a military staging areano earthly distractions. 

I joined I. M. Max on the bridge of the command ship. An impressive force, he said, and gestured to 
the gleaming multitude in space. Persei has a million children now. 

Impressive indeed, Commander, I agreed. The war ships shone whiter than stars on the wide view 
screen. My compliments. 

Yes, but impressive for what? Most of those vessels will be worthless rubble after the battle, Max said. 

The price of war, I replied. 

Max scoffed. He pointed again to the view screen. We have our armadas of light, the enemy has theirs. 
We move them around like pieces in a chess game. Whats the point? Why not just play a game of chess 
itself and be done with it? 


I said nothing. A philosopher in a uniform was a dangerous combination. 
Chess pieces, Max continued. Pawns and knights and rooks. We move them from here to there. They 


move theirs. We knock some down. Vice versa. We both put some more on the board, and knock them 
down again. 
Civilians get destroyed too, I said. Youve seen the pictures from Eridani II. Youve seen the bodies. 


Believe me, they were worse in person. 
The commander swore. I was too far away, if only 
No, I interrupted. You couldnt have made much of a difference, even if youd been right there on the 


damn planet. The enemy was too strong. 
Will they be too strong for us tomorrow? 
I dont know, I replied. The General thinks not. But maybe the time has come to think about other 


means. The Commander of the Combined Fleets whirled around from the screen and stared at me. 
You mean the weapon the Generals doomsday plan? 
Yes. 


Max shook his head. She no longer believes in it. 
She might again, given the right inducements. Max shook his head even more. Im not sure I would 
want to risk it either. We could well get outsmarted by our own weapon. 


I fingered the brain scrambler, tucked inside my inner pocket. No, two brain cessations in such close 


proximity would never pass as coincidence. Id have to play this out the hard way. 
The battlethe meeting of the flying pawns, as Max liked to call itwas supposed to take place literally 
in the middle of nowhere, twenty-three light-years out from Iota Persei, with nothing else closer than 
twenty-eight light-years away. 


The enemy, seen to be approaching from even farther away, suddenly disappeared as we were four 
hoursfour light-yearsfrom our expected intersection. 


How could that be? I stared at the screen in disbelief. 
Max scowled. Any one of several reasons. My guess is that they have some form of travel blindingly 
faster than ours. Once the speed of light is surpassed, any speed is in principle possiblethere are no 
real barriers beyond 186,000 miles per second. 


Why havent we developed something like that? 


Max shrugged. Technological progress is uneven. We develop one thing, they develop something else. 
In the end, it usually balances out. Assuming that both sides survive long enough. 
I looked out at the emptiness on the view screen. For the first time, I felt a mixture of something akin to 


fear and regret. Maybe I was wrong to try to sabotage this battle on behalf of a larger good 


Max was glaring at me. No, maybe just looking. I know what youre thinking, he said. Dont even 
bother to say it. That smart weapon youre thinking of isnt a step forward. Its a big step backward. 
I wasnt really thinking about that now, I said, truthfully. I was thinking: so what do we do now to get 



out of here? 

out of here? 

They were waiting for us back near Iota Persei. Max had apparently been right: theyd doubled back 
behind us at a speed so fast our instruments had missed them. The only good thing about the enemy 
formation that now lay straight ahead of us was that it seemed smaller than we had expected. 

Probably means theyre holding back a few waves to attack us from behind once the battle is underway. 
Check, but not yet checkmate, Max said, then shrugged. I was beginning to see this was one of his 
favorite gestures. We have no choice but to engage them now. We dont have enough energy to go 
hurtling back out into deep space. And we cant chance the enemy attacking us as we refuel. 

At this distance, the. enemy ships looked no different from ours. I wondered what we and they might 
look like to a primitive, solar-bound intelligence staring out at us from its first off-planet telescopes far 
away. Two swarms of light inevitably converging, some splendid form of stellar reproductionthe 
aftermath of cosmic loveexcept the aftermath of our engagement would be lots of death. 

We began to see differences in the enemy vessels as we got closer. Look at that, and that. Max 
pointed to two close-ups from different angles on the big screen. The focus zoomed in. Those changes 
in design are consistent with what we might expect of ships that could move twice as fast as ours. 

How come our scouts missed that? I asked. 

Max shrugged again. Camouflaging a new design in the shell of an old design is an ancient strategy. This 
is apparently the first time the enemy has tried this. 

Could they use that speed to come at us at closer quarters? Show up right in front of us out of 
nowhere? 

Lets hope not, Max said. My guess is if they could have, they already would have. Most long-range 
transport is awkward and even unworkable at short range. 

Max was right again. 

Still, the battle once joined was close and increasingly desperate. Not in the sense that Id seen those 
civilians slaughtered on Eridani II. This was somehow more abstract, more universal, and maybe even 
more frightening. Huge storms of light winking in and out of existence. A bizarre ballet in which the 
dancing diamonds grew fewer and fewer, vessels evaporating like teardrops under laserswere eyes 
that cannot cry, Max muttered at one juncturedirectors of a throbbing light show that seemed to point 
to the end of light itself. 

It lasted five continuous days. 

Max kept a constant watch out beyond Iota Persei for a second enemy attack from space. But none 
materialized. 

The enemy ships were apparently a little less effective in close combat than theyd been in the past. Max 
thought that their new design for speed twice as fast as ours at long distancetwo light-years an hour, 
hed calculatedsomehow slowed them down a bit at short range. Lets hope they learn that lesson too 
late. 

I thought of dispatching Max with my brain scrambler many times. Losing this battle was the only way 
that Treena would be moved to implement the smart weapon, I was sure. Yet in the heat of battlein the 


sway of those swirling strands of keen white lights on the big view screenI didnt really want to lose 
this one. Despite all of my careful planning, I just couldnt bring myself to do this to our side. To I. M. 
Max. 

sway of those swirling strands of keen white lights on the big view screenI didnt really want to lose 
this one. Despite all of my careful planning, I just couldnt bring myself to do this to our side. To I. M. 
Max. 
g 
flashlights limped back out into space. 
Our side was scarcely better off, but wed held our ground on Iota Persei. 
We didnt give them one iota, Max said. 


I grimaced at his pun, but was not unhappy. 
They were not only a little slower in close combat than wed figured, Max continued, but I think their 
number was also less than wed first projected. 


I frowned more deeply at the implication of that. So theres a bigger part of their fleetbigger than what 
we first estimatedstill out there somewhere. 
Max nodded. I doubt we can handle them, if they come at us now in our present condition. 


His comm chimed, as if on cue. 
Word from Treena, he said, a minute later. He looked tired, grave. An enemy force a third bigger than 
what you left on Mu Cassiopeaie just materialized beyond that solar system. Treenas struggling to get a 
workable strategy going, but shell be badly outnumbered. 


Not what I wanted. Treenas defeat would be the end of it for our side. If only shed consider the smart 
weapon 


Not much that we can do to help, Id assume, I said. 
The commander shook his head, grimly. Not much at all. What we have left of our force here would 
take far too long to get there. 


I looked at the variety of vessels, mostly ours, a few captured from the enemy, in various glistening angles 
and close-ups on the screen. 
Lets say at least you got there, I said. Youre the master strategist. Would that help? 
Sure, but 


Any chance we could prevail upon one of the enemy to tell us how to fly one of their faster ships? 
The enemy wasnt stupid. They had programmed their new speed drives to self-destruct the instant the 
hull had been breached enough to prevent travel. As an extra precaution against their new technology 
coming into our possession, the drives were also programmed to burn out any time the ship was 
motionless for more than five minutes, and an override wasnt manually entered to stop the self-destruct. 
This apparently was designed to prevent us from getting the speed drive in the event of any enemy 
surrender. 


Seven of the enemy ships wed captured were thus useless. 
We got lucky on the eighth. 



Look at this, one of Maxs technical aides traced a path with an index finger, indicating where one of 
our laser beams had hit an enemy mirror on the edge, and splintered into at least a dozen tight beams. 
We hit paydirt here. One of the razor-thin beams had sheared the node that held the self-destruct 
programming circuits. They had been knocked out of service well before the hull breach that had stopped 
the enemy ship. 

Look at this, one of Maxs technical aides traced a path with an index finger, indicating where one of 
our laser beams had hit an enemy mirror on the edge, and splintered into at least a dozen tight beams. 
We hit paydirt here. One of the razor-thin beams had sheared the node that held the self-destruct 
programming circuits. They had been knocked out of service well before the hull breach that had stopped 
the enemy ship. 

Well, all I can certify is that the drive that enables that speed wasnt destroyed on this one, the aide 
replied, carefully. 

Max thanked her, gave her an immediate promotion in rank, and turned to the task of finding an enemy 
pilot to talk to us. 

The first three died under questioning. Not that we tortured them. They just died as soon as we asked 
certain questions. 

Waste of time, Max replied when asked if a fourth pilot should be brought to us. They must have been 
rigged with something in the brain. 

So what now? I asked. 

I was a pilot before I was a commander, Max said. Ill figure out how to fly the damn thing myself. 

We were on our way an hour later. 

Space looked different at two lights an hourmore of a paisley pattern than at one light. 

Good thing you talked Tsung-Yung into recommending that a fourth of the force be left back at Mu 
Cassio, Max observed, otherwise the General would be stark naked before the enemy now. 

Yeah. I turned from the paisley to the commanders even more complex eyes. Could he know what Id 
done to Boden? What Id considered doing to him? My plan had been to field a weaker force, so wed 
lose at Iota Persei or wherever we fought the enemy. That was to have pushed Treena into bringing the 
smart weapon into play with her remaining force, with enough time to meet the enemy on our terms. 
Instead, wed beaten the enemy at Iota Persei. But it was a weakened enemy, because it had sent part of 
its unexpectedly superfast fleet to attack Treena at Mu Cas-siopeaiea surprise attack that likely would 
leave her with not enough time to do anything. Or precisely the opposite of what Id intended 

I dont know if well arrive in time to do any good, Max said, as if reading my thoughts. I dont know 
what I can do if we do arrive before the enemy attacks. 

We know about their new drives, I said. We know that theyre a bit clumsy at close range. I had to 
do what I could to keep Max from surrendering to that internal despair which could be more corrosive 
than an enemys laser. 

True, Max said, not very heartened. Have you heard anything more from Treena about her situation? 
Has she engaged the enemy as yet? One of our communication teams had quickly installed our 
encodeline before wed left. 

I dont know, I replied. Theres been no communication from her in the last hour. Its all a hash of 
noise now. I hope our comms arent breaking down on this ship. 

Lets just pray that Perseus can save Cassiopeia again. 


Again? 
An ancient myth, Max said. Lets hope we can make it true in the present. 
The first evidence we saw upon coming out of paisley space was bad. 
Dozens of our ships drifting numbly in the void beyond 
Mu Cassiopeaies stony twelfth planet, spent shells like glittering chrysalides moving vacantly away from 


the deathblows that had dispatched them 
All of them are ours, I barely managed to say. Where are theirs? 
I dont know, Max said, in a voice no louder than mine. 
He tried to reach Treena again on our encodeline. There was no reply. 
That looks like less than half of Treenas force out there, Max said, straining to make some sense out 


of what we saw. A strange sort of rout to have just a portion of one sides force destroyed, and none at 


all of the others. Theres something more going on here. 
You think the General may have sacrificed this part of her limited forces? I asked. I wasnt sure why 
that would have occurred to me. 


Maybe because just a day or two earlier I had been contemplating the sacrifice of a far larger part of our 
fleet, out near Iota Persei, for what seemed a justifiably greater good to me. AH of that seemed very far 
away now. 


I thought of this small part of Treenas fleet coming out here, well beyond the twelfth planet of Mu 
Cassiopeaie, to be massacred by the enemy. That would account for why all the lead vessels were ours. 


But why would she do that? I continued. 
Max shook his head, half in response to me, half in response to another view he had called up on the big 
screen. 


The space around Mu Cassiopeaies sixth planeta ringed thing, like Sols Saturncame sharply into 
focus. 
Oh, no, I said. 


The enemy fleet, huge in comparison to ours, was feasting on our vessels. 
What the hells going on? Max demanded of our ships, though none could hear him. Were not even 
putting up a fight! 


I tried to count the number of our vessels on the screen. I asked Max to change the angles of the views. 


There really arent too many of ours there, I said. Maybe a fifth to a fourth of whats out here. 
Max sighed. He shook his head in anger, confusion, frustration. So she still has almost half the force 
back in reserve to defend the fourth planet. He fiddled with the screen controls. He pounded the 
console. The alignment of planets is blocking our view. We can wait eighty-five minutes, or we can 
move in for a better look. 


Lets move. 



Max nodded. But why sacrifice so much of her force? he asked, picking up my question. Whatever 
Treena has planned, surely shed be better off with more on her side. 

Max nodded. But why sacrifice so much of her force? he asked, picking up my question. Whatever 
Treena has planned, surely shed be better off with more on her side. 

No wonder we couldnt see her before, Max said. The huge enemy fleet was swooping in toward 
Treena and our planet, in a double, undulating formation that made each of its segments look like the 
wings of a single, horrendous creature. When the planet alignment wasnt blocking our view, that 
monstrosity of a fleet was. 

One of its wings flapped, and Treenas force was again obscured. Max tried again to reach her 
encodeline, again in vain. 

The enemy wings seemed to swell and advance, now seeming to loom over the fourth planet itself. I 
thought of people eating breakfast, children laughing, couples strolling, all under that enemy shadow. It 
was an agonizing scene. 

Strange, Max said, focusing not on the view screen but the encodeline. At this range, it almost seems 
as if Treena is deliberately not answering us, not that her transmitter is engulfed in noise. 

How so? I asked, eyes still on the view screen. Like an eagle about to swallow a sparrow back on 
Earth. She doesnt have a chance, I said about the awful view. 

Well, her transmitter is indicating that its receiving our message, Max answered about the 
communication. He shook his head, and then joined me at the view screen. 

Something peculiar was beginning to occur upon it. Little pieces of the enemy fleet seemed to be burning 
uplittle tears in the cavernous wings. They were soon repaired as enemy vessels shifted subtly in 
formation, but holes seemed to be appearing faster than they were fixed. 

Do you see that? I asked Max. 

He nodded. His face looked puzzledand almost a little frightened, in a way I hadnt seen before. Lets 
go for extreme magnification, he said to me, and the view screen took it as a command. 

The tears became gaping holes on close-up, and the cause of them became clear. Treenas vessels were 
engaging the enemys, one by one, and winning every time. 

I took a quick look at Max. His mouth was open. 

It wasnt that our ships were moving much faster than the enemys. That wasnt it. 

It was rather that our ships were moving in totally unfamiliar waysdarting in and out, changing speeds 
seemingly at random, hot needles rending the wings of the massive enemy eagle in ways it apparently 
could neither predict nor fathom. 

I was frightened, too. But I think I was also smiling. 

The huge wings were more than wounded now. The enemy tried repeatedly to re-form, but there were 
too many holes, too many dead cells, to fill. The wings began to crum-ble, shrivel, like old paper under 
myriad points of firethe fire of our proud vessels. Soon all that was left of the enemy fleet around Mu 
Cassiopeaie were ashes 


Treenas image-appeared on our view screen. Max commanded it to send ours back to hers. 


She acknowledged Max, then looked right past him at me. Congratulations, she said. You got what 
you wanted. 
The three of us walked along the shore, not far from where I had walked with Tsung-Yung in what felt 


like a millennium but was less than two weeks ago. 


There were two reasons I had to sacrifice so many of our vessels, Treena said to Max and me. One, 
of course, was to lure the enemy in. 
Of course, Max agreed. But why sacrifice so many? 
There wasnt time to reprogram the robots in those ships to work with the humans piloting mine. Nor 


was there time to train my human pilots in how to work with totally robotic vessels. I had all I could do to 
get them up to speed on how to kill enemy vessels. Good thing human piloting has remained a form of 
pageantry sport on some of our worldsI called every last one of those performers in for this. Their 
training is remarkably much the same as that prescribed in the ancient war manuals. 

Good thing? Max asked, unable to mask his sarcasm. 
Treena looked at him. I like it no better than you. I resisted as long as I could. 
Max was unconvinced. Weve kept the unpredictable fury of the human soul out of direct combat for 


nearly as long as humans have traversed the stars. Its the only thing that has enabled this civilization to 


progress, to move on, despite our sick penchant for war. 
We can control it, Treena insisted. I was there. I commanded my own ship, and took out six enemy 
vessels. It was invigoratinglike nothing else Ive ever felt. But I can control it. 


She had a wild look in her eyes that made me wonder. 
Max, however, was sure. No, you cant. You wont be able to. Its too intoxicating for you. For 
thousands of years weve had the sense to keep humans away from thisthats why, for the most part, 
civilians have been spared. If human brains, human angers, become the payload of our weapons, youll 


get death for everyone. Max was shaking. No, it was wrong of you to break the ban against the smart 
weapon 
Commander, calm down Treena began. 
No, I wont, Max was shouting. Youre wrong. And he raised a gun to Treena. 
He started to say something, but I had my scrambler out and pointed at Max before he could finish. I 


couldnt take any chances. He was brain dead a split second later. 
Treena stared at me and then Max on the ground, in horror. 
Its all right, I said, with more surety in my voice than my circuitry. You did the right thing. 
As had I. 
After all, Max and I were only robotslike all military in this realm of ours until now, other than the 


Supreme General. And robots would be more expendable than ever in this new regime of the human 
weapon Treena had just brought into being. 


PROCESSION TO VSR 

PROCESSION TO VSR 

Andre Norton has written and collaborated on over one hundred novels in her sixty years as a writer, 
working with such authors as Robert Bloch, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Mercedes Lackey, and Julian 
May. Her best known creation is the Witch World, which has been the subject of several novels and 
anthologies. She has received the Nebula Grand Master Award, the Fritz Leiber Award, and the 
Daedalus Award. She lives in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, where she oversees High Hallack, a 
genre-writers library. 

The Guardian lay belly down on the sun-heated rocks, as flat as if his yellow-furred skin held no body. In 
the wide canyon below, the intruder crawled at an even pace, seemingly undeterred by the rough ground. 
There were no signs of any legs below its oval bulk, no other signs of propulsion. It might be a Fos beetle 
swollen to an unbelievable size. 

Almost directly below the Guardians perch, it halted. Sound carried easily as a portion of the nearer side 
swung up. Movement there, then first one and a second creature emerged to stand beside the crawler, 
pointing to the rock wall and uttering loud noises. 

The Guardian froze. It could not be true! For all the generations his breed had kept watch, there had 
been no such coming. Still, on the wall below were carved, painted, set so deeply that time had not 
erased, representations of figures akin to these invaders. 

One of them ran back to the beetle, returning with a box. Holding that up with forepaws, the creature 
made a slow passage before the wall from one end of the procession to the other. 

The Guardians muscles tightened as he gathered his feet under him, rumbling a growl deep in his throat. 
What did they do? Was this offering a threat to the Far Time? Might they even be trying to wipe away 
this message of the Great Ones? 

He edged backward. Now he could no longer watch them, but it was time he followed orders. These 
intruders looked so much like the pictures he had seen from cubhood. 

Following a trail worn by countless generations of his kind, he pushed between two spurs into the 
opening behind. His claws were well extended, searching for holds as he passed into darkness. 

It had been four seasons since the last inspection, but there had seldom been trouble with rockfalls. He 
dropped into a long chamber. Though the right-hand wall seemed intact, there were concealed openings 
that emitted enough light to serve a race with well-developed night sight. In turn, those offered spy holes. 

He could hear sounds, meaningless to any pattern he understood, and sensed rising excitement. Two 
strides brought him to the nearest spy hole. 

The invaders were just below him, and he studied them carefully for the report he must make. Like the 
Great Ones, they walked on their hind legs and were tailless. Their forepaws easily handled objects. But 
they were not altogether alikethe fur on the head of one was grayish while the other had a fire-red 
patch. 

He began to understand that the constant sound was their form of communication. They would notor 
could not touch mind patterns in the proper manner. But perhaps 

One could contact a spas, though the winged ones of the heights were certainly not People, and those of 
the waterways also used mind touch. Dared he try such with these? 


He centered his full attention on the one with the red fur and tried to channel. It was the only way he 
knew to understand whoor whatthey were, or from where they had come. 

He centered his full attention on the one with the red fur and tried to channel. It was the only way he 
knew to understand whoor whatthey were, or from where they had come. 

Instantly the Guardian threw up a screen. Even if he had not been able to truly contact the others, there 
was no reason to believe that they did not have power or powers like enough to his own to strike back. 

Instead he sent a warning back to the Caves, addressing the duty officer. Only seconds later he was 
locked to Yinko and giving a report. 

They are somewhat like the Great Ones in appearance. And they are studying the Procession to VAR. 

Have they sought out the Gate of Retrieval? 

Not so. They have only viewed the carvings. But could it beit might be blasphemy to send that 
thoughtsome far kin to the Great Ones have returned after these tens of tens of seasons? 

Yinko did not immediately reply, but when he mind touched again, it was an order. 

Keep watch, report if they do more than look. We shall come. 

Red Fur was on the ground leaning against a rock. His companion reentered the beetle. The Guardian 
studied that carrier as much as his angle of sight allowed. 

It was well known that the Great Ones had had servants not of their own species. Once, before they had 
left, they had chosen to instruct the People in many strange things. For a while after they had left, the 
People still controlled things of metal which could eat out new caves and make life easier in many ways. 
In time, those had died, though some were kept in memory of those days. 

The second intruder was returning with a container he placed on the ground by Red Fur. He pushed 
something into the mouth of the younger one who then drank from the container. But he still sat with his 
head supported by his hands, hunched in upon himself. 

The Guardian was bemused. It was evident that Red Furs plight had been brought about by the attempt 
at mind touch. Sothese could not be any far kin of the Great Ones. They had been masters at such 
contact. 

Thus the People had a defense without having to descend to claw and tooth. If his mild attempt had so 
brought down Red Fur, what would an all-out thrust by the Elders do? He relaxed as curiosity overcame 
wariness. What did the beetle riders want here? They had appeared greatly excited by the wall paintings, 
one of the last rock messages remaining. But it was not those faded carvings which had stationed 
Guardians here so long. 

Those only pointed the way to what the Great Ones had put in keeping for a return which had never 
come. They had stored secrets beyond secrets. This was the outer shell of a storehouse and the warning 
had been impressed upon the People that only the Great Ones should ever seek its inner heart. 

sun 

Galan, Histechneer, Second Class, steadied his head with both hands and somehow managed to answer 
Narco. Not sun With an effort he raised his head. His sight was misted at first, but after a few 


moments he could see the anxiety in the others face. 

moments he could see the anxiety in the others face. 

In my headsomethingfrom outside 

Narco sat back on his heels. An attack? But what how? He continued to survey the younger man 
closely. All rightthe old rule holdsto each world its powers and secrets. A mental invasion? He 
slewed around to look at the wall. A protection? But this is very old. Could any security device last so 
long? 

Not waiting for an answer, he went back to the crawler and returned wearing a shock helmet and 
carrying a second one for Galan. 

The eye screen cut out some of the punishing rays of the sun. Wearing it did give a sense of security 
though Galan still felt shaky. 

Narco had gone to stand before the wall at midpoint, his eyes sweeping from right to left and back again. 

Perhaps it did conceal some secret, but the pictures were plainly meant to represent a journey. Only 
nowhere else during trips out from the survey camp had they found any indication of such a civilization as 
these pictures suggested. 

There were a number of platforms apparently hovering above the ground unsupported in any way, each 
carrying heaped-up cargo. Scattered among these floating platforms were people: humanoids. 

To have carved and painted this wall would have taken a long time, yet in their own sweeps of 
exploration they had not found any trace of settlement on this world. Of course the Zacathan head of 
their expedition might have information he had not yet shared. 

Whowhat were they? Galan staggered up. 

Narco shrugged. Guess. It always comes in the end to guessing. But this is a major findwill surprise 
some people. He grinned. 

That was true. There had been grumbling in the camp lately, though Galan was sure no one yet had said 
they were wasting timeat least not when the Zacathan was within hearing distance. 

Narco retrieved the recorder and was reciting into it a careful description of each section of the wall. 

Yes, the time-blurred figures in that Procession were certainly humanoid. They walked erect. Unlike the 
floating platforms, they needed the support of the ground beneath their feet. 

But no matter how hard he tried, Galan could not clearly distinguish any features. Their elaborate 
headdresses were as secretive as masks. 

As Narco went to signal their find to base camp, Galan began to pace along the line of carvings. He 
noted now that the parade was led by a single figure several lengths ahead of the rest. All of them were 
wearing tight-fitting garments, each having a belt from which dangled a number of unidentifiable objects, 
The leader, however, carried a round ball breast high, resting on the palms of both hands. And that ball 
appeared to be of some substance not native to the cliff, dark gray in color. 

The Procession ended just before a fault in the cliff wall itself. Instead of a smooth surface, there was a 


fissure, triangular in shape, one angle pointing skyward. This was packed tightly with rubble, thoroughly 
corked. 

fissure, triangular in shape, one angle pointing skyward. This was packed tightly with rubble, thoroughly 
corked. 

If something did lie behind that packing of rubble Every seeker of the past longed to make the GREAT 
discovery. The Forerunners had spread through the galaxy, ruled a mighty stellar empire, only to vanish in 
a sea of time where his own people could not hope to venture beyond the shallows. 

Stepping back several feet, he continued to survey that triangular mass from bottom to top. But, as 
Galans glance reached the tip, he stiffened. Crowning that point very near the lip of the canyon was 

A carving? But one far more clear-etched,it could have been finished this very day. A head! But not 
that of any humanoid. The features were almost hidden in a full bearding of red-gold hair or fur. While the 
broad nose and jaw appeared to resemble a beasts muzzle, the eyes were very large and a startling 
green, making one think of sun-touched gems. 

Galan could not remember sighting that image during their previous close study. Suddenly, there was a 
grating sound and, from a point not far below that head, a detached stone fell. Galans hand went to the 
stunner at his belt. 

As his fingers closed on the weapon, they seemed to freeze in a rock-hard position. He struggled to call 
Narco, only to discover that he was not only held by invisible bonds but also unable to speak. 

The green eyes continued to study him impassively for a long moment and then the head withdrew, 
leaving a dark hole behind. As it disappeared, he found himself free of the strange paralysis that had 
gripped him. 

Narco! He felt he dared not turn his back on that hole, and his stunner was out and ready. 

What? His companion stopped short when he saw the weapon. 

Up there Galan used the stunner to indicate the hole as he told what he had seen and how he had 
been helpless when he thought of trying to defend himself. 

Yinko slipped back to where the Guardian and his own escort of scouts waited. 

Weapons they do carry, but against the Power those can not act. They are certainly not of this world. 
He paused and looked to the Guardian. Since touch sent one into helplessness, it may be necessary for 
us to unite and open their minds, to discover what they would do here. 

What he suggested was against the First Law and they all knew it. But there was also the oath by which 
the People had been bound. That which they guarded must not fall into the hands of invaders. 

Upon me, Yinko continued, the debt of such an action shall fall. 

Yinkos words were interrupted by an odd sound which none had ever heard before, a sound that 
seemed to come from out of the air. A thing crossed the pale green of the sky. Not a spasinfinitely 
larger and moving without any bending of wings. 

Instinctively, the party on the cliff flattened themselves down on the rock. The sky thing coasted along 


above the canyon to where it widened at the northern end. There, the object dropped until it settled near 
the beetle and sand sprayed out. 

above the canyon to where it widened at the northern end. There, the object dropped until it settled near 
the beetle and sand sprayed out. 

This first comer moved a short distance away, in a manner which suggested wariness to the watchers 
above though there was no weapon to be seen. Another figure emerged from the flyer. This one was 
taller and not of the same species, for all its visible skin was scaled. The hairless head was backed by a 
fan of skin which rose like a bristling mane, the forepart lying about throat and breast like a collar. 

There was an added oddity to this stranger. The left arm was shorter, ending in a hand far too small for 
the size of the rest of the body, and the appendage on the right was hardly larger. 

The scaled one raised that stub of a right hand and started to join the earlier invaders. However, his 
companion swung around suddenly, as if his body must shield the other from the carved wall, while he 
also signaled. 

Black Cap faced the cliff squarely while the creature he carried in the backpack rested its chin on his 
shoulder to stare at the carved wall. 

On his way to join the newcomers, Galan halted also half expecting to see a furred head appear aloft. 

Naturally, the Histechneer Zurzal had come at the first report of their find. Ranking very high among the 
Zacathans, he had supplied the backing to assemble this expedition. This planet, for some reason of his 
own, had been his first choice for investigation. 

Black Cap was a Shadow, a professional guard, the Zac-athans constant companion, formally oathed to 
his service. It was well known that Zurzal was on the Black List of the Thieves Guild, having ruined one 
of their long prepared missions, and it was well he did travel with one of the formidable Shadows. 

The small creature was a Jat. No one had ever been able to discover their full intelligence. However, 
when one bonded with a human it supplied an ever-present awareness of troublean alarm system of 
flesh, blood, and bone. 

His guards warning had halted the Zacathan. He folded his long legs in a sitting position facing the wall. 
The Jat, freeing itself from the bag, dropped to join him. But the guard remained standing, positioning 
himself so he could view both his employer and the cliff. 

With the arrival of Zurzal, authority passed to him. Galans hand went to the strap of his helmet, half 
expecting another bolt to strike at any moment. It did, but this time the thrust did not find him defenseless. 
The pain and disorientation were less, heard through the helmets warning signal. 

Blinking his eyes, he saw that the Shadow had wavered a step or two from his position but otherwise did 
not seem much affected by the attack. The Jat and the Zacathan showed no signs of discomfort. 

Jofre, Oathed Shadow, swallowed and swallowed again. As much as he had been trained in the inner 
Power, he had had to meet that pressure with full strength, which aroused the fear of deep brainwash, a 
rumored weapon of the Guild. Zurzal continued to stare at the carvings, seemingly at ease. Yan, the Jat, 
had laid a hand-paw on one of the Zacathans mutilated arms as if in protection. 


The scaled one, Yinko thought-linked. That one has poweras does the small, furred thing. Not our 
power, but like to it. 
Great Ones? The question expressed doubt. These were too alien to People memory. 


Likeunlike, Yinko shook his maned head. But I 
doubt we can control these. Once more he looked down at the three who seemed to be 
waitingperhaps hoping to discover what defenses the People had. 


We wait, Yinko decided. 


Time no longer had any meaning; neither party made a move. At last, the two from the beetle joined the 
others. 
Galan saluted. There is He paused, wanting to explain with care. It must be some security device. 


But where? We have not been here long enough for a full search. He glanced at that dull globe carried 
by the leader of the procession. 


Mind touch, the Zacathan returned calmly. Hit you hard, did it? He indicated the helmet. 
Buthow? Its all just stone and paint! He had heard of mind touch, mind speech. However, as far as 
he knew, he had never encountered it before. That had not been a touch but a stab, one he felt had been 
delivered with intended malice. 


That is what we see, yes, Zurzal nodded at the wall. But no, there is no instrument set on guard here. 
Only living minds can reach so. 


What is to be done? Narco joined them. 
It lies with who or what watches here. The Zacathan was scratching behind the Jats large ears. Wait 
for a space 


But time was against them, for again the whine of a flitter echoed arrogantly from the heights. A flitter? 


But the only one known here was just behind them. 
This was larger, and Jofre, well trained, caught sight of those threatening tubes pointing fore and aft. It 
was armed! And there was no Patrol Star to be seen on the dirty brown of the cabin side. That paint was 
meant to fade against the mountain lands and desert around them. 


The warning came from the Zacathan. Down! This is 
His hissed speech was drowned out by a roaring voice from above. 
Halt! Stand! See and fear! 
A lash of fire flicked out of one of the fore tubes, striking the cliff face. The tip crossed the rubble in the 


triangle to touch the globe carried by the leader of the procession. 
Galan reeled, saw Narco fall, curling up like an insect touched by flame. The Shadow was on his knees, 


his head shaking from side to side. The Jat plastered itself tightly against the Zacathans body, its mouth 
open as if it were screaming, though Galan could not hear through the roaring that filled his head. 
Where that flash had fallen was darkblackas if the very substance of the rock had been consumed. 


But the globe was alivevivid ripples of blue, purple, and green were circling out from it. Galan found 



himself unable to raise his hands to push the helmet closer over his tortured ears. He was locked in place 
and unable to turn his head. 

himself unable to raise his hands to push the helmet closer over his tortured ears. He was locked in place 
and unable to turn his head. 

There was other movements beside those ripples. Not among the party in the canyon. Nor had anyone 
descended from the rogue flitter. Long, fiattish bodies, the same color as the rocks, were slipping down 
from the crown of the cliff, hard to see except by their movement. 

They avoided the curling streamers of color given forth by the globe, coming to ground to crouch in a 
defensive line before the Procession. 

The black spots were spreading outward in patches as if the entrances to a number of caves were being 
revealed. In spite of his streaming eyes and painfully roaring head, Galan could not look away. Was this 
indeed the opening of some treasure-house? 

There was a second ray from the enemy flitteraimed now at that furred line waiting in what seemed to 
be a pitiful gesture of defense. The thrust did not touch, rather it turned in midair, flashing back toward its 
source. 

The Zacathan and the Jat did not move, only stared ahead. Now the Shadow had crawled to them and 
raised a hand, though no weapon, so he also might grasp one of the mutilated arms Zurzal held out to 
him. 

Before that deflected blast touched the flitter, it was gone. But the flyer itself bounced upward, steadying 
well above the cliff top as a hovering warning. 

This is surely of the Great Ones! The Guardian broke the united mind hold. Thosethey gave to us 
Power He stared at the invaders, still quivering from that strange inflow of force he knew originated 
with the scaled one and his two companions. 

Yinko mind sent in a way that commanded an answer. Who are you? 

Seekers of knowledge. 

And those above who would destroy? 

Those who fear true knowledge. But do not hold them lightly. They are a part of a great evil which has 
spread from world to world 

Yinko interrupted: They turn what they find to their own use? 

It is so On guard! 

The flitter had been moving away, only now to circle back. There was an opening in its belly, though if 
these jackers had come for wealth or knowledge of the past and used even a gas bomb, the effects of 
which might last long in this canyon, they could defeat their own purposes. 

Yinko looked to the Guardian. The order he gave was one which had not been used for a thousand years 
or more. With a burst of speed that seemed incredible to the watch-ing invaders the Guardian threw 
himself as if to crash against the wall. That wall which Galan saw was cracking as the circling light of the 
globe appeared to bring destruction farther and farther out. 

Into one of those enlarging cracks the Guardian plunged headfirst. He was now back in the gallery from 


which he had earlier spied on the strangers. Speeding across it, he slammed his metal-sheathed claws into 


a spot on the inner wall and exerted all his strength. 
The door he attacked gave reluctantly. Those without would buy him time if they could, but how strong 
was the power of the others? Could their weapons be held for a second time by the united effort of the 
People and those who had voluntarily aided at the first attack? 


He was looking down, not into some dimly lit cavern but rather into a very large space where at intervals 
along the walls were set rods emitting light. Nearly all the floor was covered with large, topless bins, 
packed in turn with containers of all sizes and shapes. The Guardian turned left, finding footing on a 
narrow ledge. 


Outside, the jackers seemed in no hurry to press an attack. They must know that the offworlders below 
knew very well the threat of that open hatch. 
You gave power 
Zurzal still held the Jat and had drawn the Shadow closer. Wfe gave power, he corrected 


Why? Are those not of your kind? Yinko pointed upward. 
Not so, Zurzals denial was quick. They are enemies who seek the destruction of many. My people 
came here to learn of the Forerunners, those Great Ones of the past. That is the work of my life. For 
knowledge is the greatest weapon and defense that any life-form may have. 


Are you of the Great Ones? They had, we know, many forms. Yinko watched the Zacathan closely. 


We cannot be sure that long ago they did not give us life. But they were long gone before we rode the 
starways. 
Still you seekfor whatnew weaponstreasure? persisted Yinko. 
For knowledge such as you have guarded here. 
Much has long been forgotten. Those who come know not even what they seek. Unless he glanced 


overhead, it is for gain, for death. Surely, these deal in death. 
I have said they are enemies of ours as well as of your people. Yes, they are death dealers. 
Yet they came not until you did. Therefore, perhaps you were their guide. 
Not knowingly. You have met us mind to mind. These have not mind speech, he indicated Galan and 


Narco. But they are allied in our searching. Those, he glanced up, may have followed, yes, but we 


knew it not. 
Galan wondered why the jack flitter did not move in. They must be well aware that those in the 
canyonat least seeminglyhad no visible weapons of defense. 


His answer came from the sky like the growl of some great predator. 
Down on your bellies, all of you! Or be crisped! 
The flitter was again on the move, slowly and with visible precision, as if those on board had a task 


needing great care. 



Yinkos head jerked up as did those of his following. 

Yinkos head jerked up as did those of his following. 

In the depths of the cracking cliff the Guardian had reached his goal. Never had this action been carried 
out, but all those who had held this duty during the years had been well drilled in what was to be done. 
He dropped from the ledge to land in front of a large screen. Staring at it, he flexed his claws. 

Galan! Narco! They had guessed that the Zacathan had been in contact with the creatures by the cliff, 
but now he used normal speech. There is only one chance for us now. These are about to draw upon 
mind power. You have not had the training, nor perhaps the inborn talent, butthere remains one small 
hope. Discard your helmets, open your minds. Think of yourselves as channels and welcome what 
comes. I cannot promise you survival, but this I know. We have no other hope against what the Guild will 
do. 

Galan fumbled with the clasp of the helmet. This It was beyond all reason, but one could only trust. If 
Zurzal thought they had a chance, he would try it. He closed his eyes as the helmet thudded to the ground 
beside him, not even looking to see if Narco had made the same choice. 

The Guardian felt as if the whole of the mountain had come, shivering, to life. He jerked under the power 
of the order which came, bringing his claws down to depressions not made for the fingers of his kind but 
into which he could force them. He was no longerno longer anything. Color, light, waves of darkness 
closed about him. He wasnot! 

Galan cried out as that which he could not see, only feel as a growing torment, filled his head. 
Thenthen there was nothing at all. 

From the cracks in the wall of the Procession came something. It could not be seen with blinded eyes, it 
could not be heard by deafened ears, nor answer to any touch. But the strength of it was beyond belief. 

The jack flitter had released an oval object, yet it did not fall as it was meant to. Rather, it hung just 
below the opening through which it had come. None of those below saw; all of them had been woven 
into a single purpose. 

With a jerk, as if it had been seized by a giant hand, the flitter spun and then was released. With the 
weapon still dangling below, it headed westward on out over the wasteland. And, as it went, it sped far 
faster then its designers had ever intended. Then, there came sound, sound which broke through the 
concentration of the defenders. Near the far horizon arose a fiery cloud. 

For those in the canyon it was as if they fell helplessly from a great distance. Painsuch painGalan 
could not see! He felt as if there was terrible pressure trapped within his skull battering a way out. 

He never knew how long he was encased in that hell of torment. On opening his eyes he noticed there 
was still a web of mist about him. There came a touch on his head. It did not add to the pain; rather, the 
torment began to fade. He cared only for that touch and the ease it brought. At last, he could make out 
the Zacathan bending over him. There were no stones or sand under him. But as the pain lessened, he 
became aware he rested on something soft fur? Thebeast things. As he turned his head slightly, still 
fearing a return of pain, he could see the furry face, closer to him than the Zacathan. The alien must be 
holding him. 

Rest, he was ordered and, even as he slid into waiting darkness, he was faintly aware that the order 
had reached him in a strange new way. 


Morning brought full sight of what their defense had cost. Great cracks, slices of fallen stone lay against 
the wall. There was nothing left of the Procession to Var. But it was before the site of that irreparable 
loss that most of the People held conference with the offworlders. 

Morning brought full sight of what their defense had cost. Great cracks, slices of fallen stone lay against 
the wall. There was nothing left of the Procession to Var. But it was before the site of that irreparable 
loss that most of the People held conference with the offworlders. 

Galans hands were at his head again. There was pain; there would be for some time, the Zacathan had 
told him. But he had awakened something he longed ardently to use that he must learn. 

Sworn to, Zurzal was repeating. Our report to those who sent us shall be that there is no evidence of 
any Forerunner remains here. And that is now true. 

True, Yinko echoed. Knowledge is worth much, but life is worth more. You have not asked what may 
lie within, he gestured to the riven cliff. By your aid you have bought the right to know. 

No. There is this. I am a marked one. Those who attacked us here are my enemies. In some fashion 
they discovered that we were coming to your world to search. It is not my right to uncover secrets which 
should only be known by those left to guard them. 

This I promise you. There will be no report of what has happened. We shall destroy what records we 
have already made. Nor shall we speak of the People. This shall be an aborted mission and a forgotten 
world. 

He got to his feet, the Jat moving from the crook of his misshapen arm to lean against his shoulder. The 
Shadow was also on his feet, but he wavered a little until he raised his head with a look of grim 
determination on his drawn face. 

The battle was not over for those three, Galan knew. Would it ever be? 

Yinko lingered for a moment. You serve the Power well. Truly the Great Ones must once have touched 
your people. Our People will guard until the stars change and those who once were shall come again. 

The furred ones were already climbing the battered cliff. Galan searched for sight of a single figure, a 
carved curve of stone or a faded sweep of paint. It was gone, all gone. Suddenly, fiercely he longed to 
see it again. 

This had been a major find. Yet, with the mind touch still with him, he knew that the Zacathan was right. 

He could not guess what had been here, but he felt that it was something his species should not find. And 
if, by trying to discover more, they would again bring in the Guild No. Let them raise ship and go. 

Galan, the mind touch could still startle him. There are many worlds and many finds to be made. And 
a greater one may be waiting. 

Zurzal started for the flitter, and Galan entered the crawler where Narco was already at the controls. 

On the cliff top Yinko and the others watched them go, one set flying, one crawling. Then he turned and 
saluted with both forepaws. 

To you, Guardian, rest well in the place of peace. You have fulfilled the duty set upon you. 

TEE GEMINI TWINS 

by Paul Dellinger 


Paul Dellinger is a longtime reporter for the Roanoke Times (Virginia), which is the only place where 
hes worked with computers (the newspaper was upgrading from manual to electric typewriters when he 
started there). He still manages to crank out an occasional high-tech science fiction story, despite being 
cyber-impaired. Other stories by him appear in Wheel of Fortune, The Williamson Effect, Lord of the 
Fantastic, and Future Net. 

Paul Dellinger is a longtime reporter for the Roanoke Times (Virginia), which is the only place where 
hes worked with computers (the newspaper was upgrading from manual to electric typewriters when he 
started there). He still manages to crank out an occasional high-tech science fiction story, despite being 
cyber-impaired. Other stories by him appear in Wheel of Fortune, The Williamson Effect, Lord of the 
Fantastic, and Future Net. 

They were the sons of Leda, and are usually represented as being gods, the special protectors of 
sailors, saviors of swift-going ships when the storm winds rage over the ruthless sea. 

They were also powerful to save in battle 

from Mythology by Edith Hamilton. 

A first, it was only a pinpoint of light, lost among the others dimly visible through the Marsglow in the sky 
over Phobosbut it was different. Its light came not from any burning starfires within itself, but from that 
reflected from the butterscotch-colored dayside of Mars. And it moved, growing infinitesimally larger 
until it resolved itself into a helmeted head and suit-encased arms and legs. 

It was a human, out here where no human could possibly be. 

Elb! Dino! called the Marsman in command of Phobos Base, nestled in a crater of the little moon 
zipping around the main planet in less than eight hours, only some four thousand miles above its 
surfacea natural outpost. His shout echoed through all six chambers of the pressurized fortification. 
Two pairs of military boots, their adhesive soles tearing free of the treated floor with each running step, 
answered him. 

Then they saw it, too. 

The figure had moved close enough for the flickers of its jetpack to show, as it began its descent toward 
the pitted surface of the Martian moon. Descendinghere! 

He handles that pack like one of those belters, Elb said in a voice that was almost a whisper. You 
know? 

Couldnt be! said Dino. We got them all. And occupied their asteroid mining hutches without Earth 
even knowing. The Earthworms still dont know. And if a lone belter did manage to survive, theres no 
way he could make it all the way here in just a spacesuit and jetpack! 

Then you tell me who it is. 

The intruder had drifted to the cratered surface now, and began a half-walking, half-sliding movement 
toward the Martian station. To the three armed men inside, the approach of the clearly-weaponless 
newcomer still seemed menacing, although none of them could say whyperhaps because no 
planet-reared human should have been able to compensate for the negligible gravity of Phobos so easily. 

The first Marsman, the one in charge of the three-man squad, broke the silence. Suit up, both of you. 
Lets bring him in. 

The newcomer offered no resistance when they closed in on him a few minutes later. Twice, he even 
paused to wait patiently as one or another of the less acclimated Mars-men bounced around awkwardly. 


Once back inside, they shed their vacuum suits so their boots adhered to the artificial flooring once more. 

Once back inside, they shed their vacuum suits so their boots adhered to the artificial flooring once more. 

The man gazed calmly at his captors. His face seemed young, beneath tousled blond hair, but there was a 
coldness like that of space itself in his blue eyes. He was tall and slender, but had a hardness about him, 
too, even while standing with his open hands held calmly at his sides. 

Elb gripped his hummer more tightly. Gemini, he breathed. 

You know him? 

Yes. He is from the belt. 

The belters are dead! 

But I remember him. I was part of the honor guard, back when Roderick was negotiating with the 
belters to supply us with minerals, the way they do Earthor did. I saw him out there, when Roderick 
and Vaida made their visit 

At the mention of Valda, Elb thought he saw the ice thaw slightly in the prisoners eyes. He was the kid 
who took on Bardo, in a free-fall fight. Watch him. hes quick. 

As though the warning had been a signal, the figure sprang past the two armed Marsmen and pushed the 
third aside. He seemed to fly to the domes highest point and hung there like some silent bird of prey, 
glaring down at the three. 

Get back here! ordered the ranking Marsman. The prisoner continued floating across the roof over 
their heads. All right, then. DinoElb. Nail him. Very carefully. 

The two hummers lined up on their youthful target. Whoever he was, the Marsman thought, he must be 
counting on a reluctance to fire inside the pressurized outpost. Obviously he had no idea how precisely a 
Marsman could gauge his hummer fire. 

The buzzing rose in volume as two incandescent beams of light shot from the sidearms. But another 
sound came firsta faint, explosive pop, and the man called Gemini was simply not there anymore. 

It was too late for the two Marsmen to stop the commands their brains had sent to their fingers. In 
seconds, both beams seared through the roof. Air erupted through the breach before any of them could 
even scream, much less grab a helmet or vacuum suit. 

Soon, a deathly silence enveloped the interior. It was still silent hours later, when a new pinpoint of light 
appeared among the stars above the ruptured dome, gradually taking the form of a space-suited man. 
This time, there was no one on the dark little moon to see him coming 

It had been a belter named John Egan who first realized the secret that would one day give rise to the 
legend of Gemini. 


Egan had been one of the few belters who did not return to Earth, and the accumulated pay that would 
make him wealthy for life, after completing a work tour in the asteroids. Earth no longer held any 
attraction for the griz-zled veteran belter and, out here, the loss of his legs in an accident preparing 
metallic rocks for transit to refining facilities in Earth orbit was no real disadvantage. 

Egan had been one of the few belters who did not return to Earth, and the accumulated pay that would 
make him wealthy for life, after completing a work tour in the asteroids. Earth no longer held any 
attraction for the griz-zled veteran belter and, out here, the loss of his legs in an accident preparing 
metallic rocks for transit to refining facilities in Earth orbit was no real disadvantage. 

Egans fingers in their mini-servo-powered gloves played over the jetpack controls at his belt, 
shamelessly wasting propellant as he circled the potato-shaped rock. Four other belters orbited farther 
back, knowing they could do nothing but also knowing how Egan felt about the kid, ever since he pulled 
the twins out of a lifeboat more than twelve Earth-years ago. 

Egan was remembering, too, the pink, puckered faces of the newborn infants through the window of the 
capsule, with their mother who was more dead than aliveand who did die a few hours later, despite all 
that Doc Stroude and the medical team could do. The hospital units placed out here within the belt were 
state of the art, by necessity, but they couldnt always perform miraclesat least, not for the mother. 
They did, however, for the babies. 

Egan had never seen Siamese twins before. Their births during the Geminis three-year jaunt couldnt 
have been planned; the pregnancy must have happened after the trip had gotten underway. There had 
been no other survivors among some two hundred passengers. No other lifeboats had been launched, 
from what the belters later determined in examining what little remained of the wreckage. 

As best they could guess as to what happened, the prospective parents would have been in the ships 
sick bay near its center when the attack occurred. That would explain why their air supply lasted a little 
longer than in the outer hull, spinning to simulate gravity. The medical team may have gotten called away 
by the ships alarm, which would have left the parents with their newborn infants on their own when the 
compartment doors reacted to dropping air pressure by sealing them off. But someone, perhaps the 
father, got them launched somehow. And a couple of belters had picked up the lifeboats signal. 

Egan had persuaded old Doc Stroude to operate, and at least save one of the twins. To his own surprise, 
Stroude saved them both, but there was no way to send them to Earth until the next ship brought 
replacement workers for those whose tours were upand there was no surviving record of who their 
families had been, anyway. Egan became their caretaker by default. It was he who named them Pollux 
and Castor, after the Gemini Twins of mythology. 

Only Doc Stroude knew that Egan had left a couple of sons Earthside, with a wife who had not been 
patient enough to wait after hed signed on for the belt to try and earn them a better life. As it turned out, 
Egan always had plenty of help in raising the twins. Belters volunteered to spend off-shifts tending the 
babies. Nobody squawked at the extra cleaning cycles necessary when diapers ran short. The shop 
workers never quibbled over fabricating additional undersized vacuum suits as the youngsters outgrew 
their earlier ones. Belters came and went, but all came to regard the boys as something like good luck 
charms. 


Besides using his accumulated earnings to bring out education modules and the latest bone-building 
exercise devices on the rare supply ships, Egan saw that the boys got their calcium and other 
supplements from the start. When they were old enough, he began a constant workout regimen to make 
sure they would be fit for gravity if they ever decided to migrate to Earth. Again, it was Cass who 
worked hardest, while Pol sloughed off, arguing that hed never want to live planetside, anyway. 

Besides using his accumulated earnings to bring out education modules and the latest bone-building 
exercise devices on the rare supply ships, Egan saw that the boys got their calcium and other 
supplements from the start. When they were old enough, he began a constant workout regimen to make 
sure they would be fit for gravity if they ever decided to migrate to Earth. Again, it was Cass who 
worked hardest, while Pol sloughed off, arguing that hed never want to live planetside, anyway. 

The asteroid had been a good onehigh in iron ore, the usual concentrations of nickel and cobalt, and 
exceptionally high percentages of the more valuable trace minerals. The metallurgical stations outside the 
orbit of Earths moon would boil off its components with mirrored solar beams and collect them for the 
space factories closer in. 

All that was necessary was to move it from the belt to Earth orbit, which was the job of the belters. It 
was they who fitted the small fusion rockets into each chosen asteroid, computed the course to bring it to 
a Lagrangian point where it would be gravitationally trapped between the Earth and moon, and sent it to 
join the procession of mineral chunks that made up the cornerstone of Earths technology in the age of 
space. 

But first you had to drill shafts to anchor the rockets, a dirty job and a ticklish one because each rock 
was a different little world, with its own idiosyncrasies and dangers. Even the metallic ones often lacked 
complete solidity. This one had seemed relatively tame, until Pol was deep inside the first shaft spraying it 
with the quick-forming lining to hold the rocket in place. The walls had given way and Pol was trapped 
inside, stuck until his air ran out if he hadnt already been crushed. The rock had become a monstrous 
tombstone. 

For the first time, Egan blamed himself for keeping the boys out here all these years. They might have 
been crowded and orphaned back on Earth, but at least they both would have been alive. Frustrated at 
his helplessness, he almost collided with the small, suited figure who jetted past him toward the asteroid. 
For a second, hed thought it was Pol, that somehow the lad had dug himself free. Then he realized it had 
to be Cassbut hadnt Cass been working a repair shift at the current home base for this sector? How 
could he have known what was going on here? 

What are you waiting for? Cass voice crackled through the receiver in Egans helmet. Cant you hear 
him? Cass touched down on the asteroid and anchored himself with a tool from his belt. Only later did it 
occur to Egan that hed landed exactly where the shaft had been drilled, even though its closure made the 
spot indistinguishable from the rest of the rock. 

Theres nothing we can do, Egan said in a tight voice. Even if hes alive 

He is alive. Hes in a pocket down there. If we drill along the edge of it, he can climb right out. 

Cass, its no good hoping 

What the hell, Egan? came another voice he recognized as Joe Nieminski. Let him try. Whats the 
difference? 

Three of the belters got the long white-coated drilling tube into position, aiming at a spot Cass marked. 
Go in at thirty degrees, the boy directed. Twelve feetno, he says ten. Ten feet. 

Egan shook his head. If Pols radio was still working, they would all have heard him. But nobody else 
said anything, so he didnt either. He squinted at the bright beam that began eating into the rock, 
vaporizing as it went. Stop! Thats close enough, Cass said, stomping his boots onto the surface to 


anchor them at the edge of the circular opening. He started to remind Cass that the shaft would be too 
hot to enter at once, when he realized he was seeing not one but two small vacuum suits on its perimeter. 
The gasps on his receiver from the others told him he wasnt hallucinating. 

anchor them at the edge of the circular opening. He started to remind Cass that the shaft would be too 
hot to enter at once, when he realized he was seeing not one but two small vacuum suits on its perimeter. 
The gasps on his receiver from the others told him he wasnt hallucinating. 

The Marsmen looked out of place within the hollowed-out asteroid, with their tight-fitting uniforms, shiny 
boots, and swords of all things. Even the supremely-confident Roderick, ruler of an entire planet, had to 
move gingerly in the negligible gravity. The belters, by contrast, lounged easily some might have said 
insolentlyon both sides and even above the line of visitors, and their functional garb seemed plain and 
worn compared to the crispness of the military-style clothing. 

But it was Rodericks daughter, Valda, who drew the appreciation of this mostly-male bastion. Pol, 
perched next to Egan on the front rank, and Cass, who had arrived late from a job and ended up farther 
back, only just managed to keep from gaping openly. None of the few female belters they had known 
had prepared them for this. She was tall and slim, with long auburn hair that trailed behind her in the 
negligible gravity like the blazing tail of a comet. She wore garb as formal as the dozen Marsmen in the 
delegation, but its severity stood no chance at all against the stunning form it covered. 

You were right, Cass, his brothers thought tickled his mind. Shes beautiful! 

As always, Cass had done the archival research on Martian history out of curiosity about the coming 
visitstudying old news accounts preserved in one of their educational modules on how Earth 
governments had used the original colonies to get rid of criminals and malcontents, figuring isolation 
would work at a time when the death penalty was in decline; how Roderick (and Cass could find no 
further name or additional background on him) somehow managed to form the growing number of misfits 
into a militaristic society, but how it was hampered by a lack of raw materials like those Earth got from 
the belt. Even without many basic ores, the Martians had quickly achieved limited space travel, and the 
boys knew many who thought that a few renegade Marsmen lay behind the occasional piracies against 
Earth ships coming out this far. Of course, a pirate base in the form of a space habitat was possible, but 
none had ever been located. And only parts of missing ships were ever found, giving rise to the thought 
that the pirates had a use for the materials that went into building them. 

According to what Egan told the boys, there had likewise been little left of the Gemini. He did not 
suggest that Mars ships were the cause of its destruction, but Cass had reviewed enough news archives 
over the years to be suspicious. And so, of course, was Pol. After all, as only Egan had figured out, they 
thought with one mind, not two. Even now. Cass was experiencing the double vision that he once 
assumed was normal for everyone, seeing Valda from his distant perch among the belters and also seeing 
her up close through Pols eyes. 

Severing the physical link between the twins had not severed their mind-link. Who knew what kind of 
radiations might have affected their genetic formation before their births, either from the awesome 
energies of the pirate weapons or the environment of space itself? For whatever reason, Pol and Cass 
eventually realized that a sharing of senses was not normal for anyone elsea discovery that they 
instinctively kept to themselves, until Egan guessed following the accident in which Pol was almost lost. 

Cass found himself responding to the sight of Rodericks sole heir, by a mother never publicly named. He 
imagined what it might be like to take her in his arms, to clasp her tightly, to touch her lips 

As was Pol. For the first time in his life, Cass actually resented sharing his brothers thoughts, and felt the 
same unaccustomed wish for privacy emanating from his brother. 

It took Pol a moment to realize that the man beside Valda was Roderick himself, and another moment to 


care. But neither brother could resist looking more closely at this man on whom the fate of worlds might 
dependand certainly the future of the belters. Egan had already told them what Rodericks earlier 
emissaries were going to propose. If successful, it could change the way the belters lived forever. 

care. But neither brother could resist looking more closely at this man on whom the fate of worlds might 
dependand certainly the future of the belters. Egan had already told them what Rodericks earlier 
emissaries were going to propose. If successful, it could change the way the belters lived forever. 

Before he had finished talking, Roderick had convinced practically every listener in the chamber that 
Martian engineering was up to the task of creating an artificial planetoid out here in the belt, complete 
with gravity and atmosphere, where the belters could live between work shifts without suits, in habitations 
as open as those on Earth itself. Martian engineers would maintain this New Eden, as he called it, in 
return for a tiny fraction of the ores being furnished to Earth. A contingent of Marsmen would join the 
belters and learn the procedures to handle any extra work involved. And what the bureaucrats back on 
Earth didnt know wouldnt hurt them. 

What did the belters have to lose? No ores would be launched to Mars orbit until New Eden had been 
created, and every worker in the belt had sampled it. The orbiting factories around Earth arent that far 
removed from such a worldlet, Roderick concluded. Earth could have done this for you. Mars will do 
it. 

Pol was surprised to hear spontaneous cheers from some of the entranced belters. He might have joined 
in, but his own reaction was muted by Cass mental dissection of Rodericks speech. It had been a 
masterpiece, building to a climax that was bound to provoke a positive reaction especially from people 
who felt themselves taken for granted by Earth to start with. 

But they were both surprised when Egans voice cut through the applause. And when the powers that 
be on Earth find out weve made such a decision independently? he asked. It wont stay quiet forever, 
not with new workers replacing others going back to Earth to claim their rewards. And were completely 
dependent on Earth for life support. 

There was a stir among the Martian delegation, some even putting their hands on the hilts of their swords. 
You need not be. Mars would be willing to supply your needs, Roderick said, smiling. 

And wed be under your control instead of theirs, Egan replied, seemingly oblivious to the weapons. 
Could that be what youre intending with all this largess? 

Murmurs echoed in the chamber from the belters, some agreeing with Egans suggestion and others 
ridiculing it. Roderick raised his hands slightly and, such was his mas-tery of the situation, the murmurs 
died out. Earth could not get along without the materials you supply, he said. They could not sever 
their relationship with the belt, whatever you did. But is it any of Earths business if we have a small 
contingent of scientists and engineers out here working on an artificial planetoid, which you and your 
successors can choose to utilize or not? 

Not unless those scientists and engineers are not those things at all, but an advance force for a 
military expedition into the belt, Cass thought. And then he heard his thoughts echoed aloud. Pol, he 
realized, had spoken them. 

What had been a stir before became an uproar, with several Marsmen moving their hands to their 
sidearms, including a giant of a man who stood beside Valda. Several pushed the studs in the handles to 
activate the weapons. Cass had read about the hummers, developed on Mars when there had been 


threats of open warfare among the underground cities, before Roderick managed to unify them against a 
hostile environment instead of one another. But it would take a few seconds for them to be ready for use. 
Cass started to call out to the other belters, to disarm the delegation before those fearsome weapons 
could be brought into use. 

threats of open warfare among the underground cities, before Roderick managed to unify them against a 
hostile environment instead of one another. But it would take a few seconds for them to be ready for use. 
Cass started to call out to the other belters, to disarm the delegation before those fearsome weapons 
could be brought into use. 

And then Rodericks daughter spoke. We came out of friendship, she said in a rich, clear voice. If we 
wanted to take the belt militarily, we would have come in force. With all due respect, I dont believe you 
could have stopped us. 

Dont you? Pol said with a reckless grin, directing his reply at her. Were in our element out here. We 
dont need suction cups or whatever on our boots to get around. And while you occupied one rock, we 
could be booby-trapping a dozen more. 

Pol had become the focus of the entire Martian delegation, including Valda, which Cass knew was 
exactly what hed had in mind. Cass found himself jealous of his brother getting the Martian girls 
attention, yet another unaccustomed emotion for him, and there was no way he could hide it from Pol. He 
could not understand it. Never before had there been the slightest fracture in their thoughts. 

Whats your name, boy? asked Roderick, an amused smile on his face. 

Gemini, Pol responded. Again, Cass found himself irritated that his brother had usurped a name they 
had in commonespecially when be saw that Valda was regarding Pol with what looked like genuine 
interest. 

Well, young Gemini, and you really believe you could stand up to one of my Marsmen in some type of 
combat? 

Yes, sir. Not on Mars, but out here, certainly. Cass felt Pols relief that his voice remained firm and did 
not crack embarrassingly. 

And would you care to demonstrate? In a contest with one of my men? 

Well 

Excellent! Its good to see there are young men with sporting blood out here. Your people and mine will 
get along well, young Gemini. Roderick waved an arm around at the Marsmen around him. And who in 
my little group would you like to try to best in a physical encounter? 

Pol nodded at the giant Marsman who stood next to Valda. Why not him? 

Now wait a minute Egan began. 

Several other belters shouted him down. Pol can take care of himself, Egan, Cass heard Nieminski say. 
In fact, Cass was not worried about that part either. He and Pol might be young compared to the other 
belters, but nobody could top their experience at handling themselves in this environment. 

The Marsman glared down at Pol, his nose wrinkling in obvious distaste. Very well, Bardo, Roderick 
said to him. The boy may need a lesson, but try not to damage him badly. 

This is crazy! Egan declared. 


But Marsmen and belters had already cleared a space around Pol and Bardo. Bardo shook his head 
slowly, as though in disgust, and then made a feinting movement toward Pol. He looked chagrined when 
Pol failed to react with any defensive gesture at all. Then he reached out to grab his younger antagonist in 
all seriousness. 

But Marsmen and belters had already cleared a space around Pol and Bardo. Bardo shook his head 
slowly, as though in disgust, and then made a feinting movement toward Pol. He looked chagrined when 
Pol failed to react with any defensive gesture at all. Then he reached out to grab his younger antagonist in 
all seriousness. 

Bardo had spun almost in time to catch Pol coming downbut not quite. Pol landed with his back to the 
larger man and, without seeming to glance behind him, curled himself into a backward somersault that 
took him right between the giants barrel-like legs. 

Now, that maneuver was a surpriseto everyone but Cass, who knew Pol had seen his opponents 
position through his brothers more-distant eyes. 

Instinctively, Bardo, bent over to see where his adversary had rolled. Pol had spread his hands on either 
side to brace himself against the rock floor. He planted one foot against the Marsmans rump and pushed 
gently, sending the larger man pinwheeling into the air. He spilled, head over heels, into the ranks of those 
closest to the platform, as laughter rained down from the belters. 

Enough, Bardo, that will do, Roderick said as the Mars-man scrambled into a crouch, a furious 
expression on his face. I believe I see what the young man means. You really are in your element out 
here, arent you? 

Cass could not help sharing Pols feeling of triumph, not only at deflating some of the pomposity of the 
visitors but also at a minuscule payback for what both boys suspected other Marsmen had done to the 
ship on which they were born. Pol could not help glancing at Valda to see her reaction, but she was not 
looking at him. She was regarding Bardo with what seemed an infinite sadness on her face. 

Far from scuttling Rodericks proposal, the friendly-seeming little contest seemed to cement it. Work 
would start as soon as the Martians could assemble the engineering equipment and bring it out. The 
Martian delegation left soon after, their squat little ship gradually moving clear of the habitat asteroid and 
disappearing into the blackness. Fifteen minutes later, Cass and Pol saw the silent flare of its rocket as it 
began its return trip. 

The body would never have been found without the broadcast locator. Its beeps had been picked up by 
a team of belters working on a rock within sight of Rodericks departure trajectory. Pol and Cass got 
their first sight of it along with a couple dozen others when it was brought through the shelter air lock. 

It was, or had been, a man. It was hardly recognizable as one, since it wore no pressure suit and many of 
its internal organs had ruptured in hard vacuum. But there was no mistaking that giant physique. 

Cass felt his stomach turning but managed to hold it down. Pol didnt, causing a general rush for 
hand-vacs to suck up the contents of his last meal. Egans only reaction was a grim tightening of his lips. 

I guess Roderick wanted us to know how he feels about failure, Egan said. 

The project took nearly three Earth-years, as time was measured in the belt, but less than half of that by 
Martian time, as the Martian engineers and workers constantly observed. And this was Day One on 
New Eden, as Roderick had called it, fashioned mostly from materials in the belt itself. The Martians had 
proved to be as proficient at building a space habitat as Roderick had boasted. 


In deference to the belters, the periods of light and dark were based on Earth-days on New Edenor, 
rather, in the spherical habitat. Its globe was nearly three miles in diameter, with a spin that simulated 
Earth-like gravity along its inner equator. Its sky was at its center, complete with real clouds. Cass kept 
staring at them. He had seen reproductions on tape and in still pictures, of course, but never the real 
thing. 

In deference to the belters, the periods of light and dark were based on Earth-days on New Edenor, 
rather, in the spherical habitat. Its globe was nearly three miles in diameter, with a spin that simulated 
Earth-like gravity along its inner equator. Its sky was at its center, complete with real clouds. Cass kept 
staring at them. He had seen reproductions on tape and in still pictures, of course, but never the real 
thing. 

Between five and six hundred belterseveryone in the belt, in fact, but onehad gathered on New 
Eden to bid farewell to the Martian workers and to spend an Earth-day walking on seemingly solid 
ground, lifting their unhelmeted faces to the sky, breathing in the air that was all around them. 

Cass wondered what all the celebrating was about. 

He felt naked, exposed, here in the open without even a pressure suit. He recognized how real the 
synthetic grass and trees looked, from the pictures held seen of Earth, but even they felt unnatural to him. 
The excited voices around him and Egan seemed strange, unfiltered as they were by helmet receivers. 
And the constant pull of gravity generated by the worldlets spin seemed to him more uncomfortable than 
his and Pols workouts in the centrifuge. Of course, he and Pol were the only belters who had never 
experienced continuous gravity before. 

And here I am, three hundred miles away, came Pols thought, tinged with disgust. Cass also picked 
up the thought that this had been the first time Pol had considered defying an order from Egan. Egan had 
two reasons for stationing Pol on a rock where be could observe the Martian fleet leaving the belt: one, 
to make sure it actually left, and, two, because Egan was not sure Pol could physically handle the stress 
of a constant one-G, since he had not kept up his conditioning over the years as had Cass. Pol had 
argued that he wouldnt have to stay at the equator; he could remain farther out from center, where the 
pull was weaker, and gradually work his way into stronger gravity. Besides, be had already tracked the 
three Martian ships past his observation post with its instruments, en route back to Mars. But Egan had 
been adamant, responding by radioeven though he and the boys knew he could have accomplished the 
same thing simply by using Cass as a human transmitterthat acclimation to gravity would require more 
preliminary work for Pol, and that the Mars ships were still close enough to change course and loop 
around for a return trip. 

Why should they do that? Cass asked. Theyve got what they wantassurance of a supply of 
minerals. And theyve done their part of the bargain. 

Egan, moving beside Cass in a motorized something he called a wheelchair, couldnt answer that one. It 
was sim-ply that he didnt trust Roderick. Neither did Cass, for that matter. He still remembered being 
told what happened to the Gemini, and hed seen firsthand what happened to Bardo. 

Pol had some vivid thoughts about having to stay on his isolated rock, but Cass prudently decided not to 
relay those to Egan. Instead, he made some comment, more to Pol than to Egan, about preferring an 
absence of gravity to being pinned down by it. 

Youll probably end up enjoying it like everybody else, Egan said. After all, your bodies were shaped 
for Earth, not the belt 

A mild reverberation shook the walkway beneath them. Others noticed it, too, and the surrounding hum 
of conversation died out. A distant, hollow boom sounded from somewhere in the sky, actually the hub 
of the worldlet. 


Cass frowned. Dont tell me Roderick is simulating thunderstorms for us, too? 

Cass frowned. Dont tell me Roderick is simulating thunderstorms for us, too? 

A second, closer explosion sent them sprawling. The silence around them turned to screams. Cass found 
himself on the ground, and pushed himself to his hands and knees. He glimpsed flames on the nearby 
horizon. He had seen fire once before, when a heating system in a shelter built into an asteroid had 
overheated. He and the other occupants of the shelter simply suited up, and opened all the air locks to 
hard vacuum which quickly extinguished it. But New Eden produced a continuous air supply, feeding the 
flames. 

Cass, get up! said Egan, who lay beside his overturned chair. Youve got to salvage one of the suits 
and jetpacks. Its your only chance. 

Cass was still half-stunned. They may be burned up already 

Youve got to try! Lead the way for the others. Dont you see? All of us, in one place, for the first time 
in the history of the beltthat was Rodericks plan! 

But you cant 

Never mind me. Go! He shoved Cass away with one of his powerful hands. Cass found himself 
staggering, still unused to functioning in constant gravity. A third blast seemed to erupt under his feet, and 
he felt himself flung into the air. 

The ringing was still in his ears an instant later, but all else around him was silent. The bright flames had 
given way to the darkness of a carved-out shelter within an asteroid. He and Pol regarded each other in 
amazement. And Cass realized, for the first time, that their link was able to convey more than mere 
thoughts between them. 

Of course, the three Mars ships did come back. And so did others. Cass and Pol tracked each one as it 
took up its position in a different part of the belt. 

The command ship made a slow pass through the area where New Eden had been constructed, its 
instruments making sure there was nothing left but debris. Its creators had only had to construct it to last 
for a single day; within an Earth-week, it would have become unstable and shaken itself to pieces, but 
any occupants would have had time to evacuate it before that happened. So it was made to self-destruct 
all at once, and take all its inhabitants with it. 

All but one. Somehow, one of the belters had managed to get into a pressure suit and, through some 
freakish piece of luck, must have been blasted clear. The newcomers quickly zeroed in on the distress 
signal from his suit. Judging by its movement, its occupant was still alive. Colonel Noctis, Rodericks 
handpicked commander of the occupation force, considered leaving the belter where be was until his air 
ran out. On reflection, he decided the man might be able to provide his officers with information about the 
belters operations, so he had the survivor brought aboard. 

The Marsmen from the original three ships had pinpointed the equipment, supply caches, and working 
areas of the belters as best they could. Now they directed the occupation forces to pick up where the 
belters had left off, with Earth none the wiserat least until the next supply ship showed up. But that was 
almost an Earth-year away. 

Meanwhile, Noctis had two guards bring the surviving belter to his stateroom. The two Marsmen secured 


the man to an interrogation chair, complete with a polygraph attachment on one arm. The man floated 
about an inch above the seat, lacking the adhesive boots of his captors. He was secured only by the 
straps on his arms and around his middle. 

the man to an interrogation chair, complete with a polygraph attachment on one arm. The man floated 
about an inch above the seat, lacking the adhesive boots of his captors. He was secured only by the 
straps on his arms and around his middle. 

The prisoner stared back for a moment, looked at the two guards on either side of his seat, the colonels 
aide who had just handed the officer what looked like a tube of some liquid that could be water or wine, 
and the polygraph operator who looked only at the styluses drawing their fine lines along a piece of 
paper. Then he returned his gaze to Noctis and nodded. 

Wise, said Noctis, sucking delicately at the refreshment in the tube. Were any of you able to transmit 
any information to Earth about what happened? 

The prisoner took a deep breath, then answered with a barely audible No. Noctis glanced at the 
polygraph man, who nodded. 

Good. That means they will know nothing so long as we keep transporting the rocks on scheduleuntil 
were ready to strike. Then the rocks will no longer be guided to Earths orbital factories, but against 
targets on Earth itself. 

Yes, sir. Either they will become part of Rodericks unification movement, or go the way of the 
dinosaurs, the aide said. 

Noctis nodded, then turned back to the prisoner. Are there caches of oxygen, food, suits, and devices 
for moving the asteroids in places our Marsmen would not have seen, during their time out here? 

The belts full of them, murmured the man in the chair. Again, the operator nodded. 

You may have just bought yourself a reprieve, if you know where they are, said Noctis. He turned to 
the aide. We can use those things, particularly the explosive materials and those fusion rockets for 
moving the asteroids. Although, once we occupy the key enclaves of Earth, there wont really be anyone 
left to fight us. 

Or to provide ships for us to prey on, sir, said the aide. 

The prisoner turned toward the aide. Its your people manning the pirate ships? he asked. 

Who did you think it was? the aide replied. Did you really believe that tale weve been floating about 
pirates operating from some artificial habitat? 

Ill ask the questions, belter, Noctis said. Did you belters transmit communications regularly between 
yourselves and Earth? The prisoner nodded. Noctis pursed his lips. This may be another way you can 
prolong your life. Well need someone who can keep those communications flow-ing seamlessly, so 
Earth doesnt suspect whats coming. Not that anyone is likely to suspect anything, as closely guarded as 
this operation has been. 

Only one security breach, in fact, said the aide. But at least Rodericks daughter cant tell anyone, 
being under house arrest, as it were. 

The prisoner looked up. Valda wasnt part of what you did? he asked. 


The colonel swung the back of his hand against the prisoners face, with a sharp crack. I said I would 
ask the questions. You, on the other hand, will not demean the name of Rodericks daughter by 
mentioning it. Shell come to realize the brilliance of her fathers program, in time the unification of the 
solar system, humankind under a single directive, developing the resources of our own planets and then 
reaching for the stars. Another question: are you aware of any other survivors besides yourself? 

The colonel swung the back of his hand against the prisoners face, with a sharp crack. I said I would 
ask the questions. You, on the other hand, will not demean the name of Rodericks daughter by 
mentioning it. Shell come to realize the brilliance of her fathers program, in time the unification of the 
solar system, humankind under a single directive, developing the resources of our own planets and then 
reaching for the stars. Another question: are you aware of any other survivors besides yourself? 

How many? Noctis demanded, after glancing at the polygraph operator for confirmation. 

Just one. He and I have already fitted a small asteroid with life support and fusion rockets to head it 
toward Mars in a higher-speed trajectory than you could conceive. Asteroids can be moved at great 
speeds when the amount of available propellant is no object. 

You will give us the location of that asteroid, Noctis said. 

Sorry. No can do. Its already well on its way. 

Sir, well have to transmit a warning the aide began. 

Were not going to use it to impact your world, the prisoner interrupted. Its merely transportation. 
From my studies of Mars, I understand you maintain a small installation to warn of approaching ships on 
your larger moon. We plan to replace your men on that moon, just as youve replaced ours out here. Its 
communications equipment should be more than sufficient to let Earth know whats happened, and give 
the home world time to send a military force out here to reoccupy the belt. Then well see what becomes 
of Roderick and the rest of you pirates, once the rest of the system knows about you and your crimes. 

You may yet talk yourself into an early death, Noctis warned. 

My brother once told Roderick of the mischief we could wreak on an occupation force here in the belt, 
the prisoner continued. But thats nothing to what he and I can do on your home planet, once they send 
up replacements for us. You have no idea of the things we can get into and out of. 

Noctis leaned forward, his face inches from the captives. Explain, he ordered in a low voice. 

Ill do better than that. Ill demonstrate. After all, that was the reason I came back to the vicinity of New 
Eden, so Id get picked up by you people and learn what Ive learned. 

Noctis was beginning to look uneasy. Whats your name, belter? 

Gemini. The word was followed immediately by a popping sound, like that of air rushing into a sudden 
void. The figure on the chair, his clothing, the straps that had been attached to him, vanished in an instant. 
A small, metallic object remained behind, on the seat above which the prisoner had floated. 

The aide was the first to recover his voice, after the prisoner winked out of existence before all their eyes. 
Say, that looks like one of the belter explosive devices we were talking about 

No one in the occupation force was ever able to figure out what caused the destruction of their flagship 
and the loss of their commanding officer. 

The moving light over Phobos took on the form of a human, in a pressure suit, out here where no human 
could possibly be 

THST DOGGONE 7NORP1 


by Nathan Archer 

by Nathan Archer 

Anelia Hand didnt notice the first obvious sign that something was wrong at the Busted Fin. The fact that 
the huge service doors were standing open somehow didnt register; she was too concerned with getting 
inside, out of the blinding white Daedalus sunlight, and getting herself some decent beer and a look at the 
local talent. Seven weeks alone aboard her ship with nothing to drink but water and condensed fruit juice 
had left her desperate. 

Once she set foot inside, though, she immediately knew there was a problem. 

Whats that smell? she demanded, before her eyes adjusted to the gloom of the interior. The usual 
odors of spilled beer and hot oil were overwhelmed by a stench she didnt recognize. 

Then she saw the vnorpt and stopped dead in her tracks, her hand dangling near the butt of the blaster on 
her thigh. 

It was standing at the baror rather, towering over the bar, its crest stooped slightly to avoid scraping 
the ceiling talking to Al, the bartender. Hand had never seen a vnorpt in the flesh before, but there was 
no mistaking it; no other sentient stood five meters tall and three meters wide. 

And no other sentient smelled quite so awful either. 

He was a pet! Al was shouting. A companion! 

Oops, the vnorpt said, in a bone-shaking rumble. It belched. Sorry. 

Hand looked around the room. Half a dozen humans cowered in the booths along one wall. The stools at 
the bar, and the other tables, were all deserted. A waitress stood cringing in one corner, staring at the 
vnorpt. She and Al were the only employees in sight, and the six in the booths, the vnorpt, and Hand 
herself the only customers. 

There were at least six assorted freighters in port, a Patrol cruiser, and the starliner Dreamship III, as 
well as Hands own Tristan Jones; the Busted Fin should have been jammed with people, some of them 
as eager for human companionship as Hand was. 

Whats going on? Hand demanded, her fingers lightly tapping the blaster. 

Al looked past the vnorpt and said, He ate Barnstable! 

Barnstable was Als dog; Hand had never liked him much. Shed never had much patience with pets, and 
Barnstable, half bulldog, half basset hound, and half-witted, had been even less lovable than most. 

Was an accident, the vnorpt rumbled. Thought it was snack. Pay for damages, yes. It dropped a 
credit chit on the bar with one of its feeding claws. 

You cant just Al began. 

Said was sorry, the vnorpt interrupted. Now, beer, yes? 


You ate my dog! You get out of here! He pointed toward the service door. 

You ate my dog! You get out of here! He pointed toward the service door. 

I dont care if youre a vnorpt or a 1antar or a goddamn tree frog! You ate my dog! 

Was accident, the vnorpt insisted. Very sorry. Pay insurance value three times, yes? Now, beer. 

You ate my dog and chased away all my customers! 

Not responsible for unfortunate prejudice of clientele. Beer, third time asked. This final sentence 
sounded very much like a warning. 

Hand decided that it was time to interveneand not by pulling a blaster. Give him his beer, Al, she 
called, as she strode up to the relatively small section of bar not blocked by the vnorpt. And file a 
protest about Barnstable later. You dont want to make this fellow angry. 

Nobody ever wanted to be around an angry vnorpt. 

Al glowered unhappily at her, but picked up the credit chit with one hand and a pitcher with the other, 
and opened a tap. 

The vnorpt looked down at Hand. Thanks, it said. It took in her size and general appearance, and said, 
You little guy, yes? Kinda cute. 

Thanks, Hand said, not meaning it. She looked up at the vnorpt. 

It was roughly egg-shaped, covered with bony brown armor. Four long, multiply-elbowed arms hung 
from its middle, and four feeding claws were arrayed below its gigantic maw, ready to shove in whatever 
got within reach. Four eyes on stubby stalks bracketed the immense mouth, all of them currently tilted 
toward her, and a greenish-yellow crest topped it off. Something yellowish was seeping between plates 
of bone on one side of its headif it had a head and Hand suspected that was the source of the worst 
of the foul smell. Nothing corresponding to ears, nose, or other human features was visible. 

A typical vnorpt, in other words, completely nondescript to anyone but another vnorpt. The only thing 
that made this one unusual was its location, in a human-run bar in Daedalus Port rather than out in vnorpt 
territory. 

This character, Hand told herself, was clearly a problem that had to be dealt with. The Busted Fin was 
the only worthwhile bar in the entire port, as far as Hand was concerned. The others were all overpriced 
tourist traps that would be full of the passengers off the Dreamship III. Hand was eager to find a little 
actiona nice big freighter crewman would be very welcomebut she was not about to waste her time 
on a bunch of overdressed twits who thought tooling around on a starliner made them spacers. 

And they probably wouldnt want to waste time on her either, if the truth be told. She was no exotic 
offworld beauty, just a stubby middle-aged woman with a blobby nose that she kept meaning to get fixed 
but never had yet. 

Freighter crews werent so picky about details like that. But freighter crews werent going to set foot in 
the Busted Fin so long as this mountain of alien meat was stinking up the place; vnorpt were known to 
occasionally smash skulls or break human legs accidentally, just as this one had accidentally eaten 
Als dog. They generally didnt actually eat humans anymore, not since the treaty, but even that wasnt 


impossible if a vnorpt got drunk enough. It would mean apologies and reparations and warnings from the 


Patrol, but that wouldnt do the vnorpts dinner any good. 
What brings you to this part of town? Hand asked. She had hopes of convincing it to move on to a 
different barthe Stardust Lounge, maybe, where the tourists would probably be just thrilled to meet a 
real, live alien. 


Beer, the vnorpt replied. Good beer here. Not like the others. 


Al finished filling the pitcher and handed it to the vnorpt, which transferred it to a feeding claw, then 
tossed it down in a single gulp, like a human drinking a shot of whiskey. 
Cant argue with that, Hand said. So youve tried the others? The Stardust? 
The empty pitcher dangled from the tip of the claw, swinging back and forth as the vnorpt said, Tried 


Stardust. Beer there tastes like dirty water. Here is real beer. It reached up and dislodged the pitcher; 
Al dove forward in time to catch it as it fell. More beer, it said. 
Ill have one, too, Hand said, as Al reached for the tap. Just a half-liter, though, and make it a stout. 
Al grumbled something and began refilling the pitcher. 


I didnt know that vnorpt like beer, Hand said, as she waited for her drink. 
Yes, the vnorpt said. Tried some because humans talked about it so much. Good stuff. Got more 
respect for humans now. Anyone who invent beer is okay. 


Then you dont make your own? Theres no vnorpt beer? 
No vnorpt beer, because no vnorpt hops, no vnorpt yeast. Dumb question, little guy. A vnorpt hand 


lashed out in what was probably intended as a comradely gesture akin to a slap on the shoulder; the 
impact slammed Hand off her feet. 
She reacted completely automatically. By the time she hit the floor, she had her blaster out of the sheath 


on her thigh and pointed at the vnorpts head. 


Oops, the vnorpt said, but Hand wasnt looking at thatshe was looking at Al, behind the bar, who 
had put down the pitcher and was now nodding vigorously, drawing a finger across his throat. 
Self-defense, Al said. Im a witness. 
Hand hesitated. 
The vnorpt hadnt intended to hurt her, she was fairly certain. Al was mad about his dog and what the 


vnorpt was doing to his business, but the vnorpt was still a sentient being and probably hadnt really 


meant any harm. Shooting it wasnt called for unless it actually attacked someone. 
Besides, she was only carrying a standard-issue urban blaster, where penetration was deliberately kept 
low so that random shots wouldnt punch through entire blocks and take out innocent bystanders. She 
wasnt sure what it would do to vnorpt armor. 


She lowered the weapon, but didnt return it to its holster. 
Sorry, sorry, the vnorpt said, and before Hand could get back on her feet, one of those long arms had 
reached out and grasped her shoulder. It picked her up, and two of the vnorpts other arms began 



brushing her off. Very sorry, it said. Low gravity tricky, yes? 

brushing her off. Very sorry, it said. Low gravity tricky, yes? 

Vnorpt had apparently evolved under much higher gravity. Nobody really knew much about their origins, 
but that much was widely believed. 

Just checking for broken bones, things like that, the vnorpt said, as it stuck a hand in her crotch. 

She really hadnt intended to fire, but that was too much. The blaster bolt spattered glowing plasma 
across the brown armored face. 

The vnorpt dropped her, and she landed sitting on the bar. The stench of vnorpt was now worse than 
everwhatever that yellow stuff was, it smelled even ghastlier when it burned. 

Ouch! the vnorpt complained, dabbing at a singed eye. 

Oops, Hand said, smiling broadly. Sorry, sorry. 

The other three eyes swung around to glare at her. It made a noise she had never heard before, and 
never wanted to hear again; she wasnt sure whether it was a laugh or a growl or what. Beer, it said to 
Al. And wet cloth. 

Al was staring up at the vnorpt in astonishment, his mouth hanging open. 

Beer, it said again. And wet cloth. 

Al remembered himself, and handed up the refilled pitcher and a bar rag. When the vnorpt took them, he 
leaned over and said to Hand, You shot it! 

She stared at him silently as she slid off the counter and landed standing at the bar. 

You shot it in the face at point-blank range, and it isnt even hurt! 

I think it stung a little, Hand said. 

But you shot it in the face! 

Hand sighed. Al, she said, I have some buddies who fought the vnorpt in the Eridani campaign. They 
told me that the way they used to work was they would systematically cut the vnorpt ships to pieces, and 
then would go in and potshot the individual vnorpt as they drifted in vacuum. The vnorpt would shell up, 
to hold in their air as long as possible, and they could live a couple of hours like that, long enough for 
another vnorpt ship to rescue them, so our side didnt just let them alone, they went in and picked them 
off. It usually took a couple of shots to punch through the armor and let the air out, and that was with a 
ships heavy plasma cannon, not some dinky urban sidearm. Sometimes even the cannon wouldnt do the 
job, and theyd knock em down into the nearest star, instead. She shook her head. I used to wonder 
sometimes whether those guys were exaggerating, or whether the vnorpt crews wore extra armor, 
besides what nature provided. I guess not. 

Al drew her a half-liter of stout while she made this speech; he passed it over and stared up at the vnorpt. 

Better, the vnorpt said, dropping the rag, which was now coated with yellow slime, onto the bar. Yes, 
vnorpt pretty tough, compared to humans. Good side to that and bad side, yes? 


Yes, Hand agreed. No hard feelings? 


No anger. Pet eaten, eye shot, bumps, thumps, pokes, no big deal. Tolerance required. Accidents and 
inappropriate things always happen when people from different cultures interact, yes? 
Yes, Hand said again. In a way, she was almost beginning to like the vnorpt, clumsy and obnoxious 


though it might be. 


But she didnt want it in the Busted Fin. There were too many of those inappropriate things happening. 
Al, she said, I bet our friend here would like to meet Mickey Finnthink hell be in tonight? 
Al looked at her, then at the vnorpt. He might be, at that, he said. He looked up at the vnorpt. Want 


another beer? 
Yes, the vnorpt said, handing down the pitcher. 
Al started filling it, and glanced sideways at Hand. He needed her to distract the vnorpt so he could add 


something to the drink, of course. 
So, she said, did you fight in the Eridani campaign? 
Didnt fight, the vnorpt said. Not a fighter. 
So you never saw a blaster before? Hand asked, raising her weapon again. 
Saw lots of blasters, here and there. Never shot before, though. The vnorpts eyes were all focused on 


the blaster. Hand couldnt read its expression, but thought it was wary, worried that shed shoot it again. 
Really? Whatd it feel like? 
Hot, the vnoipt said. Stings. Like poke in eye with sharp stick. Very sharp stick. Very hard poke. 
Does it still hurt? Al had a vial of something out, and was pouring the entire contents into the pitcher of 


beer. 
Some. 
So does my butt, Hand said. 
The four stalked eyes all seemed to stretch toward her, and she could hear the creatures surprise. Just 


from fall on floor? In this gravity? 


Hand nodded. We arent built anywhere near as tough as you. Als vial was out of sight again. She put 
the blaster back in its holster. 
Sorry, the vnorpt said. Was accident. Truly. 
Heres your beer, Al said. 
He and Hand watched as the vnorpt downed the entire five or six liters of lager in a single gulp. Then 


Hand asked Al, So when do you think Mickey will show up? 


Al shrugged. Could be any minute now, Captain Hand. Ought to be here in ten minutes, fifteen at the 
outside. 
Then Ill wait, Hand said. She looked the vnorpt up and down and sipped her own beer. Say, would 



you be interested in renting a cargo lifter, later tonight? 
I might be, at that. He glanced up at the vnorpt. 
The vnorpt dropped the pitcher on the bar, and smacked its lips. Better and better! it said. 
Hand blinked, and asked the vnorpt, So what brings you to Daedalus? 
She and the vnorpt made small talk for the next twenty minutes, while Al grew steadily more upset, 


glancing constantly at the clock on the wall. The sun set as they chat-ted, and the glaring white of a 


Daedalus day gave way to the multicolored glare of the ports neon-enhanced night. 
The other human customers had all managed to slip out by the end of that time, and the waitress vanished 
into the back room and stayed there. Various potential customers and curiosity-seekers looked in, but 
once they saw the vnorpt they hesitated, then withdrewno one but Al, Hand, and the vnorpt remained 
in the bar. 

At last Hand said to Al, Mickeys late. Got any way to give him another call, maybe? 
Al looked up at the vnorpt and shrugged hopelessly. I used all I had last time, he said. 
Got something you can substitute? She looked up at the vnorpt. Maybe something appropriate for a 


toast in Barnstables memory? After all, accidents happen. Even fatal ones. 
Al looked at her. You think so? 
I think that vnorpt are big and tough enough that yeah, they do. She looked Al straight in the eye. 
He knew what she was sayingshe was advising him to go ahead and poison a paying customer, on the 


theory that it probably wouldnt kill something as monstrous as a vnorpt. 
Of course, if she was wrong, they might be guilty of conspiracy to commit murder and treaty violations, 
but at this point Hand no longer cared. She wanted the vnorpt out of the bar. She wanted to be able to 
smell something again; her nose had long ago shut down in protest at the vnorpts stench. She wanted 


other customers to come in here, so she could find some decent company to drink with and maybe take 
back to her ship. 
Let me see whats in the back room, Al said. 
Hand kept the vnorpt occupied for the next several min-utes; at last Al reemerged with a box. The vnorpt 


didnt notice. 
Want another beer? Al asked. 
Yes! the vnorpt said. 
A moment later it gulped down another pitcher. Then it hesitated, and said, Urn. 
Is something wrong? Hand asked. 
Didnt taste right that time. 
Maybe youve had enough, then, Hand suggested. You wouldnt want to get really drunk, would 


you? 



Wouldnt, the vnorpt agreed. It pulled in its eyestalks and folded its feeding claws, while dropping the 


pitcher to the bar. Feel bad all of a sudden. 
Youve just had too much to drink, Hand said. It hits all of a sudden like that, sometimes. Get some 
fresh air, walk it off, and in an hour youll be fine. 


Beer does this? 


If you drink too much, yeah. 


It started to say something, then belched instead. Um, it said. Oops. 


Fresh air helps a lot, Hand said cheerfully. 


It dropped its four hands to the floor, then lifted itself up. Fresh air, it rumbled. It picked its credit chit 


off the bar, then turned and staggered toward the big service door. 
Hand watched it go, then turned and hissed at Al, What did you give it? 
The first mickey was chloral hydrate, he said. A lot of chloral hydrate. 
Yeah, but it just shook that right off, Hand said. What did you give it the second time? 
Rat poison, Al said, holding up the empty box. A full kilogram. 
A kilo of arsenic? 
Hey, it worked, didnt it? 
Al, that much might even kill a vnorpt! 
Wouldnt bother me if it did, Al replied defensively. It ate Barnstable, and chased away my entire 


clientele and most of my staff! It stank up the placeIll have to put the recirculators on emergency 


overload to get the smell out. It was self-defense! 
Just then they heard a sound unlike anything either of them had ever heard before, coming from just 
outside the service doora deep tearing gurgle, followed by splashing. 


It seemed to go on forever, but Hand knew it wasnt really more than a minute or two. 


After it ceased, there were several seconds of silence. Then the vnorpt called in, Feel much better now. 
Go home, sleep it off. 
Neither Al nor Hand replied; they were both overcome by the incredible new reek that had managed to 


penetrate even their overwhelmed noses. They stood, gagging, as the vnorpt staggered away down the 


street. 


At last Hand managed to gasp, Better get those recirculators pumping. 
Al nodded, still unable to speak. A moment later the hum of the vent-fans climbed into audibility, and the 
air stirred. 


Unfortunately, it stirred in the wrong direction, sucking air in through the service door, which meant it 
carried that unbelievable new stench. 
I didnt know anything could smell worse than vnorpt, Hand muttered. But it figures that if anything 



could, it would be vnorpt vomit. 


Im ruined, Al gasped. The barll stink for weeks! Theyll probably ticket me for a public health 
hazard. 
Drastic measures are called for, Hand said, pulling out her blaster. 
What are you 
She ignored Al as she marched across the barroom floor and looked out the service door. 
Sure enough, an immense puddle filled several square meters of the street there; only the raised threshold 


had kept the dozens of liters of yellowish fluid from spilling into the Busted Fin. 
I hope this works, Hand said, as she fired her blaster into the center of the pool. 
And with that, Hand discovered an even worse smell, one that made her senses swim and the world fade 


away as she tottered on the verge of faintingthe scent of burning vnorpt vomit. 
Hand didnt falter; she kept firing, waving the blaster back and forth. 
And at last the smell faded, and she found herself firing an almost-discharged blaster at empty, 


entirely-harmless plastic pavement. 


Slowly, as the fresh evening air began to clear her mind, she slipped the blaster back into its holster and 
looked around thoughtfully. 
The quantity just a single vnorpt had consumed was truly astonishing. An entire planet of vnorpt would be 


a huge market. 


You know, she said to no one in particular, I see an opportunity here for an enterprising trader. Like 
me. 
Then she turned and went back inside, headed for a barstool. 
Selling a few shiploads of beer to the vnorpt might make her rich, but it could wait. Right now, she 


wanted a drink. Whiskey, maybe, or gin. 
But not beer. 
TIE SILVER FLUE 


by Josepha Sherman 

Josephs Sherman is a fantasy writer and folklorist whose latest novels are Highlander. The Captive 
Soul and Son of Darkness. Her most recent folklore volume is Merlins Kin: World Tales of the Hero 
Magicians. Her short fiction has appeared in numerous anthologies, including Battle Magic, Dinosaur 
Fantastic, Black Cats and Broken Mirrors, and The Shimmering Door. She lives in Riverdale, New 
York. 

A I brought The Dart out of hyperspace and into the Stataka system, I called up a visual on my ships 
screen. I already knew details of the planets gravity (a touch less than Human standard) and atmosphere 
(quite breathable). Now I could see what the computer had already told me: Stataka really did look 
absolutely well mundane, the standard classification of water-and-land planet supporting 
oxygen-breathing life. In this case, that life was a slender, gray-skinned biped race, vaguely like my own 


species, Human, in having two eyes, ears, and so on. So, locals plus whatever space travelers might have 
put into Statakas one public port. 

species, Human, in having two eyes, ears, and so on. So, locals plus whatever space travelers might have 
put into Statakas one public port. 

As The Dart sliced down through Statakas atmosphere, I could see the gray buildings and bright lights 
of Kartaka, the city that sprawled around the spaceport. Kartaka had quite a reputation as a wide-open 
trading city. And yes, there was a quite a bit of illicit business taking place down there, if Alliance reports 
were accurate. 

But from everything Id been able to learn, Sei Sisar, the art dealer with whom I was dealing, had a 
reputation for honesty. The three-way contract to which Id agreed, along with Sei Sisar and the Kuurae, 
was basic enough: Sharra Kinsarinmeowner, captain, and one-woman crew of The Dart, to receive 
one religious artifact from art dealer Sei Sisar, and transport it back to its rightful homeworld of Kuuraet. 
Sei Sisar was footing half the bill to get the artifact home again, and the Kuurae were footing the other 
half. 

Nothing unusual there: Reputable art dealers, once they realize they are holding stolen artifacts, do tend 
to return the things to their owners, since they want to keep their names clean. They return artifacts often 
enough for me to make a nice profit out of it. 

Who am I? Nothing special to look at: Human, youngish, female, olive skin, and short dark hair. What I 
am is an art courier licensed in all one hundred and forty-three of the Alliance worlds and a few 
othersincluding provisional member worlds like Kuuraetspecializing in any objects too small and 
valuable to risk losing on one of the big ships. Ill add that I have another edge over the big guys: my little 
swept-winged Dart is swifter than most of them. I also, not incidentally in my line of work, have an 
implant that lets my brain adapt quickly to new languages. 

Why me, though, and not a Kuurae emissary? Simple answer: The Kuurae are one of those races who 
dont like space travel. I mean, they really, really dont. The vastness terrifies them. 

I brought my ship down through the layers of atmo-sphere, and a maze of other ships taking off or 
landing, to a waiting berth. 

Sure enough, the ground crew insisted on bribes, but in such a good-natured way that I couldnt get 
angry. Besides, if things went according to contract, Sei Sisar would be covering this expense, too. 

We settled on a price that included keeping The Dart ready for takeoff, and I set off to find my current 
employer. Daylight on this side of the planet, conveniently, which meant that I could get the artifact from 
Sei Sisar without any other delays. It would have made my life easier if someone had been waiting at the 
port with the object to be transported: signature, payment, refueling, and away. But Sei Sisar had insisted 
he was too busy for anything like that. Since I legally had to accept the artifact from him and only him, I 
was to meet him at his office, which he swore wasnt that far from the spaceport. 

So be it. I fought my way through the crowds of embarking or disembarking travelers, fought my way 
into an empty groundcar, and gave it the proper coordinates, trying not to wince at the amount of credits 
it wanted for that relatively short ride. Should have walkedno, on second thought, this warehouse 
region wasnt exactly the place for a solitary stroll, even if I had included, as I always did when planning 
to carry art, my sidearm. Too bad Sei Sisar hadnt told me to meet him in his shop downtown; more 
people meant less of a chance of some would-be robber following me. 

As the car made its efficient robotic way through row after row of dull gray warehouses and the 


occasional flurry of pallet-unloading activity, I glanced one more time at the little image Id downloaded. 
The Kurrae artifacts name translated to the Silver Flame, though there wasnt anything flamelike about 
the tranquil, cross-legged, beautifully carved statue. It was a female Kurrae, thin and delicate as all her 
kind, vaguely humanoid, assuming that Humans had knife-sharp cheekbones, huge eyes, and faint scaling, 
and worked from what looked like pure white stone. A saint figure? No one knew too much about 
Kuurae religious beliefs. 

occasional flurry of pallet-unloading activity, I glanced one more time at the little image Id downloaded. 
The Kurrae artifacts name translated to the Silver Flame, though there wasnt anything flamelike about 
the tranquil, cross-legged, beautifully carved statue. It was a female Kurrae, thin and delicate as all her 
kind, vaguely humanoid, assuming that Humans had knife-sharp cheekbones, huge eyes, and faint scaling, 
and worked from what looked like pure white stone. A saint figure? No one knew too much about 
Kuurae religious beliefs. 

I looked up in surprisesurprise that quickly turned to alarm. Oh damn. 

What had been Sei Sisars office was now a blackened ruin, still smoking faintly. Leaving the groundcar, 
I got as close as harried officials would let me. A fire, they told me unnecessarily. No survivors. No 
cause yet, though there were hints that it had been too hot to be natural, and maybe that there were some 
suspicious residues as well. 

Well, as Ive said, a lot of illicit business takes place in this city. Presumably someone had gotten 
annoyed at Sei Sisar for being too honest once too often. 

No Sei Sisar. That meant no artifact. And no payment. Swearing under my breath and reminding myself 
that the late Sei Sisar had just had a rougher time of it, I turned back to the waiting groundcar 

Which was no longer waiting. Of course not, curse it! In my shock over the fire, Id neglected to tell the 
thing to stay put. And I doubted Id find another car so easily in this area. 

All right. Start walking. You can find the spaceport again easily enough. Pretend you belong here, 
even though you dont look like a local. 

Hell with trying to fit in. Id just radiate my best mess with me and die expression and keep one hand 
on my sidearm. That worked on a good many worlds. 

But as I strode defiantly along, a sudden whisper made me start. 

Captain Kinsarin! Please! 

I whirled, sidearm drawn. Who could possibly know my name 

The frantic hiss had come from a narrow space, not even a true alley, between two buildings. A slight 
figure huddled against one wall as though making a decision, then came toward me in a rush. I tightened 
my hand on the sidearms haft, ready to firebut heshe?it?stopped short just out of reach, 
almost completely shrouded in a cloak two or three sizes too big and charred at the edges. Looked as 
though thered been a survivor of that fire, after all. 

Please, please, I am not harming you. Captain Kinsarin, you must be taking me off this world! 

I wasnt about to get involved in some gangs activities. Bad enough that this being, who or whatever, 
knew my name. Sorry. I dont carry passengers. 

I am not that! You must know this: I am what you seek-I am the Silver Flame! 

Ah of course you are. And how do you know what brought me to Stataka? 

No, wait! A thin hand, six-fingered, not quite steady, and dead white, pushed back the shrouding hood 


just enough to let me see a dead-white face with enormous deep blue eyes and narrow, knife-sharp 
cheekbones. 
She hadnt looked so weary in the image. Or so terrified. 
The smallest pang of sympathy shot through mealong with a sense of downright Ive been had. 


Oh, hell, I said lamely. 
The average Kuurae had tannish skin. This one wasnt an albino, not with those eyes. A mutation, then, 
and held sacred as a result. When you came right down to it. the contract had never actually specified a 
holy statue rather than a holy living being. And no one had ever actually agreed or denied that the 
artifact might be much more than merely stone. 


But why the pretense of an artifact at all? To keep the matter private? Or to make it more 
convenient 


A cold suspicion settled at the back of my mind. It could well be. 
Yes, but now that I had the artifact. I also had a chance of getting paid by the Kuurae if not by Sei 
Sisar. Risky, if my suspicions were correct, butif I wanted a safe, secure life, I would have joined one 
of the big corporations a long time ago. My ship could hold two as easily as one, so I added, All right, 
lets get going. 


Yes, but 
You do want to get back to Kuuraet? 
Yes! But they do not want it! 
They. I whirled to see four beings. Definitely not from this world. Strongly muscled, tall as the average 


Human male, they stood on two legs, had a great deal of russet fur, gaudy jewelry, and sharp teethand 
they carried vicious-looking sidearms. 
Great. 
Do you know them? I whispered to the Silver Flame. 


They are of those who stole me! 
Even better. For a moment I thought of screaming and hoping that some of those officials going over the 
fire-charred ruins would come running. 


Not a chance. 
Get behind me, I snapped. When the Silver Flame hesitated, I tried to push her. 
Dont touch me! Her voice was suddenly that of an insulted aristocrat. 
Oh, joy. Just do it! To the beings, I asked as coolly as though I wasnt looking at all those weapons, 


You want her? 
Unfortunately, they didnt speak the local language. They also werent giving my implant enough of a 
sample for me to understand theirs. But most kidnappers dont look so angrythat emotion, at least, I 
could understand on those furry facesor so willing to shoot their own hostage. 



I pointed my own weapon at the one who, judging from the glittery stuff about his (I assumed) neck, 
seemed to be their leader. Since they couldnt understand me either, I quoted from some ancient Human 
vid in the archaic Earth language and said, Go ahead. Make my day. 

I pointed my own weapon at the one who, judging from the glittery stuff about his (I assumed) neck, 
seemed to be their leader. Since they couldnt understand me either, I quoted from some ancient Human 
vid in the archaic Earth language and said, Go ahead. Make my day. 

She avoided my shoving hand and darted away. Those ridiculously narrow alleys were almost too 
narrow for me. But as I squeezed my way through, following the slight figure of the Silver Flame, who 
had shed her bedraggled cloak to reveal a formfitting white sheath, I thought they at least served one 
purpose: They were too narrow for our hairy pursuers. One of those folks got off a blue-white shot of 
blazing force that sent stony splinters raining down on me, but I managed to return a shot of my own, and 
heard what was unmistakably a swear word from back there. 

Yes, that smarted, didnt it? Too bad I dont have it set on killing force. 

You didnt do that, not and risk killing a local by mistake. 

The hairy guys werent worried about public relations. They continued shooting blindly, bringing down 
more stones. Swearing, head down, stung by splinters and pelted by pebbles, I forced my way on. 
Lunging out into the open again, I nearly crashed into the Silver Flame, who had stopped short. 
Dont touch me! she insisted. 
The being was beginning to get on my already tightly strung nerves. Payment, I reminded myself. Youve 


got the contract. 
Wed come onto a street fronted by closed warehouses. By sheer wild fortune, I commandeered a 
groundcar. Feeding it credits till it agreed to take us at top speed to the spaceport, I collapsed back on 


the thinly padded seat, struggling to catch my breath and staring at the seemingly self-possessed Silver 
Flame. What the hell was that all about? 
She stared at me with those enormous blue eyes. They wanted me back. 
Sure they did. Thats why they were trying to kill us. 
Her gaze never wavered. That, I know not why. 
Of course not, I said dryly. 
I know not why, she repeated stubbornly, and turned away from me, falling resolutely silent, a white 


statue. And I, I thought, Her people really are going to pay for this, they are, indeed 
Still maybe she was just scared? That wouldnt be surprising. Maybe she just didnt know how to 
This car reeks, the Silver Flame said coldly, and killed my sympathy in that instant. 
The cars AI couldnt be insulted, of course. Kartaka, Spaceport, it announced. 
No furry beings anywhere to be seen. Maybe we were going to get out of here in one piece 
Yes, and surprise, surprise, the ground crew had been honorable in their bribe-taking. The Dart sat 


ready, looking sleek and narrow as its namesake, glinting in the sunlight. Beautiful, I thought with a surge 
of pride. 


Small, the Silver Flame summed up. 


Oh, no, she wasnt going to anger me so easily! After you, Your Saintliness, I said and ushered her 
inside with-out touching her. I didnt even attempt to help her strap herself in. 
Our furry foes were still nowhere to be seen, but I asked for immediate takeoff clearance just in case. No 


problem there; another ship was already waiting for the berth. I sent The Dart soaring up through the 


atmosphere and the maze of air traffic, back out into the freedom of space. 
Setting the ships computer for Kuuraets coordinates, I also sent off a quick, private, just-in-case 
message to the Alliance outpost nearest to that world. The Alliance is, of course, basically a trading 
organization, but it does have its defense branch. Granted, space is big and messages take time to arrive, 
but even so, I felt a little better for the sending 


And only then stopped to think that I had a Kuurae with mea member of a race who couldnt endure 
space travel. If she went into shockworse, I thought in sudden fastidious alarm, if she got spacesick in 
these close quarters 


But the Silver Flame merely sat, her white face unreadable once more. 
All right, so at least one Kuurae could manage space travel. I wasnt so sure about her reaction to 
hyperspace. Im a rarity among Humans, one of the few who can travel through that nowhere noplace 


without needing to be drugged. But that utter lack of anything recognizable has been known to drive 
many beings insane. 
Did I have anything that would safely drug a Kuurae? What do your people take to get through 


hyperspace? 
Those great blue eyes gave me a sharp sideways glance. My people do not go through hyperspace. 
Your, uh, kidnappers couldnt have come all this way by sublight speed. 
No. But I do not know what was done. 
Great. As I rummaged through my medkit, wishing I had just a little more medical data about her race 


in the computer than a standard biped, warm-blooded, and the basics of pulse and respiration rates, I 
asked, Are you going to tell me what was going on back there? 
You do not question me. It was that autocratic tone again. 
Hell I dont. This is my ship, and that pretty much gives me sovereignty rights. 


You do not question me! 
You know, I could really start not to like No. Wait. She really had been through a lot lately, enough 
to drive a weaker person into shock. I couldnt tell how old she was, either. For all I knew, the Silver 
Flame might have been nothing more than a child. 


In a much gentler tone, I said, Its all right. You dont have to be afraid. The Darts a swift ship, and Ill 
have you home before 
This is not a ship, but a toy! And I was not afraid. 
Have it your way. But I need to know if were going to run into any more trouble. 



I am not a prophet. 
No. Youre a pain in the Who were they? At least tell me that! 
You do not question me! 
Look, I have no intention of meddling in Kuurae affairs 


You do not question me! 

A spark flared where her hand clenched the armrest, a wisp of smoke began to rise, and with it, the first 

hint of a flameI 
acted in pure instinct, practically tearing her from the seat, not even knowing how Id unfastened the 
harness, and tossed her aside so hard that she went crashing to the cabin floor, stunned with shock. Of 
course I have a fire extinguisher in the cabin, and had the tiny flame out in about three seconds. But I 
lingered over the work for a few minutes more, trying to get my heartbeat back down to normal. 

A pyrokinetic. The Silver Flame was a pyrokinetic. Rare, any type of psionic gifts, rarer still this sort. 

I was still too angry and, yes, too scared, to care. Dragging her back up, I plopped her back into the 
seat, aware only now of how downright hot her skin felt. 
You idiot! I shouted. God of Worlds, you utter idiot! Starting a fire in a spaceship, a closed 


environment surrounded by spacewhat were you trying to do? Kill us both? 
She blinked up at me. I did not think 
That seems pretty clear! Damn it, I could, by every law, throw you out of The Dart into space here and 


now! 
Yes. It was the merest whisper. 
A pyrokinetic. 
God of Worlds, yes, I was on this ship with aa psionic fire-starter. 
Something clicked into place in my mind. The fire, I said. Sei Sisars office the whole building. That 


was your doing. 
Her head drooped like that of a scolded child. Was. 
But why? And, damn it, dont give me that You must not question nonsense! 
It was not meant Her voice trembled. I thought only of escape. I had escaped. Sei Sisar he 


has dealt with the Kuurae, so to him I fled. He helped. Sei Sisar contacted Kuuraet. And you. 


She looked up at me. For the first time I saw genuine emotion clear in those big eyes, and was pretty 
sure it was sorrow. Of a sort, anyhow. And I thought, / was right. Wasnt I? 
How old are you? I asked her suddenly. By your peoples standards, I mean. 
Reluctantly, she confessed, In years, not yet of the Grown. But I am the Silver Flame! 
An adolescent. No, an adolescent pyrokinetic. No ones denying that. Please. What else happened, 


back on Stataka? 



It was not a true escape, not for me. They are the Uwar-tai. And they found me. And I they I 
did not mean to harm Sei Sisar. But I feared. So greatly I feared. 
And you panicked. 


Her head drooped again. Did. 
Was she regretting what had happened? Or, I wondered uneasily, merely regretting her lack of control? I 
would almost have been willing to give her the proverbial benefit of the doubt if only I hadnt seen that 
flame spark into life under her hand. What happened if she panicked again, here, aboard my ship? 


But some more pieces were clicking into place. They, the, uh, Uwar-tai kidnapped you to be a weapon, 


didnt they? 
It was so. They wanted a storm of fire to sweep away their foes. But II cannot do that, not so wide a 
fire! They they would not believe me. 


Hell, I said softly. And they still dont. 


A ship was forming on the view screen. From its coordinates, it could only have come from Stataka. And 
from its size and downright predatory shape, it could only be a warship. 
Fight or flight? First, I said, lets see what they have to say. 
But you dont speak their language! 
I grinned. Dont worry. I will. 
Butno! They are not truth-sayers! They will be false! 
Ignoring her, I opened a communications channel, stan-dard Alliance frequency. Would they know it? Or 


were they really just the shoot first type? 
Not quite. 
The first words their glittery-necklaced leader said were, of course, unintelligible to me. Those were the 


most dangerous moments, when I didnt answer and they might lose patience. 


Then the implant went to work, and after a dizzy moment, I was able to identify myself and my ship in 
reasonably smooth Uwar-taik. Why do you follow us? 
You know why! We are not at war with youyet. Surrender that thing and go your way. 
I glanced at the Silver Flame, who had gone into her rigid statue-mode. Sorry. Cant do that without a 


really good reason. 
She has killed! 
So, I dont doubt, have you. So, for that matter, have I. In her case, it was self-defense. 
No! That was a teeth-baring roar. No! Never that! That thing you harbor is a foulness! She has 


killed! 
The full meaning of the word suddenly translated. With a shock, I realized that what he really meant was: 
Murder. 



Not! the Silver Flame protested, but very softly. Not. 


I dont deny she killed, I countered the Uwar-tai leader. But only after you There didnt seem to 
be a word in Uwar-taik for kidnapped. 
After you stole her away from her, uh, pack. 
She murdered! he roared. Not honorably, not battle-redshe murdered my pack-brother! 
Wait. Wait! Im, uh, honor-tied to return her to her people. Then we can bring the whole matter before 


an Alliance court 
No courts! Blood! 
With that melodramatic howl, he broke contact. 
Hang on, I told the Silver Flame. Well shake them in hyper 
But I didnt dare go into hyperspace! I hadnt a clue as to what would happen to a Kuuraeand the 


thought of a Kuurae pyrokinetic going berserk 
Never mind, I amended. The Darts fast enough in sublight. 
Manual controls now send The Dart zooming straight for a moon, slingshot around it and come back 


toward the enemy. Bank aside, slip past them, more agile than they. Damn, but their pilot turned almost 
at once, following me. 


All right, my friend, try this! 
I hurled my swift Dart around another moon, then onward through a maze of asteroids, banking this way, 
that, never quite in danger, never quite out of it. We were pulling away from the enemy, and I felt my lips 
peel back from my teeth in a sharp grin. We were going to 


No! the Silver Flame shrieked suddenly. No, no, cantcant standno! 


I gave her a quick, sideways glance and saw wild hysteria in her eyes. There was a limit to even this 
Kuurae space-endurance. 
And where her hands clenched the armrests of her seat, smoke was beginning to rise 
Land, she screamed at me, please, please! Land! 
Or go up in flames. Not exactly a choice. I did a quick, frantic scan: We were much too far from Stataka 


by now to return there, I didnt dare risk pushing the Silver Flame all the way over the edge by going into 


hyperspace, and nothing safe was near enough 
Ha, yes. Maybe. That wasnt much of a planet, barely more than a moon, but it had rudimentary 
vegetation, atmosphere, and gravity. Enough to allow an emergency land-ing. Once the Silver Flame 
calmed down a little, Id try whatever tranquilizers wouldnt kill her 


Land! she shrieked in my ear, and I jumped so violently I almost sent The Dart into a nose-dive. 
Shut up! I shouted back at her, and won enough startled silence to let me concentrate on bringing my 
ship down safely. Popping the hatch, I said, See? Solid land. 



And then went into a coughing fit, because the air really wasnt thick enough to breathe. 
That didnt seem to bother the Silver Flame. She was up and out of The Dart before I could unfasten my 


harness. By the time I caught up with her, she was dancing about easily in the light gravity, her face a 
white mask but her eyes blazing. 
Let her play a little, I told myself. Calm herself down. 
It was only play. Just a young thing letting off tension. Only play. 
Then why was I suddenly so unnerved? Why was I thinking that very little Id seen her do so far had 


been, when you came right down to it, rational? 
Let her play, I amended, then tranquilize the fire out of her. 
I alternated between frantically checking the readings on my medkit and just as frantically scanning the 


nearly black sky, looking for a moving dot. Our pursuers, even if they caught up with us, couldnt land 
here, not with that big warship of theirs, but I prayed they didnt have something powerful enough to 
scorch this whole little planetoid. 

Evidently not. Unfortunately, what they did have was a shuttle. 
Visitors, I snapped to the Silver Flame. 
But she danced lightly out of my reach. 
Damn it, cough, this isnt a time for, cough, games! Dont you, cough, cough, want to get home? 
The shuttle was landing. Cursing under my breath and fighting down further coughing, I drew my sidearm. 


If she wasnt going to come back, I was going to shoot her and pray the force only stunned her. 
At this stage, I wasnt going to be praying too hard, either. 
Damn! There was the enemy, ten no, fifteen of them, led by that glittery-necklaced fellow. Suddenly 


the Silver Flame was back at my side, her eyes still bright. 
They shall die. 
It was said so cheerfully that a cold shiver raced up my spine. I thought you said you couldnt do that, 


not a fire that size! 
I can. Will. 
Butno! Wait! 
God of Worlds, she meant it. And seeing that too-tranquil face and those wide, bright eyes, I knew the 


truth: The Silver Flame was nowhere near sanity. 
The Uwar-tai had drawn their weapons, too, stalking warily forward. They didnt know; they werent 


close enough to feel the heat radiating from the Silver Flame. In another second they were going to be a 
fireball, fifteen beings destroyed without a chance 
Damn it, no! 
Maybe it wasnt the brightest thing Ive done. I mean, Ive never been the Willing Sacrifice. But the 



thought of watching fifteen murdersno! I threw myself between the Silver Flame and the Uwar-tai. 


And she hurled fire at me. I dropped, rolled, and came up shooting. Yes, my weapon was still set only to 
stunning force, and for a moment I was sure that wouldnt be enough. 
But with a sigh almost of disappointment, the Silver Flame crumpled. 
The Uwar-tai came hurrying forward. Now, I thought, Im going to die. 
But what happened was that their leader beat out the flames in my clothing that I hadnt even felt. 
Shaken, I looked up at him. Thanks. 
I am Haimarg, pack-leader. 
I am Sharra Kinsarin, uh, of my own pack. 


Why do what you just did? he asked, nose wrinkled in what I guessed was confusion. Life-risking for 
an enemy? 
I got to my feet, standing between him and the Silver Flame just in case, not sure where this was going. I 
dont like murder. Yes, and for the record, a phrase that didnt really work in his language, I also dont 
like kidnapping. 

That word didnt quite work in his language either, but it was close enough. Haimargs lips drew back in 
a silent snarl. You place honor-debt on me. 

Do I? Then tell me what this was all about, and call that a settlement. 

He hissed at that, as did his fellows, and it took me an alarmed few seconds to realize the sound was an 
Uwar-tai laugh. Courage as well as honor, Haimarg commented to the others. Interesting. He turned 
back to me with the faintest lift of a lip. It was not I who stole that creature. 

Daringly, I suggested, Your pack-brother. 

It is so. We are a warrior race; we fight with honor. But 

Killing from afar isnt honorable, is it? Your pack-brother wanted a weapon that would do just that. 

Oh, smart move! He was at my side in a second, weapon against my neck, predators breath hot on my 
cheek, and I froze, not even daring to breathe. 

But then Haimarg released me with a grunt. Courage. he repeated. Yes. Muraik made that mistake, 
for the good of the people. That creature killed him. 

Time for another bout of courage. Or was that foolhar-diness? Seems to me the debts and wrongs are 
equaling out here. She wouldnt have had the chance to kill your pack-brother if he hadnt kidnapped her 
to use as a weapon. 

Haimarg snarled, and his warriors echoed him. But in a flurry of motion, he was back among them, calling 
to me, Get that creature back in your ship. We will follow, to be sure it reaches its home world. 

Right. The Silver Flame was still breathing, and I think I was relieved at that. I tugged her back into The 
Dart, got her strapped in like a cocoon, just in case she did wake up before we reached Kuuraet. And 
off we went, with our military escort. 


It was a blessedly uneventful voyage until we actually reached Kuuraet. Then, all my instincts uneasy, I 
sent a message to Haimarg, Stand ready. 

It was a blessedly uneventful voyage until we actually reached Kuuraet. Then, all my instincts uneasy, I 
sent a message to Haimarg, Stand ready. 

His ship vanished into the planetary shadow. 

Oh, my instincts werent playing me false! As Id suspected back on Stataka, when Id first found myself 
facing a live being, not a stone artifact, Id been set up. The Ku-urae knew their holy being, their Silver 
Flame, wasnt exactly sane, and they didnt want the news publicized. Who would care if one small ship 
and one Human met with a tragic accident? Maybe the Kuurae didnt like deep space, but that didnt 
stop them from launching what might have been the only warship in their fleet. 

That, of course, was when Haimarg brought his own ship out of hiding. 

And joy of joys, there I was, caught between them. 

I quickly opened channels to both ships. Looks like Im the translator here, I said in both languages. 
Switching to the Kuurae tongue, I told them, You know who Ive got here. And I know what you tried 
to do. Meet the Uwar-tai. Want to fight them? 

To the Uwar-tai, I said, Theyre dishonorable, I agree. But Im afraid they are members of the 
Alliance. Provisional only, but this wasnt the time to argue fine points. Thats one hundred and 
forty-two planets. Want a war with all them? 

If we leave, Haimarg said, and a hiss of Uwar-tai laughter was in his voice, then the Kuurae destroy 
you. 

Yes. Id thought of that problem. Anyone out there? I called over another channel, using Alliance 
Standard. 

And to my utter relief, a voice answered, Got your message. Here we are. 

Three warships, three languages, and an awkward situation defused. Oh, and yes, I delivered the Silver 
Flame, through the Alliance, to the Kuurae, and the Kuurae delivered, through the Alliance, the total 
amount due me. The Uwar-tai, curious about the Alliance, agreed to preliminary discussions about 
membership. 

Who knows? I might even get some new clients out of this. But right now, Im heading for a brief 
vacation on Pentaa. You may have heard of it. Its an all-water world. 

No chance of stray flames. 

STJRDUST 

by Jean Robe 

When not writing, Jean Rabe feeds her goldfish, visits museums, and attends gaming conventions. A 
former newspaper reporter, she is the author of nine fantasy novels, including the Dragonlance Fifth Age 
Trilogy. Her latest novel is Dhamon: The Downfall. She has written numerous fantasy and science 
fiction short stories which appear in such anthologies as Merlin and Tales from the Eternal Archives: 
Legends, and she edits a BattleTech magazine for the FASA Corporation. 

Tn a lot of ways, theyre just like us. A Luis gave her a curious look, clearly not understand-ing what 


she was talking about. 

she was talking about. 

Skinny, Luis had decided the day he met her in the spaceport, almost too skinny. She was wearing a tight 
chic outfit then, wrists and elbows and hipbones protruding, flesh taut against her jaw, teeth tiny and 
flawless. Her diminutive stature made it easy for her to curl up in the pilots chair, despite her bulky flight 
suit, right leg tucked beneath her, left hugged to her body, the way a teenager might sit. She pointed at 
the view screen, her arm looking child-small despite the insulated fabric. 

Luis eyes followed her gloved finger. Displayed against the blackness of space was a glowing white ball 
the size of a plum. Haloed by red wisps, it looked eerily ghostlike, yet at the same time dramatic. 

Theyre born, they live, and they die. The stars. She pushed a strand of honey-colored hair from her 
eyes. Even her hair seemed thin, lying close to her head and cropped short like a cap, silky strands all in 
place and shimmering softly in the glow of the console lights. She released a sigh that sounded like fall 
leaves shushing together, cocked her head, and indicated the chair beside her. They just happen to live 
ten billion or so years longer than we do. 

Luis edged forward, groaning when he brushed his head against the ceiling of the cramped compartment. 
He wasnt a tall man. Indeed, he thought of himself as short at five-nine, but he had broad shoulders and 
a slight paunch, both of which were accentuated by the suit. He squeezed by Reah and sat in the only 
other chair on what passed for the bridge. It wasnt a good fit, knees pressed up against a control panel, 
shoulders rounded and shaved head making him look a bit like a crab scrunched up in a silvery shell. He 
pulled his head close to his chest and tilted it so he could see both the star and the pilot. 

There was a hint of gentility to her heart-shaped face, which was smooth and unblemished and 
oh-so-pale. Shed seen plenty of suns, he knew that from the ships flight log, but he suspected she rarely 
walked on some planet beneath one, never let its rays tan that perfect milky skin. Pity, he thought. She 
could do with some color. Still, the paleness seemed to suit her, making her look like an antique China 
doll, fragile and hiding her years. She appeared twenty, but he knew she was a little more than twice that, 
nearly his own age. 

N-G-C seven-oh-seven-eight, Reah stated, still pointing at the star. What we came so damn far out 
here for. 

Its beautiful, he managed. 

Ah, and thats where starsre different from us, she continued, leaning forward and somehow looking 
graceful and catlike doing so. She nudged a lever, coaxing the ship in closer, but much slower now than it 
had been traveling. She flipped another switch. Dad? 

There was a crackle of static. 

Dad, better get ready. Itll be another thirty-five, forty minutes and well be in position. 

Another crackle. 

No. Theres no sign of your pirates or any other company for that matter. Were blessedly all alone this 
time. She thumbed the switch off and reached down to her side, retrieving a helmet and balancing it on 
her knee. 

You were saying her visitor prompted. 


Her turn to look confused. 

Her turn to look confused. 

Oh. The difference between us an them. When people get old, Luis, they shrivel. Stars do, too, in a 
sense. But people just dry up, fall ill. They get so ugly. Their breath stinks, an their teeth rot. Their 
flesh sags, an theyre shoved away in homes waiting for the day their heartsll stop an theyll quit being 
a burden to society. Not stars. Watch. Still balancing the helmet, Reah stretched to a panel on her right, 
arm intentionally brushing across Luis leg. She pushed a series of buttons and the screen shimmered for 
an instant. She pushed several more and sat back. 

Beautiful, he repeated. 

The screen combines visible and infrared light, sorta like the lens of a telescope, showing you what your 
eyes cant otherwise see. 

The red wisps were joined by a pink mist, slightly darker close to the sun, diaphanous and fading to 
nothing farther away, where it touched a glistening blue haze that seemed to swell and recede, as if the 
star was breathing. 

All the colors, theyre layers of gas and dust, the red is the dissipating molecular shell of the star. 
Reahs voice was detached, clinical, sounding like a professor lecturing to an apt pupil. There is a thin 
transition between the ionized region of the star and the otherwise invisible atmosphere. Most of the stars 
weve visited are more impressive. The butterfly of the bipolar planetary nebula M-two-nine, the Cats 
Eye, the Hourglass, the central stars of the Cotton Candy Nebula and the Silkworm Nebula, stellar 
pinwheels, globes within globes. This one is rather mundane. Once a star starts to die, it takes about 
thirty thousand years. And the closer a star is to death, the more amazing it becomes. The last was said 
with a tinge of reverence, the first real emotion Luis noted in her voice. All their lives stars wage a war 
against gravity, the crushing weight of their outer layers struggling against the core. When they start to 
lose the war, the outer layers press against the inner ones, and in the process the stars exhaust their 
supply of hydrogen. Their cores contract, becoming denser and hotter, becoming first red giants, then 
white dwarfs. Then they go supernova, exploding with a light a million times brighter than they were in 
life. And in dying, they breathe life into space. 

Reah fitted the helmet on her suit, but flipped up the faceplate so she could still regard Luis. Decaying 
stars, the ones that go supernova, throw off iron and oxygen. The small ones spit out carbon, like this one 
is starting to do. So in essence, humans and animals, plants, much of what is on Earth and other habitable 
worlds is made of dying stars. We are Stardust. She laughed lightly. But then you already know all of 
that, dont you, Luis? Thats what youre here for. Thats why you paid so much for this ride. 

What were all here for, he returned. Luis was sweating, not from the company or his ever-present 
nerves, but from the temperature. Despite the refrigeration of the ship and his flight suit, the heat was 
becoming more intense as they neared NGC7078. Space was cold, but not this close to a star, not in this 
ship, so large it had as much gravity as an asteroid. He extricated himself from the chair and squeezed by 
Reah as she flipped her faceplate down. He didnt see any sweat on her face. 

Dads waiting for you, she said, her soft voice barely audible through the tinted mask. 

Luis made his way through a narrow corridor, pressing his face against the walls every few yards. The 
walls were supercooled, and thus provided some relief, He tried to wipe the sweat away from his 
forehead, but it was a futile gesture. Shouldve railed against the Colonies latest style, he thought, not 
shaved his head and let his graying hair soak up some of the water. Or perhaps he shouldve rethought 
this whole venture. He caught himself when the ship lurched, swinging around. A moment later and he 


was in one of the massive bays, a dozen suited men in front of him, all overshadowed by massive pieces 
of equipment they were inspecting and adjusting. 

was in one of the massive bays, a dozen suited men in front of him, all overshadowed by massive pieces 
of equipment they were inspecting and adjusting. 

Captain Melka, the figure corrected. The man was like his daughter only in that he moved gracefully. 
The captain towered over Luis. He was large, but not heavy, with long limbs, the thick muscles of which 
were hidden by the suit. His skin was dark, like oiled walnut. Caucasian, Luis knew the captains skin 
had been darkened by his close exposure to dozens of dying stars. There were minute traces along his 
cheeks where sun blisters had been surgically removed, but for the most part his skin looked like smooth 
leather. His long black hair was tied at the base of his neck with a cord studded with tiny meteorite 
fragments. There were only sparse strands of silvery gray on the sides and peppering his short beard and 
bushy eyebrows. 

He could have easily passed for fifty, Luis was certain, though he knew Captain Melka had recently 
celebrated his eightieth birthday. Perhaps living away from Earth, Mars, Oloth Four, and even the 
Dartmoth Colonies contributed to his and his daughters youthfulness. Living away from the pollution and 
the press of people riddled with germs, away from planetary gravity and man-generated radiation. Luis 
envied the captain his longevity, but he wouldnt trade lifestyles to gain a few extra decades. Everyone 
eventually died. 

Even the stars. 

There were only a few wrinkles at the edges of the captains unblinking eyes. Luis tried to look away, but 
found himself held by the old mans stare, as if he were caught in a vise. Those eyes were a milky blue, 
like Reahs, but where hers were placid and practically emotionless, the captains were wide and wild. 
There was something dangerous and uncertain hiding behind them, madness perhaps, a keen intelligence. 
They filled Luis vision and rooted him to the bay floor. 

Captain. Yes. Captain Melka. Sorry, sir, Luis finally managed I am 

Late, Melka finished. With my daughter again. No matter. Were not in as much of a hurry this go 
round. No sign of pirates. 

Pirates, Captain? 

The eyes narrowed and menace flickered behind them. Ive been plagued by them the past two years. I 
thought you knew. Mining companies trying to profit from my expertise. 

Luis nodded. He remembered some mention of raiders in the bar at the spaceport, but he hadnt paid 
much atten-tion. He was there only to talk Sean Melka into doing a little mining for him. Melkas fee was 
extraordinary, but Luis family had the moneyand would gain much, much more if this endeavor was 
successful. Luis explained he was looking for a certain type of star, and Melka knew how to find just 
what Luis wanted. But Captain Melka wouldnt tell him where they were goingnot until moments 
before they left the port. And until Reah called it NGC7078, Luis didnt know the stars designation. 

I dont tell anyone where Im going anymore, Melka had explained. No flight plans. I dont even tell 
my crew. Sides, none of them have families. They dont need to be calling anybody. He pointed to his 
forehead. Only I know the course up front. That way therere no leaks. 

Luis learned during the voyage that while it takes a long while for a star to die, there are a few key and 
relatively brief points within that time frame when it releases the purest of substances, including high-grade 
neutrinos, bringing top dollar to those with the equipment and the courage to gather them. And at other 


precise stages, previously unknown elements were also belched out into space, these being the most 
sought after of substances. Miners could name their prices for these on Earth or the Dartmoth Colonies 
or sell them to the highest bidder at public or clandestine auctions. And Captain Melka, who had made a 
fortune several times over, and who had a few elements named for him and his daughter, was known for 
mining stars at just the right time. Apparently it was that knack and knowledge that caused the pirates 
to follow him rather than pursue their own planetary nebulae. 

precise stages, previously unknown elements were also belched out into space, these being the most 
sought after of substances. Miners could name their prices for these on Earth or the Dartmoth Colonies 
or sell them to the highest bidder at public or clandestine auctions. And Captain Melka, who had made a 
fortune several times over, and who had a few elements named for him and his daughter, was known for 
mining stars at just the right time. Apparently it was that knack and knowledge that caused the pirates 
to follow him rather than pursue their own planetary nebulae. 

The old man knew more about dying stars and mining them than Earths greatest physicists and 
astronomers. All that priceless knowledge stored away behind those wild, mad eyes. 

Pirates, yes, Luis said. I understand your concern. But 

You should be wearing a helmet, DeBeers. Captain Melka put his own on, pushing his black hair up 
inside and locking the rim in place. The faceplate up, his eyes still held Luis. 

I misplaced it, Luis said. Somewhere. When I was walking through the ship. 

The captain made a gesture, and a spare helmet was brought for Luis. 

Are you certain you wish to join us, DeBeers? 

Luis nodded. 

Out there, boy? 

Another nod, more pronounced. 

The heat can be crippling. There was no trace of concern in the voice. The captain spoke evenly and 
matter-of-factly. It has overcome veteran miners before. And you are certainly not a miner. 

Youve been paid well. I want to be part of this. All of it. 

A hint of a smile crept across Melkas face, then it was quickly banished. The faceplate was slapped 
down. Another gesture, and the dozen miners in the bay moved toward the great doors. They looked to 
Luis like squat, farcical land-birds in their bulky suits. Luis realized he looked the same, perhaps a little 
squatter because of his sedentary build. 

When the doors opened, the chilling protection of the ship vanished and a wave of profound heat washed 
inside. Luis found himself gasping and reeling, struggling to stay on his feet as the miners trudged by him 
and out into space, tethered to the ship by umbilicals. A line had been attached to Luis, too, though he 
couldnt remember whod done it. Couldnt for an instant remember why he was here. Could only think 
of the heat, which seemed to have a presence. It was a thing alive, threatening and smothering, a terrifying 
invisible monster that with each breath Luis took made him tremble. His lungs felt dry, and he couldnt 


swallow. Sweat streamed down his face and evaporated, only to be replaced by more sweat. His eyes 
burned and he blinked, but there were no tears to soothe them. 

swallow. Sweat streamed down his face and evaporated, only to be replaced by more sweat. His eyes 
burned and he blinked, but there were no tears to soothe them. 

Luis heard him plainly, despite the suit and the meters that separated them. 

DeBeers? The voice was coming from inside Luis helmet. He nodded and slowly moved forward, 
each step difficult in the heat. 

Then for a heartbeat the discomfort was disregarded, as Luis stood at the door and stared out at 
NGC7078. The plume had grown to fill space, blindingly breathtaking. The red-and-pink mist, the blue 
haze was gone, there being no filter on his faceplate to see the particles. There was only the immense 
brightness, which was repressed by the visor to prevent the miners from going blind. Luis gaped in utter 
amazement. The star had seemed so small on the view screen, and now he couldnt see it all. The miners 
were silhouetted against it, black drops of ink on white paper. One was motioning for him to move. 

He considered retreating into the bowels of the ship. Luis DeBeers did not have to join the miners, could 
find some small window from which to watch them. It would be safer, the heat not so suffocating. And 
yet his family had paid well for him to be here, for the captains services. 

So bright. 

He took a step out, expecting to fall as if hed stepped off the roof of a tall building. Instead, he floated, 
away from the ship and into the oven of space. He remembered to use the controls on the suit, steering 
himself toward the largest figure, Captain Melka. Despite those unnerving eyes, Luis found comfort in 
being near the big man. He fumbled with the refrigeration panel, turning the cooling gauges as high as the 
suit allowed. The meter indicated a change in temperature, but he didnt notice it. There was only the 
monstrous heat. 

Behind him, the equipment was guided outby a dozen more miners who had come down into the bay. 
Fully half of Melkas crew was out of the ship now, all hovering around equipment that was being 
unfolded and positioned. It looked like huge, delicate insects, with net wings for collecting particles, 
cones and cubes that would draw in gases, spindly hollow legs capable of absorbing neutrinos. Few 
miners had the equipment to contain the latter. 

Luis didnt understand precisely how the equipment worked, knew only that it did work, as evidenced by 
Captain Melkas impressive credentials. And he knew that it was more expensive than the ship that 
hauled it from dying sun to dying sun. The mining gear was able to withstand the heat-stress of a star for 
short periods, as were the suits. Luis was told he would hear a chime when it was time for him to return 
to the ship for a cool down, which would help preserve the suit and himself. 

There was more equipment on the ship that would store the collected elements, computers that would 
record amounts and purity, gather data on the stars death throes. Information was also marketable. 

Drones were gliding about, aiding the miners in nudging the equipment closer to the sun, black against 
white, everything looking like hieroglyphics on a wall in front of Luis. He guided his suit closer, still staying 
out of the miners way. That had been part of the agreement hed made with Melka. Watch, but dont 
touch. Ask questions, but not too many. Pay your money up front and treat the captain with respect. 

Distance was difficult for Luis to judge, so he pivoted about in search of the ship behind him, not wanting 
to travel too far from it. 


Nothing. Only a solid sheet of black. The ship had vanished. 

Nothing. Only a solid sheet of black. The ship had vanished. 

There. An angular grayness started to intrude in the black, and pinpricks of light emerged all around it. 
Luis swallowed his panic and took a few deep breaths, the calming act seeming to sear the depths of his 
lungs. 

So hot. 

He reminded himself that his suits cooling capacity was at its maximum, though it didnt feel like it. 
Rather, it felt like he was a lobster being cooked alive in a pot of water. A fat, squat lobster who could 
barely breathe. His chest ached. 

The gray took on more features, became the ship hed feared had vanished. Not lost, he thought after a 
moment more. A considerable measure of relief filled him. The light of NGC7078 had been so bright that 
when he looked away from it and toward the ship he had seen nothing at first. Only the black. Despite 
the visor it had taken his eyes a few moments to adjust. The ship was coming more into focus now, 
gunmetal gray against the ebony velvet of space, distant stars sparkling all around it. Luis forced himself 
to relax. 

The ship looked massive and uninteresting, not at all like the others in port that had the vague and elegant 
forms of birds and turtles. But those had been passenger ships. Melkas ship, the Mire, was strictly a 
mining vessel, a series of huge, segmented boxes that gave it the appearance of an ancient Earth freight 
train. There were eight boxes, essentially cargo bays, all looking the same, no apparent engine or 
caboose. Only by inspecting it closely could Luis see a narrowing on one end, which he knew was the 
bridge. Was Reah watching them? Could she tell that he had panicked? He hoped that she instead 
considered him brave, a groundling with the guts to join the miners on this, his first real trip into deep 
space. Perhaps she would take a short leave with him after this expedition. She had brushed his leg on 
the bridge. He could ply her with beautiful, cut diamonds to tempt her. They could get away to 
someplace cold, someplace with mountains and snow. Would she like that? 

Thrusting aside musings of what hed come to think of as his pale China doll, Luis carefully maneuvered 
his suit around to face NGC7078 again, floated a few dozen meters closer, and did his best to endure the 
heat and the bright light as he watched the men hover about the equipment. Luis suspected drones could 
have managed all the work. But the miners claimed the robots were incapable of understanding the 
nuances of positioning some of the filter nets and reading if collection was truly functioning at one hundred 
percent. 

Time blurred as Luis watched, uncertain if a few minutes or several hours had passed. He was breathing 
shal-lowly, finding it, less hurtful, was concentrating on the scorpionlike piece of equipment that was 
gathering what he wanted in an effort to not think about the heat. He barely heard the chime in his helmet, 
and realized it had been sounding for a while, as the miners were all returning to the ship, one motioning 
for him to do the same. He maneuvered about, saw the blackness again, and waited until one of the 
miners passed him. Following that man toward the blackness where Reah waited, Luis found the bay 
doors and was tugged inside. 

Several minutes later his helmet was off, and he and the other men were greedily swallowing water to 
replenish what their bodies had lost to sweat. Tubes were connected to the suits, refilling the cooling 


systems, drying out the sweat-soaked linings. Drones were inspecting the suits and equipment for heat 
damage. One miner was shrugging off a suit that had been sun-marred and was searching for another. 

systems, drying out the sweat-soaked linings. Drones were inspecting the suits and equipment for heat 
damage. One miner was shrugging off a suit that had been sun-marred and was searching for another. 

Luis cocked his head. 

You basked in the sun without crumpling. I had expected to be hauling your unconscious carcass back 
here and tossing you in the medtent. For a land-bound, you have mettle. Then Melka was gone, 
disappeared behind the rest of the equipment that was being hauled in. 

Luis had resolved that would be his only trip out of the ship. Oncejust to have done it, to see the 
operation close-up, to have something to tell the family about. To impress Reah. But Melkas words had 
challenged him. He decided to see it through for the rest of the week, unless he succumbed before 
thatand he prayed that wouldnt happen. He rested his face against a cooled wall and waited. Four 
hours later they were cleared for another trip. 

Time became unimportant, days and nights having no meaning next to the dying core of NGC7078. Luis 
worried at a sun blister on his cheek as he sat in the hold, inspecting some of the material the scorpion 
had retrieved for him. A hint of fragrant spice in the air caused him to look over his shoulder. Reah had 
entered the bay and was studying him. 

I wanted to see, she said, her voice sounding softer than usual in the cavernous hold. 

The diamonds your father mined for me? 

She nodded. 

Luis happily gestured her closer. Spread out in bins in front of him was a collection of smoky crystals, 
ranging in size from that of a pea to a big mans fist. 

She tugged off a glove and picked up a chunk. Ive seen diamonds. In the commons in spaceports. 

Those would have been cut. 

They were clear like ice. From Earth mines. I found them She poked out her bottom lip as she 
searched for a word. Mesmerizing. I almost bought a diamond necklace once. 

What stopped you? Luis wanted to say What stopped you, since you have a fortune to spend? 

She shrugged her narrow shoulders. Who would see it under this suit? 

Luis drew his lips into a thin line, decided to change the subject, but only just a bit. Theyre mined on 
Earth mostly, but theyre not from Earth. Not originally. Diamonds are from the stars, though a lot of 
geologists still argue that point. 

She sat next to him on the cooled tile floor, her leg brushing against his. Reah was still examining the 
crystal. 

Black diamonds, Luis continued, What youre holding are called carbonados, made of space carbon. 
Stardust. Dying stars release stars into the solar systems around them. Some of them release carbon that 
is embedded into meteorites, which strike planets and embed the chips there. Its the extreme heat and 
pressure that transforms that carbon into diamonds. 

The conditions that exist here, Reah said. 


He nodded. Geologists know that many diamonds on Earth are more than three and a half billion years 
old. That means the carbon in them predates animal and plant life by nearly three billion years. Proof, 
really, that diamonds werent created on Earth. They really are Stardust. 

He nodded. Geologists know that many diamonds on Earth are more than three and a half billion years 
old. That means the carbon in them predates animal and plant life by nearly three billion years. Proof, 
really, that diamonds werent created on Earth. They really are Stardust. 

I dont care about the proof. 

Just the diamonds, she stated. The Stardust. 

There is nothing more brilliant in the universe than a cut diamond, especially black diamonds like these. 
Not even the stars come close. Not even the dying ones. The way the light hits their facets, bends and 
reflects, creating a rainbow. No other jewel has the luster of a polished diamond. So rare and precious. 

And so valuable. 

He nodded. Maybe as valuable as any new element your father might be discovering this trip. 

Your family 

 has been involved with precious gemstones for centuries, he finished with a considerable amount of 
pride. My great-grandfather is the one who suggested that diamonds came from space. He theorized 
that chondrites, thats a 

I know what a chondrite is. A class of meteorite. She set down the crystal and studied Luis face 
instead. She saw excitement there, his breath coming faster as he explained his passion and heritage. 

A chondrite is filled with an incredible concentration of tiny diamonds. Theyre seeds, essentially. When 
they crashed into Earth in ancient times, the chondrites planted these seeds, and larger diamonds grew 
around them. The volcanoes thrust them close to the surface, where people discovered them. They 
discovered diamonds on Mars, too, though the deposits were mined out quickly. 

And now youve a new source and a new way to mine them. 

Exactly. 

And youll be richer. 

Luis shoulders sagged. Moneys not what its all about, even though it sounds that way. If it was just 
about money, my family would make synthetics. We did it late in the twentieth century. A machine, 
smallonly thirty-five cubic meters. It squeezed a diamond shard, nearly a million pounds of pressure, 
and cooked it at about fifteen hundred degrees centigrade. Add a bit of graphite and some other catalysts 
to stimulate carbon grown around the shard. A couple of days later, youve got a diamond approaching 
two karats. You could tell the difference, of course, but not with your eyes. It takes a good jewelers 
scope. People bought them, paid about as much as for a natural stone. So its not money. 

What, then? She had moved even closer, raised her small hand and wiped at the sweat on his 
forehead. 

Pursuit, he said after a moment. Of the purest diamonds. The largest. 

She drew her hand back and stood, attempted to smooth away the folds of her suit. Were a bit alike, 
you and me. You into diamonds because of your family, just like Im into sun-mining. Rich, and getting 
richer. And all in pursuit of the next, glorious find. 


Its not about the money. He didnt hear her leave, she was as quiet as a cat. However, he heard the 
chime echo through the bay telling him the cool-down period was over and it was time to venture into the 
oven again. 

Its not about the money. He didnt hear her leave, she was as quiet as a cat. However, he heard the 
chime echo through the bay telling him the cool-down period was over and it was time to venture into the 
oven again. 

Reah was shining, displaying crack piloting skills as she guided the huge and bulky Mire away from the 
dying sun and the three fighter ships laying a line of laser-fire behind it. There was a big mining ship 
behind them, moving into the position vacated by Melkas ship. 

Damnation! the captain hollered, as he paced back and forth in the tail cargo hold. His eyes were 
maniacally wild. They werent shadowing us! One of the crewmen had suggested that, believing that 
one of the fighter ships had been in their last spaceport and followed them, radioing for support and the 
pirate mining ship. 

If they were shadowing us, they wouldve chased us off earlier. Wouldntve let us get the choicest 
elements. They werent shadowing us. Someone radioed out and notified them where we were going. It 
took them five days to reach our position. 

He stormed from the bay, face red from NGC7078 and his anger. He found Luis sorting through his 
uncut stones. Melka surprised him, dragged the smaller man up by the collar of his suit, holding him so 
only his toes touched the floor. 

So you paid me to mine for you. And the pirates paid you to reveal my stars. I ought to kill you. Toss 
you out the air lock and watch you explode. Spittle flew from Melkas lips, and his eyes held Luis, 
freezing the smaller man. 

Luis couldnt speak, overcome by the madness and fury in Sean Melkas eyes. He tried to swallow, but 
found he couldnt manage that either. All he could do was sweat and listen to the pounding of his heart, 
the sound thunderous in his ears. 

Dad! It was Reahs voice, and it was followed by a high-pitched whine. 

The captain crumpled, stunned. Grateful and flabbergasted, Luis picked himself up off the floor and 
staggered back a few steps, thanking her. Captain Melkas chest rose and fell regularly, but his eyes 
were closed. He was unconscious. 

You stunned him good, Luis managed. The words were hoarse, and he worked to get some saliva in 
his mouth. I owe you my life. 

A generous smile was splayed across Reahs porcelain face. Her eyes were locked onto Luis. 
Unblinking, they reminded him of her fathers. 

I didnt notify any pirates, he began, wanting to explain his innocence to someone. I dont know any 
pirates. He thought I did. He told me where we were going just before we left the port. And thought I 
But I didnt. I wouldnt. 

I did. 

He saw something else in her eyes at that moment, a wildness, a madness. He opened his mouth to say 
something else, but stopped himself and tried to put everything together. What could he say? Why was 
she doing this? What next? 

Its all about money, really. She answered his unspoken questions. Her voice was ice. The raiders pay 


me well, money I dont have to share with my father. Still, I dont call for them until hes mined 
plentythe cream from the dying sun. Money from them. Money from Dads mining. She shrugged. 
Besides, it makes his old age more interesting, running from pirates, looking over his shoulder. Im 
helping him in a way, giving him a thrill, keeping him from getting complacent in his last years. 

me well, money I dont have to share with my father. Still, I dont call for them until hes mined 
plentythe cream from the dying sun. Money from them. Money from Dads mining. She shrugged. 
Besides, it makes his old age more interesting, running from pirates, looking over his shoulder. Im 
helping him in a way, giving him a thrill, keeping him from getting complacent in his last years. 

Of course he thinks you called them. And Ill tell him he was right. Tell him you were pulling a laser on 
him. She did that then, replaced the stungun and tugged a small laser pistol from her pocket, aimed it at 
her father and lanced him in the leg. His body quivered in response, but he remained unconscious. I 
rushed in here trying to warn him, but you shot him before I could do anything. And so I retaliated. She 
turned the weapon on Luis, and he looked about for something to hide behind. 

Y-y-youre mad! he stammered, backing up toward a tall crate. 

The stars do that to you. Her voice was still cold. She thumbed the trigger and a small white beam shot 
forward and stabbed at Luis chest, burning through the suit and the skin beneath, finding his heart. She 
fired again and again, though he was dead before he hit the floor. 

She turned to regard her father. Ill get the men to carry you to the medtent, she said, knowing he 
couldnt hear her. Tomorrow well find another dying star. One, I think, that has diamonds. 

KEEPING SCORE 

by Michael A. Stackpole 

Michael A. Stackpole is an award-winning game and computer game designer who was born in 1957 
and grew up in Burlington, Vermont. In 1979 he graduated from the University of Vermont with a B.A. in 
History. In his career as a game designer he has done work for Flying Buffalo, Inc., Interplay 
Productions, TSR, Inc., Hero Games, Wizards of the Coast, FASA Corp., and Steve Jackson Games. 
In recognition of his work in and for the game industry, he was inducted into the Academy of Gaming 
Arts and Design Hall of Fame in 1994. Hes the author of The New York Times best-selling series of 
Star Wars X-wing novels, and the fantasy novels Once a Hero and Talion: Revenant, and The Dark 
Glory War. 

The ambush seared scarlet light through the mauve jungle. Sara had felt it coming a heartbeat before 
beams flicked outthings had gotten too quiet for a second. The enemy fire manifested as full shafts of 
light instantly linking shooter and target, then snapping off, since light traveled far too fast for even the 
most augmented eyes to see it as tiny bolts. Ruby spears stabbed down from high branches, or slanted in 
from around the boles of trees, here and there, as the Zsytz warriors shifted impossibly fast through the 
jungle. 

Sara cut left and spun, slamming her back against the trunk of a tree. Her body armor absorbed most of 
the impact, and she continued to spin, then dropped to a knee on the far side of the tree and brought up 
her LNT-87 carbine. The green crosshairs on her combat glasses tracked along with the weapons 
muzzle, showing her where it was pointed. The top barrel stabbed red back at the ambushers, burning 
little holes through broad leaves and striping trunks with carbonized scars. Fire gouted from the lower 
barrel as chemical explosives launched clouds of little flechettes at the unseen attackers. 

Next to her, Captain Patrick Kelloch, the fire-teams leader, laid down a pattern of raking fire that 
covered their right flank while she concentrated on the left. Flechettes shredded leaves and vaporized 
plump, purple lotla fruit. She thought she saw a black shadow splashed with green, and hoped one fewer 
laser was targeted back at her, but the Zsytz were harder to hit than shed ever found in virtsims. 


Bragb Bissik, the teams heavy-weapons specialist, stepped into the gap between the two human 
warriors. Un-derslung on his massive right forearm were the eight spinning rotary barrels of the 
gatling-style Bouganshi laser cannon. Into each barrel was fed a small lasing cell, consisting of a chemical 
reagent that released a lot of energy really fast. The cell converted that energy into coherent light of great 
power and intensity that blazed for almost a second once the reaction had been started. The cannon 
whined as the barrels spun. The red beams slashed in an arc, nipping branches from trees and burning fire 
into the jungles upper reaches. 

Bragb Bissik, the teams heavy-weapons specialist, stepped into the gap between the two human 
warriors. Un-derslung on his massive right forearm were the eight spinning rotary barrels of the 
gatling-style Bouganshi laser cannon. Into each barrel was fed a small lasing cell, consisting of a chemical 
reagent that released a lot of energy really fast. The cell converted that energy into coherent light of great 
power and intensity that blazed for almost a second once the reaction had been started. The cannon 
whined as the barrels spun. The red beams slashed in an arc, nipping branches from trees and burning fire 
into the jungles upper reaches. 

As Bragbs fire raked the higher branches, two beams stabbed out from the ground to hit the 
Bouganshis broad chest. Sara shifted her fire right, intersecting it with Kells assault on the origin point of 
one of those beams. A purple wall of foliage disappeared in a cloud of smoke and mist. Something 
screamed, then something screeched, barely heard above the thunder of the fire-teams weapons. Red 
beams winked off from the Zsytz line, then never appeared again. 

Kell raised a hand. Hold fire. Theyve run, Im thinking. 

Sara remained in her crouch as burned leaves fluttered down and smoldering twigs peppered the ground. 
Makes no sense for them to run. They had us. 

Close. The Bouganshi slapped with a three-fingered hand at the smoking black scars on his 
purple-and-gray, camouflaged body armor. Heat, no crust. 

She checked her armor and saw a couple of dark furrows melted in it. Likewise, toasted not burned. 

Better than I was expecting. His azure eyes bright, Kell gave her a nod. Bit different than simming. It 
is, isnt it? 

Sara tucked a wisp of blonde hair back up under her helmet. In sim theyre relentless. They never break 
off like this. 

Thats because, lass, youre using Qian simware. Much as they hate the Zeez, they grant them a bit 
more honor than in reality. Kell thumbed a clip free of his 87 and slapped a new one home. For an 
honorable kill, you need an honorable foe. Only simZeez act that way. 

Sara Mirke frowned. Im not clear on your meaning, Captain. 

Qian like order in their Commonwealth, hate mystery, and hate dishonor. They dont like to 
acknowledge it exists. Quirky, our masters. Kell rose and waved the others forward. Lets see what 
we got. 

Still covering the left flank, she moved out in Kells wake. Bragb came behind, watching their rear. They 
went up a slight slope and over the splintered remains of underbrush, on the other side of the crest the 
land sloped down into a tree-choked ravine, through which ran a small stream. Halfway down the hillside 
a body lay against a tree, twisted against itself, with a gray-green rope of intestines pointing back uphill. 

Kell nodded. One less to play with. 

Too bad it wasnt the Primary. 

A gruff chuckle humphed from the Bouganshis throat. Too much Qian virtsim. 


Better to take the juniors first, Sara. Kell knelt by the body, emphasizing just how small the 
black-furred Zsytz was. In life, it would have looked like a crossbreeding between a chimp and a 
wildcat, with tufted ears rising high. It had a long black tail which Sara knew was not prehensile, though 
she checked herself on that assumption. Most of the stuff I know comes from virtsim, so is subject to 
that Qian programmer bias. The closed eyes should have been rather large, the closed mouth should 
have had nasty fangs, and the hands should have ended in savage claws, but as nearly as she could see 
they remained sheathed. 

Better to take the juniors first, Sara. Kell knelt by the body, emphasizing just how small the 
black-furred Zsytz was. In life, it would have looked like a crossbreeding between a chimp and a 
wildcat, with tufted ears rising high. It had a long black tail which Sara knew was not prehensile, though 
she checked herself on that assumption. Most of the stuff I know comes from virtsim, so is subject to 
that Qian programmer bias. The closed eyes should have been rather large, the closed mouth should 
have had nasty fangs, and the hands should have ended in savage claws, but as nearly as she could see 
they remained sheathed. 

More so than you know. Kell produced a knife from a boot sheath, turned the Zsytzs head to the 
left, and cut up along the neck and behind the ear. He exposed the skull and dug out a small, cylindrical 
device that had been inserted into a hole behind the right ear. The thing trailed two wires. The Primary 
will be severing the link, but intel will want it. 

Sara looked away from the body and busied herself plucking a stray flechette from a tree. We continue 
on the patrol, or head back? 

We push on. Kell smiled over at Bragb, who reciprocated, exposing a mouth full of serrated white 
teeth. Were ahead in the game, and they need to know that. 

Im not sure I understand. 

I know, lass, which is why youre out here with us. Kell waved the Bouganshi forward. Take point, 
Ill get the rear. Well let Lieutenant Mirke continue her learning experience. 

Point. The Bouganshi hefted his weapon and marched along the ridgeline, then down into the game trail 
theyd been following before the Zsytz had hit them. Bragb moved off at a pace that Sara thought was 
less than prudent and when she turned back to complain to Kell, she saw hed slung his LNT by the 
strap over his right shoulder. 

This has got to be a game because you two are playing by rules I dont understand. 

Wars not really a game, at least, not from the Qian point of view. Same cant be said of the Zeez, 
which is why the Qian hate them so much. Kell tipped his helmet back, exposing a lock of brown hair 
pasted to his forehead. You know the Zeez only allow males to act as warriors, and that males come in 
two flavors. Juniors are born five or so to a litter, along with a Primary. Theyre augmented these days so 
the Primary can give them direct orders but, for all intents and purposes, the little hoppers are the mental 
equivalents of five-year-olds. The juniors can remember a command or two and carry them out, but 
without the Primary, theyre very limited. 

I know, which is why killing the Primary is so important. 

That depends, Sara. If youre killing the Primary right after hes given his brothers an order to get some 
sleep, well then, well done and more of it. If, instead, hes just told them its time to kill the enemy, and 
hes been a bit vague on defining enemy, you have little homicidal beast-ies roaming about. 

Omni-cidal, Kell. The Bouganshi glanced back, flashing a white curve of grin. If understanding of 
Terran is correct. 

Im corrected, Bragb. The teams leader smiled easily. The Zsytz seem to have a view about this 
conflict with the Qian Commonwealth that isnt quite clear to the Qian. Being as how the Zeez are 


augmented, fight differently, and have an annoying habit of being hard to kill, the Qian really want little to 
do with them. 

augmented, fight differently, and have an annoying habit of being hard to kill, the Qian really want little to 
do with them. 

As Kell had explained as they were inbound to the world Lyrptod, the Zmnyl-grar qert-dra, as the 
Blackstars were known in Qian, had a name that could be read two ways. The black star emblazoned on 
the shoulders of their armor was an emblem feared in the Commonwealth, but in Qian the name could 
also be read to mean black hole. Recruits for that unit came mostly from Ward worlds, and while the 
Qian used them to show the worlds that they valued their contributions, there was little doubt that the 
Blackstars were held in contempt by their Qian commanders. 

Qian pride concerning their warrior tradition contributed heavily to this view, and was the source of 
Saras being tossed into a mission before she even had time to unpack her belongings from the trip to join 
her unit. While Qian workers and the female leaders were all heavily augmented, Qian warriors were not. 
They were bred true and quite formidable, with those belonging to the Guards being of the highest 
caliber. 

Sara, on the other hand, was what was colloquially referred to on Terra as a graft. Genetic engineering 
on Terra had eliminated genetic disease, but environmental factors and spontaneous mutations meant 
children were still born with defects. These children were sold to corporations who then treated them and 
trained them, selling their contracts to companies or governments who needed their skills. Nas-toyash 
Corporation had used her in its Rota program, making her into a warrior. Test scores short-listed her for 
liaison with the Commonwealth and landed her the place in the Blacks tars. 

Well, were here, lass, because were expected to handle this problem with some delicacy. Kell 
laughed lightly, a sound which seemed natural within the violet jungle. 

Lyrptod, when surveyed initially, had fallen into the Ward world class. The humanoid indigs had a tech 
level equivalent to the settlers who formed the United States, though explosives development had not 
occurred. They lived in a theocracy that preached pacifism and salvation from the stars, so when the 
Qian came down, they were welcomed. The Commonwealth quarantined the world, which was located 
back a bit from the Zsytz frontier, leaving it open only to scientific teams studying the flora and fauna. 

No one was quite certain when the Zeez inserted a team, but scattered sightings were reported back to 
the Commonwealth. Kell and his team were dispatched to Lyrptod to figure out why the Zeez were there 
while their insertion ship, the Chzrin, orbited the planet. Theyd established a base camp in the vicinity of 
a number of sightings and engaged on patrols for a week without incident. 

Given the nature of the world, and its location, the Zsytz presence posed little threat to the 
Commonwealth, but the nature of interstellar warfare demanded some sort of response. Because space 
had few natural features that barred hyperspace travel, frontiers didnt really exist. The only way you 
could hit an enemy was to land on a world where you knew he had a presence. Learning why the Zeez 
were in Lyrptod could help determine other potential targets, or if they would be coming back in force. If 
so, scattered forces could be gathered to hurt them. 

Delicacy, yes, sir. She resisted the temptation to sling her weapon over her shoulder. I know its a 


natural preserve. Im surprised you didnt have us collect up our shells. 

natural preserve. Im surprised you didnt have us collect up our shells. 

Sara rolled the flechette needle between her fingers and thumb. Youre not expecting another ambush 
right now because of why, then? 

Its the focus thing: the juniors handle a couple orders at a time. Shifting them between attack and run 
modes takes a bit of transition, which is why they tend not to retreat. 

He jerked a thumb back toward the ambush site. In past incidents theyve fired upon indigs in the jungle, 
driving them off. Im thinking their current orders are such that they engage briefly and scarper. There 
may be one out there watching us, but theyre not going to hit us, not right now. We killed one of them, 
so that will take a new plan, and the Primary will be wanting to think on it a while. 

I understand the logic, but is that a safe assumption to make? 

I hope so, lass. Kell winked at her. Since Im last in line here, likely Ill be the one they fry first. 

Up ahead, the Bouganshi crouched at a point about ten meters back from where the trail opened onto a 
meadow. The stream which had been running through the ravine to their right bled down and out into a 
marshy area on the edge of a lake. The grasses in the meadow rose to hip height and had gone from a 
lavender to a bright golden color, contrasting beautifully with the lush purple jungle and violet-tinged 
waters of the lake. 

Sara took that whole vista in with a glance, then focused on a tree near the lake edge. She felt fairly 
certain, based on its dark gray trunk, that it was dead, but the branches were not bare, clawing at the 
sky. Instead they were covered with blue foliage, iridescent in nature, that fluttered with a breeze that 
neither rippled the water nor rustled the grasses. 

She smiled. That tree is covered with butterflies. 

Or the nearest evolutionary equivalent, yes. 

Bragb cast a glance back at Kell. Not fair. To you, if it lives in water, it is a trout.  

The team leader sniffed and raised his chin. Fish are noble creatures, not bugs. Evolution being what it 
is, there are plenty of fish around. Probably some in that lake. 

Sara chuckled lightly. Can we go down there? 

The Bouganshi nodded. Seems safe. 

Sure. If theyre watching us, give them something to watch. Kell came up and sidled around Bragb, 
then led the way down the trail. It wound its way down a steep hillside, then along a high patch of ground 
that bordered the swamp. Nearing the lake he slowed and looked for a dry path toward the shore. 

Bragb, you watch our backtrail. Lieutenant, if you want, you can recon the bugtree. 


And you will survey the trout population? Sara shook her head as she pushed the flechette through the 
strap on her LNT-87, keeping the steel needle in place. And then come back here fishing sometime? 

And you will survey the trout population? Sara shook her head as she pushed the flechette through the 
strap on her LNT-87, keeping the steel needle in place. And then come back here fishing sometime? 

If Id had the time to study the data 

 youd know there is nothing of commercial value to exploit here, and youd know that taking wildlife 
without a study-permit is quite illegal. He shrugged. Of course, an informal scientific survey, well, now, 
that couldnt be consi 

The water boiled in a rush of bubbles as a huge, mottled gray-and-purple creature lunged up and out at 
Kell. Its leathery flesh, though glistening with water, had the same armor plates grown into it as the 
Bouganshis skin did. The beasts mouth flashed open, white peg teeth contrasting with light blue flesh, 
then snapped down. The creature caught Kell by surprise, closing its mouth over him, leaving his legs 
kicking and arms waving as it raised its maw and tried to choke him down. 

Saras carbine came up instantly and she emptied a clip at the beast. She sprayed her fire over the water, 
aiming at its midsection, churning the water into froth, but not stop-ping the monster from sliding back 
beneath the surface. Her empty clip hit the ground and another had been slapped home in an eye blink, 
which was just enough time for her to realize gunfire wasnt going to stop the thing. 

Before she could cast her weapon aside, Bragb came on a sprint and hurled himself into the lake. With a 
glittering silver, crook-bladed knife in one hand and freed of his cannon and its bulky ammo pack, the 
hulking alien splashed down noisily, spraying water everywhere. He sank from sight for a second, then his 
right hand rose with the dagger and fell. Once, twice, then too many times for her to count. A black stain 
filled the water. The creatures flat tail lashed, breaking the surface, then Bragb came up, gasping. Water 
cascaded from him, then he went down again. 

A heartbeat later he came up and coughed, once, hard, then struggled to the shore. He had the creatures 
tail in one hand and dragged the thing from the lake. Ragged gashes had been opened along its 
twelve-meter-long spinenot all of them made by the knifeand the rhythmic little gnashing of its teeth 
indicated it wasnt quite dead yet. 

That didnt stop the Bouganshi, who contemptuously spat out a hunk of green meat. Bragb flipped the 
creature onto its back, then stabbed his knife in near the hindmost of the three pairs of legs and cut along 
up toward the middle. The wound gaped and verdant guts came pouring out, along with the distended 
gray sack that was the monsters stomach. Another slash opened it. The Bouganshi reached in and 
dragged Kell from the stomach, sliding his slime-covered body onto the golden grasses. 

Sara dropped to her knees and swiped a hand across Kells lips, then opened his mouth, cleared it with 
a finger, and lifted up on his neck to open his airway. She pinched his nose shut, then covered his mouth 
with hers and breathed. 

One breath, two, and a third. She shook off a glove and felt his throat for a pulse. 

He had one, good and strong. She started to breathe for him again, but he pushed her away, rolled onto 
his side and puked. He sucked in a loud noisy breath, then coughed and vomited again. He tried to come 
up on all fours, but abandoned the effort and stayed down on his right side. 

You okay, sir? Anything broken? Bragb? 


Kell weakly waved a hand. 

Kell weakly waved a hand. 

Sara swallowed a comment about how she would have thought it would have tasted like chicken, 
uncertain if Bragbs command of Terran would have let him follow the joke. She retreated to her carbine, 
picked it up and turned to face back toward the woods. Nothing from the jungle. 

Good. Last thing Im wanting to be hearing is Zsytz laughter. Kell rolled onto his belly and came up on 
his elbows. My helmet must still be in there. Be a good lad and fetch it for me, will you, Bragb? 

Fetched you. On your own for equipment. 

Kell sighed. Guess I wont smell any worse for digging around in there, eh? He heaved himself up and 
knelt for a moment, swaying slightly. And thanks to the both of you for saving me. When it bit, it crushed 
my armor down, costing me my wind. Not that there was much to breathe in there anyway. 

He crawled over to the creature and reached a hand into the slit through which he had emerged. He felt 
around, then smiled and pulled out a thirty-centimeter-long, finned thing. See, they do have trout here. 

Bragb snorted a laugh, then leaned away as Kell flung the fish out into the lake. Bolts food whole, lets it 
digest. Such creatures exist on Bougan. 

On Terra theyre known as crocodiles. Sara smiled as one of the butterflies landed by the barrel of her 
weapon. Stories tell of their stomachs being full of undigested junk. 

Im thinking Ill ignore that insult, thank you. Kell winked at her, then pulled his helmet free with a wet 
sucking sound. He turned it over and a slime soup of fish, his combat glasses, and a tangled clump of 
fibers drained down into a puddle. He looked down at it and his smile abruptly died. This isnt good, not 
at all. 

She frowned. Whats the matter? 

Ill be able to tell for sure, back at camp, but Im thinking this knot of wires here, its Zsytz in nature. 
He spat to the side. Seems I wasnt the only Xeno this beastie welcomed to Lyrptod. Unless I miss my 
guess, the last was the Primary leading our little team of Zeez. 

The hike back to their base camp was remarkable in only one way. While Bragb and Sara were both 
quite content to have Kell at the back of their formation because of his stench, the butterflies must have 
thought the crocslime was pure ambrosia. They fluttered and flickered at him, trailing in his wake like ion 
exhaust from a fighter. With each fern frond that brushed him, a few of the insects would stop and feast 
on the transferred slime. Kell wiped off as much of it as he could, casting leaves aside to distract them. 
Even so, by the time they had reached the camp, two dozen still orbited him like little moons. 

Their base camp was nothing worthy of holoing home about. Theyd established it on a little wooded 
knoll, stringing a tarp between trees to make a shelter. Theyd set up a couple of small camp tables, their 
perimeter warning gear, a radio and some simple scientific gear. All of it was very compact, and any 
serious analysis would require liaising with the scientific teams to the north. Still, the camp was dry and 
had access to a nearby stream for water, so it suited their needs very well. 

While Kell stripped naked and cleaned himself up as best he could, Bragb studied the wire harness taken 
from the beast, as well as the device sliced from the Zsytz junior theyd killed. As best he could 
determine, the two devices seemed to be of similar manufacture, apparently confirming Kells guess as to 


the source of the wire from the monsters gullet. 

the source of the wire from the monsters gullet. 

Sara switched off the radio as Kell emerged from the camp shower theyd set up. The Nobel 
Committee says it didnt see anything z-ish today, They werent interested by our adventures either. 

He shrugged and pulled a dark jumpsuit from his rucksack, then tossed his towel at the flock of 
butterflies on his armor. Im thinking its a pity the Primary didnt make it out of the belly of the beast. 
Wed just have to follow the butterflies to the Zeez lair. 

Yeah, well, about that, to hear the scientists talk, the bluewings are not true butterflies, but just gaudy 
maggot-flies. If we go back to the Zee body or the lake monster, itll be flyblown and alive with larvae. 
Sitting back, she wove a flechette end over end from index finger to pinkie and back again easily. I 
could hear the disgust pouring through the airwaves when I called them butterflies. They have to think 
were just ambulatory laser-artillery. 

Theyre assuming ignorance because of our calling. 

I know, and I dont like it. Dont like being judged because of what folks assume I am. 

Being a graft, you get a fair amount of that, do you? Kell pulled on the fresh jumpsuit, then batted at 
one persistent bluewing. Look at this one, would you? Go on with you. Im not dead. 

With a fluid economy Sara came up and out of the chair. She stabbed out with the flechette, piercing the 
bluewing through the thorax. The insects wings,flapped a couple more times, slowing down, then froze in 
place. Its feet clutched at the needle and its antennae curled in. 

Kell had jerked back, but well after shed stabbed the bug. Damn, you are fast. 

Part of being a graft. She smiled slightly and returned to her seat, holding the bluewing up to study. 
When I was a little girl, I used to collect bugs. Always dreamed about discovering some new species or 
something and having it named after me. All of us in the Rota program knew what we were being made 
into, but we all had other interests. The company tolerated it and even encouraged it in case war wasnt a 
growth market sector.  

Kell laughed and the Bouganshi smiled. Little chance of that, Im thinking. If youre wanting to add that 
one to your collection, we might be able to smuggle it off-world for you. 

She frowned. If I still had the collection, it would be very tempting. It would be interesting to have 
something unique in my collection. Problem is Id have to Mona Lisa it. 

Bragb scratched the side of his domed head. That expression is unknown. 

Kell raked fingers back through his brown hair. Famous painting on Earth. It was stolen back a century 
ago, never recovered. Its assumed to be in the hands of a private collector. He cant be showing it to 
anyone, or letting anyone know he has it, since the reward for its recovery is huge now. 

Sara nodded. Worse yet, and you know it will happen since the skulls are pulling samples from here, a 
black market for these things will grow among collectors. There will be bluewing poachers coming down. 


Next time we come back, well be fighting folks who did what I just did. 

Next time we come back, well be fighting folks who did what I just did. 

The Bouganshi smiled coldly. Might hunt lake monsters. Know the bait they like. 

Kell arched an eyebrow at him. And Id be thinking, were I you, about what eat them beasts, since 
youre just a pair of legs shy of being taken as one. 

Bragb paled slightly. He frowned and narrowed his dark eyes. Worth consideration. 

It is, but Im thinking wed all be better served if we turn our minds loose on the problem of finding the 
Zeez. Kell folded his arms across his chest. We did okay today, but they could get lucky in a series of 
running ambushes. 

The Bouganshi pressed fingers together deliberately. They are not protecting the Primary. What else do 
they need to hide? Their camp? A recovery craft? 

Could be one and the same, it could. Kell smiled slowly. And recovering one of them would put us in 
possession of something as unique as your bluewing. I think, tomorrow, we head out on the same patrol, 
starting at the lake and working backward. See where we run into them, and see if our contact points can 
let us triangulate back to their base. 

Sounds like a plan, sir. Sara stabbed the flechette into the tree to which theyd tied the tarp. Plots on 
the other sightings dont have a pattern, but the Primary probably saw to that. If theyll come out and 
play, we can probably follow them home. 

Good enough. Kell picked up his towel again and shooed bluewings away from his armor. Ill take 
first watch so I can clean up this armor and patch it. Bragb, youll go next, and youre the anchor, Sara. 
Well see sunrise over that lake. 

The Bouganshi smiled. You just wish to see if trout will be hitting at insects. 

She has her hobby, I have mine. The man laughed. Rack out now, morning will come much too soon. 

Dawn broke over the lake, and Kells trout were hitting the surface hard. Bluewings, in swiftly diminishing 
numbers, lay on the water and were scattered around in the marsh. Sara knelt on one knee to get a 
closer look and found dozens of them mashed into the mud by little feet. A few discarded flechettes 
likewise had been worked into the mud. Of the lake croc there was no clear sign, though lots of crushed 
grasses and more footprints suggested it had been dragged off into the jungle. 

Sara frowned. Wonder what the bluewings did to offend the juniors? 

Kell, crouched well away from the shore, shook his head as he scanned the Zsytz backtrail. No lasers 
used. Wasnt war against them, Im thinking. Something else. 

Captain, take a look at this. Bragb stood next to the dead tree and pointed at a splash of blue. Sara 
and Kell both approached. Two bluewings had been stabbed through the thorax, one on top of the other, 
then pinned to the tree with a flechette. The junior had to be moving that needle very fast. 

Kell tipped his helmet back on his head. Faster than even Sara here. Dont be jealous, lass. 

She glanced over at him, but before she could snap off a retort, a throbbing pulsed from the rain forest. 


The three of them came around, weapons raised, and watched a small, disk-shaped ship rise from the 
jungle. The rate of climb could best be described as slow, but the ship remained stable in flight and 
moved upward at a steady pace. 

The three of them came around, weapons raised, and watched a small, disk-shaped ship rise from the 
jungle. The rate of climb could best be described as slow, but the ship remained stable in flight and 
moved upward at a steady pace. 

Chzrin copies ground report. Zsytz warship has just appeared in the solar system, headed this way. 
Tschai Mriap says we can burn your upcoming ship, but then will be destroyed by the warship. The 
Qian communications officer delivered the information flatly, with no inflection and no indication of 
personal involvement in the unfolding events. He says five minutes go/no-go on the burn. Your mission, 
your choice. 

Kell closed his eyes. Stand by, Chzrin. He pointed his carbine at the Zeez ship and triggered the laser. 
The red beam tagged the ship, but did nothing to it. Theyre leaving, so do we assume they are 
retreating and let them go, saving the Qian ship, or have they accomplished their mission, in which case 
we cant let them go? Input? 

The Bouganshi growled for a second or two. Have to assume they accomplished their mission, whatever 
it was. The Zeez will burn Chzrin, then come down. Has to be done. 

Sara? 

Something odd here. She glanced at the bluewings pinned to the tree. This is the key, I know it. 

Sara? 

A smile blossomed on her face. Of course, yes, they accomplished their mission. 

Thats what Im thinking, too. Kell shrugged uneasily. Gotta burn them. 

No, no, no, you dont. Let them go. Sara turned away from the tree. Let them go. It will do more 
harm than good. 

Kell frowned. Youve got two minutes to explain. 

Its all right here, the dead bluewings, the flechettes, the two pinned to the tree. She opened her arms. 
Youre thinking about stuff from an adult point of view, but the juniors, they arent adults. They are 
treating this like a game, and theyve won. Think about it. They scouted our scientific teams. They saw 
them taking samples, but the Primary probably recognized what was going on and was able to put those 
things in proper perspective. 

The juniors, though, once he died, only had orders to avoid detection and to study us. The Zsytz 
mission here was the same as ours, to see what the enemy was doing on this planet. Face it, it has no 
obvious value, yet is quarantined. They suspect were hiding something here. 

Kell narrowed his blue eyes. Youre saying they think were here to harvest bluewings? 

Makes no sense to an adult, but to a child? We killed one of them, then killed the monster that killed 
their Primary. That got their attention, made us important in their eyes. She pointed at the two bluewings 
pinned together. One saw me stab one out of the air. They got two, just to show who was better. The 
other needles here show other attempts. It was a kids game, and just as we scored against them 
yesterday, getting two with one needle, that beats us today. 

Bragb squatted on his heels. So juniors are carrying a lake monster and bluewings. They think we came 


for them. 

for them. 

And when they cant, theyll be back with another survey team, or something more, and well know 
theyre coming. Sara smiled. The Zeez may not be trout, but chances are theyll be swallowing that bait 
whole, and be back to be caught. 

Ground lead to Chzrin. Youll be wanting to move our ride home out of the way. Let the warship get its 
little craft. 

Copy ground. The barest hint of relief threaded through the Qians voice. Running now. We will 
return, with help. 

Copy, Chzrin. Kell slowly smiled. Well have to check the Zeez camp, see what they left, then wait 
for our lift home. 

If taskforce comes back, could take days to organize. The Bouganshi squatted, resting a hand on the 
hilt of his knife. Perhaps the Zeez will land more teams and give us something to do. 

I think Id prefer they didnt. Sara smiled at Bragb. Not that Id want to ruin your fun. 

Im agreeing with Sara there. Kell dropped to one knee and fingered a bluewing out of the muck. 
Having been swallowed by a monster, Id be content with some peace. And given as how them trout 
seem to be liking these blue-wings, we wont be lacking for something to do. 

Fishing never struck me as the sort of thing Qian Star Guards would do. Sara arched an eyebrow at 
Kell. Wont our commander take a dim view of our spending our time that way? 

He will indeed, lass. Kell laughed. And that will make it even that much more fun. iLLIJNCES 

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch 

In 1999, Kristine Kathryn Rusch won three Readers Choice Awards for three different stories in three 
different magazines in two different genres: mystery and science fiction. That same year, her short fiction 
was nominated for the Hugo, Nebula, and Locus Awards. Since she had just returned to writing short 
fiction after quitting her short fiction editing job at The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, she 
was quite encouraged by this welcome back to writing. She never quit writing novels, and has sold more 
than forty-five of them, some under pseudonyms, in mystery, science fiction, fantasy, horror, and 
romance. Her most recent mystery novel is Hitlers Angel. Her most recent fantasy novel is The Black 
King. 

TTorgive me, sir. Captain Roz Sheehan could barely hide r her disgust, even if she was speaking to a 
superior officer. I dont believe we should trust the word of a Cra-tivn, two Dulacs, and a Hacrim. 

Admiral Allen Galland reached across his wide oak desk and handed her an information pad. She did not 
look at it, instead studying the office around her. 

Roz had been here a dozen timesand each time Gal-land had proposed some half-assed scheme. 
Most of them shed been able to get out of, but lately that had gotten harder and harder. 

She had a reputation for being the most creative captain in the fleet, and that had brought her to Gallands 
attention. 


That, and the loss of her ship in the Cactus Corridor. She kept her commandafter all, her crew got 
back alive and she had managed to defeat an entire squadron of Ba-am-asbut Galaxy Patrol rules 
were hard and fast. Any captain who lost her ship had to go through retraining and reassignment. 

That, and the loss of her ship in the Cactus Corridor. She kept her commandafter all, her crew got 
back alive and she had managed to defeat an entire squadron of Ba-am-asbut Galaxy Patrol rules 
were hard and fast. Any captain who lost her ship had to go through retraining and reassignment. 

The office wasnt making things any better. Oak desk, real Earth plantsspiders (which were hardy) 
and violets (which were not)paintings older than the Galactic Alliance, and leather furniture that had 
antique stamped all over it. Every time she came here, she saw some new treasure, and she wondered 
how much of her sweat had gone into paying for it. 

Not to mention the fact that Galland kept his office too damn hot. Hot and humid, filled with real 
sunlight. Good for the plants, he said. 

Bad for her. Especially when she was trying to look cool and calm, unruffled by his latest stupid plan. 
If only the Alliance had stricter rules for its base commanders. But they were military governors who 
operated without much oversightand were as good, or as bad, as they chose to be. And Galland 
certainly wasnt choosing to be good. 


I could download the information to your personal account, Galland said, capturing her attention just 


like he wanted. 
She sighed and looked at the information pad he had given her. A highlighted route appeared, running 
through the Cactus Corridor and beyond, well into uncharted space. 


A small blue planet pulsed, begging her to touch the screen and enlarge the image. 
She didnt. Instead, she handed the pad back to Galland. 
A treasure map, she said. How delightful. Am I acting as a member of the Patrol now or as part of a 


newly created piracy force? Should I wear an eye patch, get a peg leg, and start calling you matey? 
You forget, Captain, that you are talking to your superior. 
She let out a large sigh and let her shoulders relax. No, I havent, sir. But frankly, youre not acting like 


my superior here. Youre acting like a little boy who just found out that theres gold at the end of the 
rainbow. 


And you, Captain, should take this assignment more seriously. 
I would, she said, if you had a reliable source. And if you were pursuing something that was possible. 
Theyre sending youme, actuallyon some kind of wild goose chase. 


Ive heard enough about this universal translator to believe its something we have to investigate. 


Then have someone bring it here, she said. Whats to stop someone from bringing the technology to 
us? 
The Hacrim say that these creatures dont want to sell it. 
This mission was getting worse and worse. Then why would you want me to go to this place? 



To see if the rumors are true, Galland said. 
They arent, Roz said. 
Then find out. 
Through the Cactus Corridor. Into uncharted space. Breaking God knows how many regulations to 


track down a rumor? 
Youre an explorer, Captain. 
Im a military officer, Admiral. Im supposed to be patrolling a sector, not going on fantasy vacations in 


your stead. 
Youre being insubordinate, Captain. 
And youre not acting like my superior officer, Admiral. Roz picked up the pad and looked at it one 


last time. 


There was a lot of information missing from that route. The section of space after the Cactus Corridor 
was empty completely black. Then there was the pulsating planet, and nothing else. 
Space was never empty and it never had nothing there. Especially over distances that vast. 
Let me remind you, Captain, who saved your butt 
Yeah, Roz said. In an incident that happened in the Cactus Corridor. No offense, Admiral, but I really 


dont want to take my ship back there. 


You wont be, Roz, Galland said, lowering his voice. Youll be taking a prototype vessel. A small 
one. One that can handle the prickly nature of that nebula. 
And the Ba-am-as? she asked. 
You let me worry about the Ba-am-as. 
No offense, sir, but Im the one whose going to be taking a prototype ship through the Cactus Corridor, 


heavily mined and guarded by the Ba-am-as, into space that isnt properly charted, in search of 
something thats scientifically impossible. I respectfully and forcefully decline. 
Admiral Galland let out a small sigh. Roz, I dont think youre in the position to argue 


Admiral, she said, putting her hands on his desk and leaning close. Let me ask you a few questions. 
He raised his dark eyes to hers. She thought she caught in them an expression of wary amusement. She 
didnt like that at all. 


Fire, Captain. Back to captain, then, were they? None of that too-familiar Roz crap any longer. 
Did the Dulacs speak English when they told you of this great find? 
No, Galland started, but she didnt let him finish. 
Did the Hacrim? How about the Crativn? 
No. 



Did they use one of these devices to communicate with you? 
No, Galland said. 
So you had to speak to them through translators. 
Yes, but 
Human translators, trained at some university and hired by the Patrol, right? 
Yes, but 
Dont you find that somewhat suspicious? 
No, Galland said. 
She couldnt believe he had just said that. No? 
Galland nodded. No. 
She stood up. Now she was confused. Why not? And then she mentally kicked herself for asking the 


question. 
Because, he said, they claim these creatures dont want the translator in anyone elses hands. 
So, she said, on the off chance that this universal translator does exist, what am I supposed to do? 


Steal the technology? 
Thats your suggestion, Captain. 
She let out a surprised laugh. I was being sarcastic, Admiral. 
Really? he said, Somehow, I hadnt noticed. 
She stared at him, shocked. You cant be serious. 
He grinned. It was your suggestion. 
She shook her head. How she hated the meetings with him. The thing was she knew she had little 


recourse. The 
Alliance let a lot of things slide, particularly if the end result benefited Alliance members. 
And to think she had been idealistic when she joined up, believing that for the good of all races crap 


that had been in the recruiting ads. To think that she once believed she and her crew would fly all over 
the galaxy doing good. 
How naive was that? 


Probably as naive as letting Admiral Galland help her avoid reassignment. 
Admiral, she said, choosing her words carefully, we couldnt invent a universal translator for human 
languages. Human beingsthe same speciesdont base our language on the same structure and 
concepts. How can there be a universal translator for humans and aliens? Its not possible and you know 
it. You want me to risk my life and my crews for someones con. 


Its not a con, he said. Three different kinds of aliens 


Yeah. They couldnt all have been bought off. She put up her hands as if to ward off his next remark. 
That was sarcasm too, in case you didnt catch it. 
Look, Captain. You and I have both seen a lot of strange things in our careers. Thats part of what 


space is about. Galland was being serious now. Somehow that disconcerted her even more. What if 
this translator works for some alien races? If it works forty percent of the time, then its better than 
anything we have. 


And if, in the remaining sixty percent, it mistranslates and we dont know it, arent we setting ourselves 
up for something completely terrible? she asked. 


Lets find out if it exists first, Roz. Then well worry about it. 
So I cross the Cactus Corridor, fight my way through an uncharted section of space, find out the damn 
thing exists, come back, tell you, and youll send me out again? 


Id rather take your first suggestion, Galland said. 
It wasnt a suggestion, she said. And I wont steal for you or the Alliance. Im not that dumb. 
All the humor left Gallands face. Really, Roz? he asked. Your record suggests otherwise. 
It does not. Ive been one of the best officers in this fleet, and you know it. 
I know it, he said. But it doesnt show in your record. In fact, the last eleven runs you did for me were 


off the books. Officially, Captain, youre grounded. 
Her mouth went dry. What? 
He shrugged. Were pretty much an isolated outpost here, Roz. No one knows what happens out here 


unless we choose to tell them. For the past several years all your communications, all your assignments, 


and all of your command decisions have been run through me. 
Of course it had. That was standard policy. She was feeling light-headed. He had manipulated standard 
policy to his own advantage? That was even lower than she had expected him to go. 


There arent that many starships, she said. Patrol Headquarters has to know that someone has been 
running the Millennium. 
Someone has, Galland said. Just not you. 
She licked her lips. They were dry, too. What have I been doing then? 
Penance, just like you were supposed to. Working dock-side with me. 


You son of a bitch! She started across the desk at him, but he caught her by her shoulders. 
Dont fly off, Roz, he said. You dont dare. Or Ill report your usage of the Millennium. All of it 
illegal. 


Thats not true. Weve done surveys for the Patrol. Weve gone on assignment 
True, he said. All of it logged in under the new captains name. The only runs that bear your signature 



are the eleven I asked for. 
All illegal, she said. 
He shrugged. All insurance. 
She eased herself out of his grasp. What about my crew? 
Loyalty is a two-edged sword, Roz, Galland said. Theyll say anything for you. 
Youd ruin their careers, too? she asked. 
He smiled. It seems that you already have. 
She clenched her fists and had to walk around the office once to keep herself from flattening him. 


Asshole. She had been right. She should have trusted her instincts, should have believed in that feeling 


she had every time he gave her an assignment. 
But she had wanted her ship back so badly, she had been willing to believe him. Willing to become his 
patsy. 


Dammit, this was her fault. She willingly blinded herself so that she could have the command she felt she 


deserved. 
Now she wished she could go back in time. She wouldnt refight the battle in the Cactus Corridor. Shed 
done that right. No. Shed report the entire thing to Headquarters when she got back to the base, just 
like she had planned. 


But Admiral Galland had talked her out of it. He had said that he had taken care of the report, and he 
had told her to keep her information to herself because he thought he could save her command and 
maybe even give her the Millennium. 


She remembered seeing the Millennium, brand new and sparkling, docked on the bases secure ring. 
She had wanted that ship. After the battles she fought, the risks she had taken, the way she had saved 
her crew and the mission, she felt she had deserved that ship. 


And Galland had used those emotions. Used them all. 
She made herself focus on the statue of a man on a horse on one of the bookshelves. It was a 
Remington, from Earth, twentieth century. She knew because Galland had told her. And she had looked 
it up one afternoon while lounging in her quarters. If the bronze statue was the original, it was priceless. It 


had once stood in the Oval Office of the White House, back when Ronald Reagan was president, 
centuries ago. 
Had Galland stolen that, too? Or had he bought it? 
She didnt know. Anyone could get rich out here, and still serve in the Patrol. Getting rich wasnt illegal. 


It seemed like very little was any more. 
Damn him. 
So, she said, youre even taking the Millennium away from me. 
Roz, youre the one who proved that full-sized vessels cant survive intact in the Cactus Corridor. That 


nebula would be dangerous without the Ba-am-as and their mines. But the fact that the Ba-am-as claim it 



and defend it, and the Corridor is filled with more debris than the average nebula, make it the most 
treacherous area of space out here. 
Ive flown it, Roz said. 


And lost a ship doing so. 
If regulations hadnt insisted on one: successful completion of a mission and two: crews lives above all 
else, Idve gotten the damn ship out. She took a deep breath. I want the Millennium on this mission. 


No. 
And since this missions off the books, Im not following regulations. 
Roz 
What are you going to do, Allen? she said, being as disrespectful to him as he was to her. Throw the 


book at me? You can do that already. If you want me to go, and its clear you do, you do it my way. 
See the prototype first, he said. 
Has the prototype flown any farther than this base? 
No. 
Have its weapon systems been tested in real battles, not simulations? 
No. 
Has it ever flown in anything other than optimum conditions? 
No. 
Then you give me the Millennium, or you find someone else to take this little joy ride of yours. 
Ill have your ass, Roz. 
She smiled at him. It seems that you already do, Allen. Theres not a lot more that you can threaten me 


with. You do it my way, or its not going to get done. Or did some other captain wrap a noose around 
her neck like I did? 
He stared at her for a long time. Then he sighed. All right, he said. You have the Millennium. 


Somehow, she said, Im not overjoyed. 
Roz was even less overjoyed when the Millennium hit the Cactus Corridor. The Corridor was the name 
the Patrol had given one of the larger nebulas in this part of the galaxy and it was, as Galland had said, 
dangerous even without the mines placed in it by the Ba-am-as. 


The Ba-am-as were a possessive race who claimed not only the space around their planet, but the space 
around their solar system as their territory. That they shared that space with at least seventy-five other 
sentient species didnt seem to bother them at all; that among the seventy-five were four-teen that were 
space-faring only bothered the Ba-am-as in that they had to defend themselves. 


And they did, against everyone. 



To make matters worse, the Ba-am-as were more technologically advanced than the Patrol. It meant that 
any space-faring ships that went into self-proclaimed Ba-am-as territory had to be warships, and had to 
have a lot of maneuverability. 

To make matters worse, the Ba-am-as were more technologically advanced than the Patrol. It meant that 
any space-faring ships that went into self-proclaimed Ba-am-as territory had to be warships, and had to 
have a lot of maneuverability. 

Galland had allowed her the fifty crew members of her choice, promising to reassign all the others and 
rebuild their careers. She was happy for thembut the problem that she had was that to run the 
Millennium with half her minimal crew composite required her to use her best peopleand those were 
the people she most wanted out of Gallands clutches. 

Her only other choice was to take the prototype which she trusted as much as she trusted Galland. Better 
to run the Corridor with a tired overworked talented crew in the best ship in the fleet than run it with a 
new ship and an unfamiliar crew. 

Or so she told herself. 

If there had been a way to avoid the Corridor, she would have done it. But there wasnt, at least, not a 
quick way, according to the maps she had gotten from Galland. She would have interviewed his alien 
informants herself, but they had conveniently left the base just before she arrived. 

She did watch the vids of the interviews and noted that all the pertinent information hadnt been filmed at 
all. Some-one had shut off the vids at all the appropriate moments. That meant she couldnt even 
reconstruct the blacked-out vids. All she had was Gallands word, the crazy map, and supposition. 

The interviews told her less than Galland had. 

The fifth day into the nebula, the computer reported the first minefield. 

The Ba-am-as were clever. The mines were impossible to detect, at least with Patrol technology, but the 
Ba-am-as always issued warnings in the parameter around the field. The warnings always ended with 
some Ba-am-adian dignitary expressing its wish that no race get hurt in Ba-am-adian territory. 

So considerate. 

Roz had the computer do a sweep anyway. She had learned, the last time she went through this nebula, 
that the Ba-am-adian mines appeared on scans as bits of rock. Her plan was to avoid all rock as she 
went through. 

If the Bd-am-as had changed the configuration of the mines, however, the Millennium would get through 
the nebula by luck alone. 

As soon as the announcement came through, Roz went to the bridge. She wasnt the best pilot on board, 
not anymore, but she was the most canny. She took the copilots chair and served as backup as the ship 
crawled its way through the minefield. 

Fifteen agonizing hours passed. Roz suspected they were nearly out of the field when the first Ba-am-as 
ship appeared. 

Ba-am-as ships were slender and white, looking so light that they seemed to float in space. The 
Ba-am-as never revealed themselves. Even their announcements came through as audio only, and all 


attempts to look at their planet were blocked. 


Roz always imagined that they looked like their ships, white featherlike creatures without any substance 
to them at all. 
Message, said Ethan, her first on this mission. 
What language we got? 
Bad English, said Ethan. 
It annoyed her that the Ba-am-as had learned the language of the Galactic Alliance, but the Alliance had 


never even heard the Ba-am-adian language. 
Maybe language was just annoying her all around these days. 
All right, she said. Tell them to go ahead. 
Although she could probably recite the announcement chapter and verse already. She still heard it in her 


dreams. 


Galactic Patrol Vessel, said the flat androgynous voice that was so obviously computer generated. 
You are in Ba-am-adian space. We request that you leave it immediately. 
She had two ways of responding. She had tried the first the last time she had gone through and that had 


gone very badly. The Ba-am-as seemed to have no patience with people who claimed that this part of 


space could not be owned. 
She operated the communications array herself. Ba-am-adian vessel, she said. We had no idea we 
were in your space. Weve been called to an outpost on the other side of the nebula. We request safe 
passage to tend to our people. 


There was a long silence before she got the response, There are no Patrol outposts on the other side of 


the nebula. 
There is one, she said. She wondered how far she would have to take this bluff. I can give you the 
coordinates if you like. 


She hoped that the Ba-am-as could not read her star charts. If she had to send the information, shed use 


the least informative way possible. 
You are already halfway through the nebula, the Ba-am-as said. You have guarantee of safe passage 
to the other side. But you must agree not to return through our space. 


Great. All she was doing was putting off the inevitable. That would require us to go several light-years 
out of our way. 


It is a small requirement to save your lives, said the metallic Ba-am-adian voice. 
Actually that was true. And it put a germ of an idea in her head, an idea she did not have to examine until 
she got back from Gallands mystery planet. 


We agree, she said. 
Ethan swore behind her, and she waved him silent. The rest of the bridge crew was staring at her as if she 



had grown three heads. 
We accept your safe passage through the nebula and for it, we agree not to return this way. 
There was a long silence on the other end. Then the computerized voice said, We shall hold you and 


your people to this agreement. Now, follow us and we shall lead you out of the nebula. 
Thank you, Roz said and ended the communication. 
Her bridge crew was still staring at her. 
That Ba-am-as said your people, Ethan said. You dont have the right to negotiate something this big 


for the Alliance. 
I know, she said. 
Dont you know what kind of problems this will create? Ivy, her pilot, asked. 
I know, Roz said. 
And you did it anyway? Ivy asked. Dont you know whats going to happen to you? 
Nothing that hasnt happened already, Roz said. I need a quick meeting of the senior staff. Its time 


you all know whats going on. 
They frowned and returned to their posts. 
She sat back and let Ivy do the hard piloting. But Roz made sure the computer was charting their course, 


and taking readings of the rocks and debris near the strange twists and turns. Maybe, just maybe, shed 
be lucky enough to find a common material in all of that junk. 
Maybe shed discover how to locate a Ba-am-adian mine. 


Hes been tampering with all of our records? Ethan asked, pacing around the conference desk. 
The conference room in the Millennium was probably the prettiest room on the ship. On one wall, it had 
floor-to-ceiling windows open to space, on the others it had hand-painted maps of the known 
universemaps which could be covered by screens if someone needed to make a large presentation. 


Ethan was a burly man whod made his way through the ranks on sheer brute force. It had taken 


herand her crew to show him that he had the intelligence to match that strength. 
Now, however, she wished he was small and puny. He was using that strength to knock empty chairs 
and eventually, hed knock them clear of their anchors in the floor. 


Ivy was huddled beside Roz, looking as if she didnt want to be there. Three other staff members, petite 
Gina Fishel who headed security, no-nonsense Belle Curry who ran the medical team, and sturdy Tom 
ONeal who led the engineering team, watched Ethan warily. He was expressing the anger all of them 
feltRoz was smart enough to know thatbut they still werent comfortable with the edge of violence 
that was in all of his movements. 


She was. She remembered having the same feeling in Gallands office. 
Yes, Roz said patiently. He tampered with everything. 


And you trusted him? 
He was my superior officer, she said. We were following regulations. 
Ethan growled and smacked another empty chair. You should have double-checked on him. 
Why didnt you? she asked, unable to control the impulse. 
Because that was your job. 
So, under your logic, you should have made sure that I did it properly. She folded her hands. Wed all 


been on base since the loss of the St. Petersburg. We all had the opportunity to make sure that Galland 
was telling us the truth. We all chose to believe the system was working. 


Ethan whirled, slapping his large hands on the table. You cant blame this on us. 
Im not, Roz said. But I am pointing out that the mistake I made was somewhat logical. Ive had a 
week to think about this. I screwed up, yes, and I allowed my desire to maintain a ship and a command 
compromise all of us. But were here now 


We wouldnt be here if youd told us that on base, Gina said softly. 
Roz nodded. I know that. 
Ginas narrow face flushed. You got us here under false pretenses. 
I need you to run this ship, Roz said. 
We could strike. That came from Belle. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her 


chair. 
Roz looked at her with surprise. Belle, who had served on more ships than the rest of them combined, 


never acted in an insubordinate manner. She accepted her work as easily as she accepted her silver hair 
and advancing years. 
You could, Roz said. Then we drift. I cant run this ship alone. 
So your plan is to be Gallands lackey? Tom asked. 
Roz shrugged. I figure well investigate this. 
Why? Belle said. You know its not possible. 
I have a hunch Galland has sent us there for another reason, Roz said. 
And then how do you expect to get home? Ivy asked, her voice soft. You told the Ba-am-as that we 


wont go through the Corridor. If we dont, well go so far out of our way that itll take us two years to 


get back. 
Roz nodded. Then she stood up and walked to the window. Through its protective coating and 
quadruple panes, all regulation thick, she saw dust particles floating like schools of fish. The Millennium 
could handle small particles of debris like thatit was built to withstand all sorts of space junkbut she 
knew that too many trips through a nebula would make microscopic fractures too small to measure, and 
eventually, something on the ship would buckle. 


It doesnt bother you that itll take us forever to get back? Ethan asked the question a bit too loudly. 
It bothers me, she said, but Im not going to worry about it right now. 
What are you worrying about? Tom asked. 
She rubbed her arms. Getting to that planet. Finding the universal translator. 
I cant believe youre going to go through with the mission! Ethan said. 
She turned. The staff were all staring at her, waiting for her answer. What do you want me to do? 
We could contact the Ba-am-as, and ask for passage out of the Corridor on the Alliance side, Ivy said. 
After the lie I told them? Roz asked. You think theyll buy that? 
No one answered her. 
And if we do return, then what? Do I put Galland on report? 
Sarcasm doesnt help, Roz, Belle said softly. 
No, I suppose it doesnt, Roz said. But youre not coming up with any solutions. 
Maybe we should turn ourselves in, Ivy said softly. 
Ethan cursed and kicked the nearest chair. It shuddered on its post, and nearly toppled off. 
Dont go breaking the ship, Tom said to him. We might have to live here for the next two years. 
Ethan cursed again. 
Lets see what Galland wants so badly, Gina said. Im with the captain. We might have blackmail 


material here. 


Roz looked at her sideways and smiled. Thats the kind of response I need from my staff. Blame me all 
you want, but lets come up with some creative solutions to get us out of this mess. 
Blackmail is creative? Belle asked. 
Its the best thing Ive heard so far, Roz said. 
Yeah. After we go to some stupid planet no one has ever seen before, and then take a route two years 


out of our way to get home. Ethan sat in the chair he had just kicked. The chair groaned under rus 
weight. By then, all this might not matter. 
Itll matter, Roz said softly. 
To whom? Ethan asked. For all we know, by then Galland could have retired. 
Itll matter to me. Roz shoved her hands in the pockets of her uniform. Itll always matter to me. 


* * * 
They emerged from the nebula into a portion of space that Roz had only been to briefly, during her last 
encounter with the Ba-am-as. This time, like last, she didnt have any time to explore. She had to fulfill 



her mission. 

her mission. 

Since the aliens who had informed Galland of the planet hadnt bothered to name it, and since it was 
unchartedat least by the AllianceRozs crew had taken to calling it Xanadu. They all giggled when 
they said it, and then looked at her sideways, as if afraid she would get the joke. She didnt, and she 
really didnt care. 

The route they had been given took them into a new solar system. Most of the planets were not marked 
on the map. The exploration urge hit her again, but she ignored it. 

She headed for Xanadu, hoping against hope she would find something she could use. 

Xanadu turned out to be an Earth-type planet with oceans and six continentsthree habitable to humans. 
The atmosphere had enough oxygen to sustain human life, which was not a surprise, given the makeup of 
the planet itself. 

Roz had studied her chart enough to know that the creatures she was seeking lived on the small third 
continent. It reminded her of Australia, where she had been on her one trip to Earth at the age of fifteen. 
From space, it had looked like an island, but she knew that the land mass itself was vast. 

She had her senior staff review the alien interviews with all the blackoutshoping for a clue to what 
she was seeking. She also had the computer scan the surface, looking for signs of a space-faring 
civilization. 

It found nothing on the surface so, in a moment of frustration, Ethan asked it to scan below the surface. 

There the computer found catacombs that went on foreverall of them carved out of rock and 
supported by metal beams: not anything that would have occurred naturally. 

It took three days to locate an entrance to the catacombs. Then Roz plotted the away missions, breaking 
protocol again and deciding to go herself. She wasnt going to orbit the damn planet waiting for news. If 
there was something below that she could useor even if there wasntshe wanted to see for herself. 

The fact that her crew was even on this mission was her fault; the least she could do was shoulder all of 
the responsibility herself. 

She went down in the first shuttle, along with ten crew members. Ethan stayed on board, protesting the 
entire time. Roz took Ivy, Gina, two other security officers, Tom and two of his most scientifically minded 
engineers, and a medical officer handpicked by Belle. 

Despite the atmosphere readings, Roz insisted they all wear environmental suits. She hated the helmets 
and the clear faceplates as much as anyone else, but she wasnt going to lose a person on this mission. 
She wasnt going to take any unreasonable chances. 

A second shuttle was supposed to disembark five hours later if hers didnt return. She never said it would 
be a rescue mission, but both she and Ethan knew it was. 

Ivy piloted the shuttle down and balked when Roz ordered her to remain on board. But Roz didnt listen 
to Ivys arguments; instead she hustled the rest of the team out of the shuttle and into the bright light on 
the planets surface. 


They had landed on a flat rocky area near the spot the computer had located as the entrance to the 
catacombs. The rocks were rust-colored, but the soil beneath, peaking out in various areas, was a dark 
brown. There were no plants here, but she hadnt expected any. The plants were two kilometers below 
them, in a valley that she could barely see from where she stood. 

They had landed on a flat rocky area near the spot the computer had located as the entrance to the 
catacombs. The rocks were rust-colored, but the soil beneath, peaking out in various areas, was a dark 
brown. There were no plants here, but she hadnt expected any. The plants were two kilometers below 
them, in a valley that she could barely see from where she stood. 

Roz led her team to the coordinates for the opening to the catacombs. She had expected something 
elaborate carved into the rocks jutting up like cliffs. Instead, a metal box stood on the rock like a sign 
pointing toward the hiding place below the surface. 

The box had a door on one side, and the door was open. Roz glanced at Gina, who shrugged. 

Might always be like that, Gina said. No way of knowing. 

Still, she motioned to the members of the security team, and they all went in first. Roz and the rest of the 
landing party waited until Gina gave an all clear. 

Then Roz led the way inside. 

Immediately, her suits cooling unit shut off. The air was cooler in here and, her suit informed her, more 
oxygen rich. The ceiling glowed, creating a cool, unnatural light that illuminated the path before them. The 
floor sloped down-ward, a gradual slant so that even the most clumsy could keep their footing. 

This is weird, Tom said. 

Roz nodded, but said nothing. She walked just behind the security team, noting the metal beams and the 
way the support structures disappeared into the rock. 

The deeper the team went into the catacombs the wider the caverns got. Instead of getting darker, the 
path got lighter. The same material that had been on the ceiling above illuminated the floor below. 

Cautious creatures, arent they? Roz asked. 

If they were cautious, Gina said, theydve greeted us already. 

Says who? asked Marek, one of Toms scientists. We have no idea how they operate. 

Or even if they exist at all, said Brock, the other scientist. 

Someone exists, Roz said. Or existed. This didnt just appear by itself. 

The catacombs opened even farther and up ahead, Gina whistled. It took Roz a moment to catch up to 
her. The path created a T where Gina had stopped. At the top of the T, someone had built a wall that 
came up to Rozs shoulders. 

When Roz looked over the wall, she whistled, too. Above her, a carved ceiling glowed as bright as 
daylightonly this light was cool like the light that had illuminated their path not red and furious like the 
planets sun. 

Beneath that domed ceiling was a cavern that seemed to extend for kilometers. And on every centimeter 
of that cavern floor were buildings and streets. 


A city, made of white stone. The splotches of color came from paintings on the sides of buildings, from 
fabric spread on rooftops, and from the river that flowed through the citys center. She could smell the 
water up here, fresh and spicy and cool, and she could hear it as well as it churned its way past all the 
buildings. 

A city, made of white stone. The splotches of color came from paintings on the sides of buildings, from 
fabric spread on rooftops, and from the river that flowed through the citys center. She could smell the 
water up here, fresh and spicy and cool, and she could hear it as well as it churned its way past all the 
buildings. 

My God, Tom said. Ive never seen anything like this. 

None of them had. It was stunning and unsettling at the same time. 

Roz checked her systems clock. Theyd been underground for two hours. She couldnt check in from 
this far below the surface. Which meant that she and the team had only an hour to interact with whatever 
lived below. 

Gina, she said, send one of your team back to the surface. Tell Ethan to delay the second shuttle by 
five more hours. 

Yes, sir, Gina said. She relayed Rozs order, and one of the security members branched off, heading 
back the way theyd come. 

Roz felt a slight pang, wondering if she should have sent a pair above, but so far she had seen nothing 
hostile. 

Does anyone see how to get to that city? she asked. 

Either side will take us down, Tom said, pointing to the other side of the cavern. The paths followed the 
walls, slanting downward until they met directly across from where the team stood now, in what looked 
like a giant slide that led into the city. 

Roz nodded. It would take them another half hour or more just to traverse the width of the cavern. But 
she saw no other choice. 

This time, she led the team. The downward slope was much steeper here, and she had to hold onto the 
wall to keep her balance. So did the rest of the team. All the way down she watched for some form of 
alien life, and saw nothing. When they finally reached the far side of the cavern, Gina swore. Roz looked 
ahead. 

What had looked like a giant slide from the other side looked more like a waterfall encased in stone on 
this side. The only way down it was to rappel or to slide down. 

The stone waterfall ended in one of the pools that had branched off the river. 

Great, Tom said. 

Strangers, a voice boomed. 

Roz looked at the rest of her team. They looked as startled as she did. 

State your business here. 

Roz felt a shiver run through her. That was English and, so far as she knew, the creatures in this place 
had never encountered any humans before, let alone those from the Patrol, those that spoke English 


almost exclusively. 


Urn. She stepped forward. Were from the Galactic Alliance, a loosely-based association of worlds 
on the other side of the nebula near here. 
Tom was frowning at her. Did she sound as uncomfortable as she felt. 
We had heard that you had a universal translator. We were sent to check out the rumor. 
The voice was silent. 
Roz looked at her team. Gina shrugged. The other security members hung back as if the strangeness 


surprised them. The scientists were looking for the source of the voice, and the medical officer was 


frowning. 
We do not allow strangers into the city, the voice said after a moment. One of our representatives 
will meet you. 


Roz felt her shoulders relax, She really didnt want to face that frozen waterfall. 
Then she heard a loud splash and a strange whirring. A 
creature whirled out of the pool below them, and rose to their level. It landed, shaking water off as it did 


so. 
It was small, mammalian in appearance, with forearms and webbed feet like a duck. It also had a beak. 


Its eyes were dark and had no whites. It seemed to be breathing the air, but it also had gills along the 
sides of its neck. 
We have never heard of a Galactic Alliance. The little creatures mouthor what Roz took to be a 

mouthdid not move. 
Weve been around for nearly a hundred years, she said. If you want, I could brief you on it. 
Perhaps later. It folded its small forearms over its belly. It had what looked like six-fingered hands at the 


end of those forearms and it threaded the fingers together. First we would like to hear of your 
universal translator. 
Actually, Roz said, we heard you had invented one. 
We have no use for such a thing, the creature said. 
Yet youre speaking to us in our language. 


The creature made a chittering sound. / am not speaking. 
Telepathy. She had heard that there were creatures all over the galaxy that had it in one form or another. 
How do you understand our language, then? 


/ do not know. Only that we overheard your speech, then used what pieces of it we could find to 

create our own responses. 
Roz glanced at Gina. Gina had pressed a small button on the side of her environmental suit. She was 
recording this. Although Roz figured it would do no good. If the creature was telepathic, the conversation 
would be distinctly one-sided. 



How did you learn of us? 

How did you learn of us? 

What good would a universal translator be to your peo-cle? the creature asked. 

We travel all over the galaxy, she said. Our mission is to map the sectors we havent seen before, and 
make diplomatic contact with peoples we havent encountered before. We usually contact only 
space-faring races. 

We were space-faring once. 

What happened? 

We chose not to be any longer. The creature shook some more water off its fur, then leaned over and 
groomed its shoulder with its tongue. It made a spitting sound, and shook again. However, it is 
beginning to seem as if we will not be left in peace. 

Because the Hacrim and the others are telling everyone about you? 

And you are all coming to investigate. 

Weve been raised to believe that a universal translator is an impossibility, Tom said. 
When you speak of this translator, you speak of a device, do you not? the creature asked. 
Yes, Roz said. 


Then you have been raised correctly. So far as we know, anyway. 

But were understanding each other. 

The creature raised its dark eyes to hers then made that cluttering sound again. She wondered if it was a 
sound of derision or disgust. 

My people have the skill to understand most sentient beings. It is not a pleasant nor desirable 
trait, and it is the reason we have retreated here. 

The underground city? Gina asked. 
The river, the creature said. It protects us. We have trouble absorbing through water. 
What do your people call themselves? Roz asked. 
The creature made a sound that was something between a burp and a sneeze. 
The creature studied them for a moment, then said, If we had had the device you were looking for, 


what would you have done with it? 
I would have reported to my superiors. Roz said, not sure that was what she would have done at all. 
And they probably would have figured out a way to buy the technology from you. 


Would they be willing to barter or trade? 

Of course, Roz said. Im sure a lot of races would. 


/ will speak to my people, the creature said. You will return here after the next sunrise. You will then 
explain to us your hesitation at returning to your command and why you are both elated and 
disappointed to learn of our talents. 

/ will speak to my people, the creature said. You will return here after the next sunrise. You will then 
explain to us your hesitation at returning to your command and why you are both elated and 
disappointed to learn of our talents. 

The creature tilted its head, which seemed like some sort of ritual movement (like a wave), then it raised 
its arms and laid itself on the stone waterfall. It slid down the fall and landed, with a splash, in the pool 
below. 

Roz peered after it, but couldnt see anything in the murky depths. Okay, she said after a moment, that 
was weird. 

But promising, Gina said. 

The pool below still rippled. Roz thought she saw movement. But she pulled herself away. Lets head 
back to the shuttle before Ethan sends the next team down. 

So they made the long trek back, radioed Ethan, and settled in for their first night on Xanadu. 

Sunrise, it turned out, was two standard days later. The wait was interminable. For the first time, Roz 
re-gretted leaving Ethan on board the ship. She wanted to hear his analysis. The others were reliable, but 
they werent as blunt as Ethan. 

She needed blunt right now. 

The breaks in the recordings of the interviews bothered her more than ever. She had a hunch that Galland 
knew his universal translator wasnt a device, but a people. And she had an idea that he wanted her to 
bring just one member of that race back with her. 

That was what she would have done if he hadnt threatened her. if he hadnt tried to manipulate her, and 
if he hadnt ruined-her career. 

She did speak to her team, and they all agreed that there was no way she would be able to convince the 
Xanadians which was what they called the creatures, not being able to imitate that sneeze/burp 
soundto continue to hide or even to move on. If three different alien races knew about them, it was 
only a matter of time before someone else did as well. 

And their skills would be useful, whether on a voluntary or a coerced basis. 

While she waited, she sent all the information she had back to the ship. Belle and her team examined it. 
Telepathy on a low level, Belle informed Roz, had been found in other races scattered among the galaxy, 
but nothing this sophisticated. Mostly telepaths were able to sense strong emotion among their own 
people. Belle had no records of any race that had telepathy with other racesand certainly not anything 
that included picking up a language in less than an hour. 

But, Belle had said, as much as I dont want to admit that its possible, I have to remind myself theres 
more to this universe than we can perceive. All I have to do is blow a dog whistle to know that. 

It was her standard line when she encountered something she didnt understand, and it bothered Roz. 
Cant you at least make a guess at what theyre doing? she had asked. 

I can guess, Belle had said. Not on the telepathy but on the language. 


That got Rozs attention. She thought that was the impossible part, and she said so. 

That got Rozs attention. She thought that was the impossible part, and she said so. 

Then Belle had grinned. Or maybe theyre just conning us like everyone else has managed to lately. 

It was possible, Roz supposed, but she didnt know why there would be such an elaborate con. There 
were easier ways of trapping Galland, and the Galactic Patrol didnt even work this sector. So she was 
inclined to believe the Xanadians were real. 

Her staff agreed. They thought the Xanadians were the real thing. 

Now she just had to find out what the little gold mines wanted. 

Instead of meeting her down by the city, the creature met her inside the door to the catacombs. Near the 
surface, it looked more molelike than she had expected, its dark eyes squinting at the light filtering in the 
open door. 

Her own team waited just outside as the creature had asked them to do. It had pulled Roz far enough 
away that her voice couldnt be heard by her own peopleand she wondered how it knew that or if it 
was just comfortable a distance away from the othersand then it said, 

We are tiny race. We live in theand again it made a sneezy burpy sound, which somehow she 
understood to mean the continent she was onand nowhere else. The other races on this planet 
leave us alone. Theyre frightened of our abilities. But now, creatures from space have come 
several in the past yearand by that she knew it meant its year, not her yearand all of them 
seemed intrigued by our abilities to understand them. We get a sense of threat and we do not 
know why. You are the first to speak of trade, barter, buying, and we begin to understand. Our 
ability to communicate does not frighten you. You desire it, see it as a commodity, see it as 
something that will improve your lives. 

She nodded, then said, Yes, just in case it didnt understand. 

We sent the others away, telling them that we want to be left alone. And it seems, they all told 
your people. Why is that? 

Knowledge. she said. Its a commodity, too, among my people. 

The creature rubbed its handlike paws together, as if she had confirmed its thinking. We had heard of 
your union. We were going to apply to it for its protection until you arrived. You have hesitations. 
It is as if you do not believe in the organization you represent. 

If she needed confirmation of the creatures telepathic ability, then this was it. The creature had put into 
words the very thing that had been bothering her. 

If she were to report back to Galland, he would come out here. Or he would send a force out here. Hed 
been far enough away to tamper with her records, hide the loss of a ship, and make himself rich enough 
to have expensive goods all over his office. If he made some kind of deal with these creatures outside 
Alliance guidelinesand any deal he made with them for his own gain would bethere would be no one 
to stop him. 


At least not until it was too late. 


She could, she supposed, let Headquarters know what was happening, but that would be difficult, 
especially considering how Galland had discredited her and her crew. 
And, really, when she looked at it, what was the Alliance, anyway? A federation of planets with nothing 


more in common than their military unity. They claimed they were diplomats exploring the galaxy, but the 


races they found either joined the Alliance or became the Alliances enemies. 
She had no idea why the Ba-am-as hated the Patrol, but she had a hunch the reasons she had been told 
werent the ones the Ba-am-as had. 


She sighed. Im not the best representative for my people. Ive been discredited and I allowed myself to 
be conned. 
The creature turned toward her. Its dark eyes seemed to have grown even darker. We know this. 


Then you know that I no longer believe in the Alliance I represent. 
It is why we talk with you. One of the creatures forearms fluttered like the wing of a grounded bird. 
We believe you are the first alien we have encountered that might be able to help us. 


Help you? she asked. How? 


It would require you to break several of your laws. The creature studied her as if it could see through 
her. 
It seems Ive done that already. 


And you would have to find new allegiances. 

Im listening, she said. 
So, with a wave of its little pawlike hands, the creature outlined its proposition. 
She had to take the proposition back to her crew. The creatures were willing to wait while she returned 


to her ship. She held the meeting shortly after she arrived. 


We know nothing about these creatures, Ivy said. If they want us to train them so that they can go 
back into space, how do we know they wont go out and conquer the galaxy? 
All five hundred of them? Belle asked. 
The entire staff looked at her. 
I checked. We can scan below the surface, even if our communicators dont work there. 
Any way they could have fudged that? Gina asked Tom. 
I suppose, he said. If they have a great understanding of our technology and lots of time to prepare. 
I take that as a no, Roz said. 
Unless youre really paranoid, Tom said. 
Besides, Belle said, they reproduce slowly. Even if all five hundred decide to conquer the galaxy, itll 



be a while before they have the ability to do so. 
They say they reproduce slowly, Tom said. 
No, Belle said. This one I could check. Gestation period of one of our years, two years in a 


pouchtheyre more marsupials than mammals in some waysand then nearly two decades to grow 
up. 


Okay, Ivy said. So they cant conquer the known universe. 
Not in our lifetime, Belle said. Besides, Roz said theyre going to let us interview the other races on 
this planet about them. 


And how do you propose we do that? Ethan asked. 
We dont speak any of the languages. And I dont exactly trust the only available translators. 
It boils down to trust, Roz said. And I dont have any left, for anyone at least, except this crew. 
No one spoke. 
Which brings up another problem, Roz said into the silence. I mean, were not going to limp back to 


Alliance space, not if we do this. 
Everyone looked at her. 
Youre proposing stealing the Millennium? Ethan asked. 
On the books, Roz said, we already have. 
And doing what with her? 
Roz sighed. Shed been thinking about this since she went through the Cactus Corridor. Shes our 


home, isnt she? None of us has family anywhere else. 
The staff was silent. 
And weve been doing things we dont like for reasons that we all hated because we thought we were 


working for the Alliance. It turns out we werent. 
So shouldnt we go back and get a court-martial for Galland? Ivy asked. 
Maybe, Roz said. If we can. If we believe itll happen. Like I said, I dont believe in much anymore. 
What are you suggesting? Ethan asked. 
They cant come after us, Roz said. Weve screwed up their passage through the Corridor. Itll take 


them a few tries before they realize that the Ba-am-as believe theres an agreement, a few more tries 
before they anger the Ba-am-as into believing the agreements over, and then at least two years of flying 
before they make it here, our last known stop. 


Wed be fugitives for the rest of our lives, Gina said. 
Only in Alliance space. 
The entire staff looked at her as if she had three heads. Roz was beginning to get used to that response. 



She shrugged. Its just an idea. Im beginning to realize that Im not the most subtle person in the world. 
Or the greatest brain. But I do have an ethical center. Im not suggesting we go out and pillage this part 
of the galaxy. 

She shrugged. Its just an idea. Im beginning to realize that Im not the most subtle person in the world. 
Or the greatest brain. But I do have an ethical center. Im not suggesting we go out and pillage this part 
of the galaxy. 
. 
Doing what we were hired to do. Exploring. Helping when we feel its right. 
Belle rubbed her chin with her left hand. You think helping the Xanadians is right. 
Not so that they relearn space travel, Roz said, but so that they can defend themselves against anyone 


who wants to use their special abilities for the wrong reason. 
And what would you take in payment? 
Nothing, Roz said. 
Nothing? the crew asked in unison. 
Well, supplies, Roz said. Were going to have to learn how to barter for those, if you follow my 


suggestion. And one other thing. 
Whats that? Ethan asked in a tone that suggested he hated the idea without hearing it. 
Adding a Xanadian to our crew. Provided we learn to like the creatures and feel we can trust them. 
Why? 
A universal translator is a valuable thing, Roz said. And the Xanadians want to learn what space flight 


is like. So we work together. 
Create a new alliance, Ethan said, sitting down hard, making the chair groan. 
Not a formal alliance, Roz said. More like an association. A friendly interaction. 
It makes me uncomfortable. Any Xanadian on this ship will know everything about everyone. 
Unless it lives in some kind of water environment, Belle said. Think you could jury-rig something like 


that over the next year, Tom? 
He nodded. I even know the place to do it. 
Its not a sure thing, Roz said. We wouldnt do it if we decide we dont like them or we cant trust 


them. 
Then what do we do? Ethan asked. 
Roz leaned forward. We leave. 
Just like that? Ethan asked. 
She nodded. Whats holding us here? Whats holding us anywhere? 
Imagine what well see, Tom said. Imagine what well do. 
It wont all be easy, Belle said. 



But it will be interesting, Gina said. 
Ethan looked at Roz. Is this what freedom feels like? 
She grinned. I dont know, she said, but I have a hunch it is. 
The Xanadians agreed to the loose alliance. Roz made plans to interview some of the other species on 


the planet, and the Millennium orbited like a glorified guard ship while all of this was going on. 
There was still a lot to work out. The entire crew had been notified, and she expected dissension in the 


ranks. Tom told her that one of the shuttles could be modified so that dissenters could try to fly back to 
Alliance space if they wanted. 
So far, no one had volunteered. 
Roz had a hunch no one would. The adventure out there was just too promising, the universe too vast. 
Everyone on the crew had joined the Patrol for the same idealistic reasons she had, and the last eleven 


missions had whittled away that idealism. Since she made her decision to break off from the Alliance, 
though, she heard a lot more laughter on her ship. 


The pressure was gone. It was as if they had worked for an evil master and were now free. 
The key, of course, was to maintain their own idealism in the face of being alone on this side of the 
Corridor. She felt they could do it. 


She felt like her lifes adventure had just begun. 
A TIME TO DREAM 


by Dean Wesley Smith 

Dean Wesley Smith has sold over twenty novels and around one hundred short stories to various 
magazines and anthologies. Hes been a finalist for the Hugo and Nebula Awards, and has won a World 
Fantasy Award and a Locus Award. He was the editor and publisher of Pulphouse Publishing, and has 
just finished editing the Star Trek anthology Strange New Worlds. 

Captain Brian Sable of the Earth Protection League could tell there would be a mission. Tonight was the 
night. The first mission in over a week. The border skirmish on the third moon of the Garland Star Cluster 
must have flared up again. Or something else threatened the security of Earth. The League was needed to 
stop the threat. He was needed, and he was ready. 

Across the small nursing home room the old clock on the wooden dresser ticked, echoing in the small 
space and dim light, demanding his attention just as it did every night as he lay in his bed, awake, waiting. 
When hed first arrived at the Shady Valley Nursing Home outside of Chicago six years earlier, that old 
clock had let him count down the seconds until he died. Long seconds, never-ending seconds that he had 
wished would go by faster. 

Now the loud ticking of that old clock in the night counted the minutes until the next mission, until the time 
he could become young again. And the time waiting, getting older and closer to death went by too fast 
now. 

Far too fast. 

Now he wanted to stay alive, to stay with the missions and the Earth Protection League, to get the 


chance to be young enough to wear his Proton Stunners and fight the good fight against the enemies of 
Earth. 

chance to be young enough to wear his Proton Stunners and fight the good fight against the enemies of 
Earth. 

Time went by. 

Down the dimly lit hall outside his rooms door a nurse laughed at an unheard joke. Captain Brian Sable 
coughed, the sound weak and pitiful in the silence of the nursing home. 

He glanced at the clock. He could barely see the hands in the light from the hall, but he could tell it was 
only a little after ten in the evening. It was still far too early for them to come for him. 

He tried to roll his ninety-one-year-old body over on its side, but only succeeded in shifting the sheet 
slightly under him. He hadnt had the strength to pull himself out of bed for over two years, let alone roll 
over. And he couldnt remember the last time hed walked across this small room on his own to the 
bathroom. A nurses aide always had to carry him and plop him on the cold toilet, then carry him back to 
his bed or wheelchair. 

He laughed, and the laugh again turned into a rough cough that sent his old heart pounding. He forced 
himself to calm down and to not think about how he was at the moment. He hated thinking about how 
old he was, how frail his body had become, how dependent on others he now was. He reminded himself 
that none of that mattered like it used to. 

Now he had the missions for the Earth Protection League. The missions gave his old life purpose, his 
continued liv-ing in this way station of the dying a valid reason. And even though there hadnt been a 
mission for almost a week, he knew tonight was the night. 

He could tell. 

It was all in the details. For example, the night nurse had left the rail on his bed down. The nurse never 
did that, except on mission nights. 

They had also cleaned him up early and put him to bed. They never did that either unless there was a 
mission to run. 

Of course, when he had first talked to them about the missions after his first one, they had all laughed at 
him. They had said there was no such thing as the Earth Protection League. They claimed that he had just 
had a strange dream. 

But he knew better. 

Hed gone on a mission, gotten young again. He had helped Earth defend itself against the evil scum of 
the galaxy. And since that night hed gone on many, many more missions. 

Tonight he was ready again. 

Hell, he was always ready. There was nothing else for him to do. 

The clock ticked the night away minute by minute, second by second. On the night of a mission, waiting 
was the hardest. Sometimes he wished he couldnt tell when a mission was. It would make sleep easier. 

So he forced himself to think about other things. First he thought about his long-dead wife, Margaret. She 
would have laughed at him if she knew what he was doing. But she wouldnt have minded. She had 


always supported him in everything he did, one of the many things he had loved about her. 

always supported him in everything he did, one of the many things he had loved about her. 

He watched the clock as it ticked away the time. 

At some point along the way, at least an hour after midnight, he dozed off. 

Captain Sable? the young, male voice said. 

Strong arms picked him up from the bed and moved quickly toward the sliding glass door that lead into 
the center court of the nursing home. We need your help again, sir. 

Always ready to help, Sable said. His old vocal cords managed to barely choke out the words. Those 
were the same words he always said at the start of every mission. 

He glanced at the old clock on the way out. Three-sixteen in the morning. He would be back shortly. 

If he lived. 

The sliding door to the outside was open and the Chicago night air was cold against his old skin. But the 
young soldier who carried him didnt even pause. He strode across to the center of the court and then 
tapped a badge on his wrist. A white beam of light from above lifted them quickly into the transport ship. 

Sable knew that around the country the same thing had happened, or was happening, at least forty-one 
other times as his crew was gathered from their respective nursing homes and retirement apartments. 

The young man with the strong arms quickly moved to a silver, coffin-shaped sleep chamber and laid 
Sable down slowly on the soft cushions. 

Any hints as to the fight? Sable asked. The nature of the mission? 

The young soldier smiled. Couldnt tell you if I knew, sir, he said. But they never tell us grunts whats 
happening on this end. I just wish I could be there with you. 

Sable laughed. I wish you could, too, son. 

But both of them knew that wasnt possible. The reason the ninety-one-year-old Sable was going instead 
of the young soldier was because of the problems with Trans-Galactic flight. Simply put, it regressed a 
human body. If that kid had come along, hed be nothing more than a baby, if that, when they dropped 
out of Trans-Galactic flight. 

And so far no one could figure out why it did that, or so he was told. He had heard all the explanations of 
relativity, the curved nature of space, and the different fixed states of matter, but it still had made no sense 
to him. 

All he knew was that he was old when the flight started and young again when it ended. The farther and 
faster the ship flew, the greater the distance from Earth, the younger he got. At times he wondered if the 
Earth Protection League had a group of middle-aged soldiers for shorter-range work, but he had never 
been in a position to ask anyone. 

He was just glad space flight worked this way. 


The young soldier patted his shoulder. Have a good trip, sir. Then he closed the lid on the coffin and 
tapped it twice as a signal to Sable that it was secure. In this old body, it didnt matter. He wouldnt have 
been able to even push the lid open if he tried. 

The young soldier patted his shoulder. Have a good trip, sir. Then he closed the lid on the coffin and 
tapped it twice as a signal to Sable that it was secure. In this old body, it didnt matter. He wouldnt have 
been able to even push the lid open if he tried. 

The top of the coffin snapped open with a hiss and cool oxygen bathed his face. Captain Brian Sable 
snapped his eyes open, then held his arms up to look at them. What he saw was the young skin and 
shapes of youth. He flexed his fingers and the muscles under the skin rippled. 

It felt wonderful! 

No pain, no aches. Just the sense of health and youth. 

Yes! He had made it again. 

With both hands he grabbed the sides of the sleep module and lifted himself out, kicking over the side 
without so much as a caught heel. The feeling of youth was simply wonderful. 

He still wore his old mans nightgown, but he quickly pulled that off and tossed it back in the coffin. Hed 
need it for the return trip, if he lived through this coming fight. If not, theyd need it for his body. And 
tomorrow morning his kids would get a call that he had died peacefully in his sleep. 

He flexed the muscles in his shoulders and neck. His body was one he barely remembered from his 
youth. Yet each time he went on a mission, this body returned, good as ever. Whatever the strange 
relative-matter-physics involved in Trans-Galactic travel, he loved this body. 

Quickly he dressed in his uniform of the Earth Protection League. First the leather pants and high boots, 
then a silk blouse that flared under his arms and fit tight over his shoulders. Next he put on a leather vest 
over the blouse that had the EPL triangle symbol on the chest. Then he strapped on his twin Photon 
Stunners, one on each hip. 

Brushing a hand through his full head of dark hair, he turned and glanced at the only mirror in the small 
room. The reflection that greeted him was one of his youth, control, and power. He couldnt be more 
than twenty-one or twenty-two. Only the knowledge and memories inside the young body were of a 
ninety-one-year-old man who had, seemingly moments before, been asleep in a nursing home room just 
outside of Chicago. 

He patted the Stunners on his hips, then with one more quick look in the mirror, he turned and strode out 
of the room, turning right toward the command center of the Galactic-Transport ship. He knew this ship 
like the back of his young hand. Hed been on board it for dozens of missions now, had flown it through 
some of the toughest space in this sector of the galaxy. It felt like home, far more than his home back in 
Chicago had ever done. 

Throughout the ship his men would be awaking, dressing, getting ready for whatever faced them tonight. 
He didnt wait for them, but instead strode directly to the empty command center and dropped down 
into the captains chair. 

His chair. 

Around him there was only one other station on his left, with a high-backed chair like his and view 
screens above it showing the blackness of space. 


In front of him a small screen on the panel flared to light and the smiling face of General Datson Meyers 
filled it. He had deep blue eyes, white hair, and more wrinkles than almost any human Sable had ever 
seen. Yet the face was one that seemed comfortable with command. Glad you made it, Captain Sable. 

In front of him a small screen on the panel flared to light and the smiling face of General Datson Meyers 
filled it. He had deep blue eyes, white hair, and more wrinkles than almost any human Sable had ever 
seen. Yet the face was one that seemed comfortable with command. Glad you made it, Captain Sable. 

The smile cleared from the face of the general, making some of the wrinkles vanish instantly. The Dogs 
have broken through. 

What? Sable said, stunned. The Dogs, as everyone in EPL called them, were a race of ugly aliens that 
occupied the territory along one of the EPLs borders. They looked like a bad cross between a huge slug 
and a ten-legged poodle. They were the meanest damn things Sable had ever fought, and he had fought 
them often along that border. 

Unlike the dogs on Earth, humans and alien Dogs hated each other with a passion that didnt allow any 
type of agreement beyond fighting. 

The general went on. They broke through our outer defenses yesterday. Our allies in the League and 
border patrols couldnt stop them. 

That bad, huh? Sable asked. A feeling of dread was quickly replacing the wonderful feel of being 
young again. 

The General nodded. This morning we got data that leads us to believe that they are headed to Earth to 
destroy the center of the League once and for all. 

Sable looked intently at the general, not letting the worry filling his chest show. How many ships did they 
send? 

Over five hundred got through the border and are headed for your position at a slow Trans-Galactic 
speed, the general said. Your job is to try to slow them down even more, give us time behind you to 
form a second and third line of defense. 

Understood, Sable said. Well slow them down. Maybe knock their numbers down a few. You can 
count on that. 

The general nodded. I knew I could depend on you, Captain. 

The screen went blank. 

Sable sat there in the command chair, stunned. This would be the last mission. He would die young and in 
deep space, just as he had always hoped he would. Better than in his sleep in the nursing home back on 
Earth. He just hadnt expected this last mission to be so soon. 

But Earth and the League needed him. He would not let them down! 

He took a deep breath, shoved the fear aside, and got to work. 

Quickly he ran his fingers over the controls in front of him. It showed that there were eleven other League 
ships in formation beside his. And each ship was manned with forty-two people like him and carried forty 
single-man fighters. One of the big transport ships might be a match for a single Dog Warcraft, but a 
single-man fighter wasnt. It would be like sending a mosquito after a real dog back on Earth. 

What are we up against this time, Captain? a cheery voice asked behind him. 


He glanced over his shoulder at his second-in-command, Carl Turner. Carl lived in a nursing home in 
northern California and was gaining on one hundred years of age. At the moment he was a brown-haired 
man who looked like he was in his middle twenties. He had a spring in his step and a smile that could light 
up a room, and often did. They had worked dozens of missions together before and had become best 
friends. 

He glanced over his shoulder at his second-in-command, Carl Turner. Carl lived in a nursing home in 
northern California and was gaining on one hundred years of age. At the moment he was a brown-haired 
man who looked like he was in his middle twenties. He had a spring in his step and a smile that could light 
up a room, and often did. They had worked dozens of missions together before and had become best 
friends. 
e 
League can mount a decent defense behind us. 
Shit, Carl said as he dropped down into the chair beside Sable and stared at the screen. How many? 
Five hundred of their warships. Twelve of us. 


The League have any idea how were supposed to do this? Carl asked. 
Nope, Sable said, smiling at his friend. They left it up to our ancient wisdom to come up with 
something. 


I hate it when they do that, Carl said. 


Yeah. Me, too, Sable said, laughing. You work on finding out how much time we have until they get 
here, what speed theyre moving, and so on, while I brief the rest of the crew. 
He pushed himself easily to his feet and strode across the command center toward the crew area. He 


could have done this task from his command chair, but he wanted to feel young again, walk quickly 


again, just one more time. 
It was halfway through the briefing with the forty members of his gathered crew that Captain Brian Sable 
came up with the plan that just might save them. And Earth. 


He sprinted back to the command center of the ship and dropped back into his chair. How long? 
Five hundred Dog Warships will be on our front steps in exactly thirty-five minutes. 
Perfect, Sable said. Have our ships get ready to match their Trans-Galactic speed. 
Carl glanced over at him. Perfect if you like getting your butt kicked by slug-looking poodles. 
How old are you, Carl? Sable asked, his fingers working on the board as he talked. 
Six months short of the big one hundred, Carl said. 
And how long did it take us to get from Earth to this position? 
From what measuring point? Carl asked. 
Earth time? 
Forty or so years, Carl said. 
Shipboard time? 
Six days, ten hours, and a few odd minutes. 
And it will take us that long to get back? Sable asked, Right? He finished the work on the command 


board and turned to Carl. 



Shipboard time, Carl said. Theyll speed up the ship slightly on the return voyage and well end up 
back in our beds less than thirty minutes after we left, Earth time that is. You know that. 
So how are the Dogs handling the same matter/ relativity problem on their flight toward Earth? 


How the hell would I 
Suddenly Carl stopped and smiled at Sable. I see where youre headed, Captain. Their life-spans are 
shorter than ours, right? 


Exactly, Sable said. Which is why they are moving at a slow Trans-Galactic speed, because they 
dont dare go any faster or they would end up Dog-pups by the time they reach Earth. 
Which means they have to be damn old Dogs right now, Carl said, at the beginning of their flight. 
Exactly, Sable said. And you and I both know how well old Dogs like us move. 


Carl laughed. Were young, theyre old. Youre right! Perfect! 
Id say its time to kick some wrinkled butt, wouldnt you? Sable asked. He punched the 
communications link to all his men and the other ships. Quickly he explained what he had figured out and 
how they were going to fight the Dogs. 


Keep the single-man fighters on full thrust and constantly turning, diving, retreating. Well break into 
units of twenty fighters with each twenty ship unit attacking one Dog ship, then moving on. Keep moving 
as fast as you can, all the time. Theyre slow and old, just as we all were a few short hours ago. 
Remember that, and they wont stand a chance. 


Twenty minutes later they launched the single-man fighters. Only Carl and Sable remained in the 
Command Ship, since it only took the two of them to run the ship. Everyone else was needed in the 
fighters. 


A few minutes later the Dog Warships appeared on the view screens. They were ugly, sausage-looking 
ships, with slick-looking hulls and protruding weapons systems and thrusters. The fighters had been 
ordered to stay away from in front of the weapons and target the thrusters. Their mission was to slow 
them down and, as Carl said, there was no better way to do that than shoot a Dog Warship in the ass. 


You know how to override the autopilot on this ship? Sable asked, turning to Carl as the fighters broke 
into groups and swarmed toward the oncoming Dog Warships. 


I think I could do it, Carl replied. Why? 
Im just wondering, Saber said, what would happen if we plowed right through the middle of that fleet 
at full Trans-Galactic speed? 


Besides destroy us? 


Wont hurt us, Sable said. At full Trans-Galactic speed were on complete screens, big enough to 
knock just about anything out of the way. Remember? 
Carl stared at Sable for a moment, then laughed. Bowling for Dogs. I love it! 
Carl set to work on taking the autopilot off the Trans-Galactic controls. 
On the screen the fighters were having some luck. The Dog Warships were firing, but not really hitting 



anything. The fighters were picking at the thrusters of the ships like a kid picked at a scab. Two Dog 
ships were already dead in space, left behind by the fleet. But there were already four single-man fighters 
destroyed. Four men who wouldnt be returning alive to their nursing home rooms tonight on Earth. 

anything. The fighters were picking at the thrusters of the ships like a kid picked at a scab. Two Dog 
ships were already dead in space, left behind by the fleet. But there were already four single-man fighters 
destroyed. Four men who wouldnt be returning alive to their nursing home rooms tonight on Earth. 
. 
Got it! Carl said. 
Sable carefully set the Trans-Galactic drive for only a sixteen-second burst. That would take them 


through the Dog Warship fleet and some distance beyond, but not too far. Too far and theyd be too 


young to get the ship back into position. 
Quickly he informed the other transport captains of what he was going to try to do, then turned to Carl. 
Ready to lose a little time? 


And with luck, a few Dog Warships in the process, Carl said. 
Sable eased the transport directly at a mass of the Dog Warships, then said, Do it! 
Carl flicked the switch and for the first time in all the missions, Sable saw what space looked like at full 


Trans-Galactic speed. 
It was a blur of black-and-white streaks. 
Nothing more. Not even pretty. 
Then, as quickly as it started, it ended and the stars were back, solid in space. There was no sign of the 


Dog Warships, or the rest of the League transport fleet. 


Weve gone almost to the Dog Border and were four weeks younger than a few seconds ago, Carl 
said. 
I knew I felt better, Sable said. Dont you just love how this relativity and mass stuff works? 
Yeah, Carl said. Just wish I understood it. 
I hear you there, Sable said. 
Sable flipped the ship over and with a quick run of his fingers over the board reset the controls to return 


them to just a few seconds after they had left. 
Do it, he said. 
Firing for the return! Carl said. 
Again the view screens showed black-and-white streaks for a long six seconds, then normal space 


returned. 
Holy cow! Carl said. I think we got a strike. 
Maybe two, Sable said, staring at the damage they had done. They had punched not just one, but two 


holes in the fleet of Dog Warships, damaging and destroying at least thirty of them. 
And the single-man fighters were taking advantage of the confusion to cause even more damage. 
Tell the other transport captains exactly what we did and then lets go again, Sable said. 



Theyre going to come up with a terrible name for this, you know, Carl said. 


Sable had already reset the Trans-Galactic drive for another six second burst and aimed the nose of the 
ship at a mass of the Dog Warships. And what would that be? 
The Sable Yo-Yo Maneuver, Carl said. 
Sounds good to me, Sable said, laughing as he punched them back into full Trans-Galactic speed once 


again. And for a few seconds, he got even younger again. 


The fresh-faced soldier carried the frail frame of Captain Brian Sable out of the cold of the Chicago night 
air and into the warmth of the small nursing home room, then laid him carefully on the bed. 
Sable glanced at the clock. Three thirty-seven in the morning. Hed only been gone just a little over 


twenty minutes Earth time, yet for his memory it had been much, much longer. 


It had taken him and the other eleven transport ships six more punches through the Dog Warship fleet 
before the Dogs finally gave up and turned back. 
They had chased them, snapping at their tails the entire way. 
He had lost seven fighters and seven very brave men in the fight. The entire casualty list for all twelve 


transports was just under sixty. The general was stunned at their success and extremely pleased, to say 
the least. He couldnt believe that twelve transport ships with single-man fighters could turn back a 
five-hundred-strong fleet of Dog Warships. 

Actually, neither could Sable. But they had done it. They had saved Earth and the League. 

For the next twenty-four hours, the general had let them all party in their young bodies. As the general 
said, You men all deserve it. 
Sable couldnt have agreed more. He had relished every minute of it. 
Sable looked around the dim, nursing home room. It was a room he hoped he would never die in. If he 


died, he wanted it to be in space, fighting for the League and Earth. 
Then he laughed, not hard enough to task his old lungs, but enough to relax him a little. 
Now he had one task. He had to stay alive until the next mission. 
Anything I can get for you, Captain? the young soldier asked as he pulled the thin blanket up over 


Sables frail body. 
No, thank you, son, Sable said, smiling. 
You did a great job out there, sir, the young man said. Its an honor knowing you. He snapped to 


attention, saluted, and then turned for the door. 


In a moment the night sounds were shut out and the small nursing home room was silent except for the 
ticking of the clock. 
To the empty room and no one in particular Captain Brian Sable of the Earth Protection League said, 


Thank you, very softly. The honor was all mine. 
ENDPOINT INSURANCE 



by Jane Lindskold 

by Jane Lindskold 
1 discovers that working for an insurance company can 
mean taking real risks. Lindskold is the author of over thirty-five short stories and several novels 
including Changer and Legends Walking. She lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico with her husband, 
archaeologist Jim Moore, and is currently at work on another novel. 

Q1 pike was the one who told me that pirates were using Othe Endpoint system to launder stolen goods. 

Allen Spike West worked for AASU Insurance, a sturdy, reliable company that had offices on any 
world or space station with a population of five thousand or more. As the Endpoint system had recently 
topped the fifteen thousand mark, AASU practically qualified as an old timer. 

AASU insured both my shipthe Mercuryand my life, so I guess I thought pretty highly of them. 

Spike had visited the Mercury so that we could discuss possible changes in the ships policy. Id thought 
his coming to me rather strange since we usually met in his office and the Mercurys cabin was pretty 
smallindeed, we were practically sitting knee to knee. However, my own concerns 

Allie also appears in Winner Takes Trouble published in Alien Pets, edited by Denise Little, DAW, 
1998. 

about my current financial woes kept me from pursuing these thoughts further. 

I make my living as a freelance courier, carrying messages and small goods from system to system. The 
only reason I made a living at all was that I was willing to go out to fringe colonies with just a couple 
dozen inhabitants. I also knew more about the shady side of commerce than any proper courier would 
admit, but more about that later. 

Knowing that Spikes gaze was safely locked in the middle space in front of his eyes while the computer 
jacked into a port beneath his right ear presented my account for his inspection, I studied him, trying to 
guess what his answer would be. 

Spike wasnt a bad-looking fellow if you liked tall, lanky, dark-haired men with large noses, brilliant blue 
eyes, and goony expressions. When he wasnt staring vacantly into empty space, Spike had an appealing 
grin and enough intensity to power a stardrive. Most of the time I even liked him. Today, he had too 
much power over my financial future for me to feel at all relaxed in his presence. 

In contrast to Spikes long leanness, Im diminutive by modern standardsa result of growing up on a 
forgotten colony world where rations were limited for most of my childhood. My hair is glossy black and 
my eyes, beneath the epicanthic folds of my eyelids, are dark as well. Some have told me I look like a 
doll. 

Happily, Im more than a toy. When my birth colonys sponsors back in China settled their then most 
recent war, theyd sent out a belated supply ship. Help had come before permanent damage had been 
done to any of the colonistsexcept that most of the children remained rather small. I enjoyed being 
regularly misjudgedas if size and ability have anything to do with each other! 

When Spike frowned slightly and blinked twice, prepara-tory to banishing my files from his virtual screen, 
I straightened and studied the Mercurys message reader, making a few notes for future business. Spike 
might have even been fooled. I have a great poker face. 

You could reduce the coverage, Allie, Spike began, but I wouldnt recommend it. Moreover, your 


lienholder on the Mercury might not okay such minimal coverage. 

lienholder on the Mercury might not okay such minimal coverage. 

Well, then, Spike said, a slight grin tugging the left corner of his mouth, I can say that your lienholder 
would not permit such minimal coverage. We take enough risks with you. 

Bosh! I protested, knowing that he knew as well as I did that I ran a tight ship. 

Spike laughed loudly. 

Id think, I said stiffly, that AASU could make an exception for a faithful customer like myself. Ive 
always paid my premiums on time and my claims have been modest. 

True, Spike said, but we are assigned certain guidelines for underwriting policies. Ive already 
stretched the limits for you. Now, if you worked for AASU 

He let the sentence trail off, and if I wasnt a skilled haggler and poker player, I might have missed his 
hint. 

I glanced at him sharply. Whats on your mind? AASU has its own courier fleet. You dont need to hire 
me. 

Not as a courier, Spike said, but we could use your help catching some pirates. 

Me? I felt my expression turn suspicious and schooled it into a comfortable neutrality. Why me? Im 
just a freelance courier. 

Bosh, Spike said, deliberately echoing my inflection of a moment before. Captain Ah-Lee, you have a 
good many skills and lots of knowledge you dont advertise, but before I puff up your ego, let me tell you 
about AASUs problem. 

Go ahead, I replied, settling back in my chair. For all my much-vaunted knowledge, I havent heard 
that pirates are using Endpoint. 

The local government, Spike admitted, has tried to keep it quiet. Pirates arent good for business. Up 
to a point, AASU is willing to support this view, but not when the local governments unwillingness to act 
means that the pirates have easy use of the system. 

I can see that, I agreed. Youre sure its pirates, not smugglers? I dont have anything against 
smugglers. 

Pirates, Spike assured me. A rather large consortium of pirates, if I dont miss my guess. Let me fill 
you in. 

According to Spike, about a hundred standards ago, End-point took a large leap in population. Part of 
the increase was due to the arrival of refugees from the war between the Absolutes and the Loyalists in 
the Bath system, part to a successful advertising campaign. 

Nearly five thousand new colonists registered for permanent taxpayer status. Fifteen thousand isnt many 
people by the standards of a world like Home Earth, where I hear even a small city can number in the 
millions, but by the time you add in visitors like myself, resident aliens, and nonpermanent residents, you 
have a large enough population that no one can know everyone else. 

Right on the heels of this new influx came the pirates. Endpoint didnt provide enough traffic to be 


tempting for actual piracythough I didnt doubt that this would follow in time. However, there was 
plenty of cover for illicit shipping 

tempting for actual piracythough I didnt doubt that this would follow in time. However, there was 
plenty of cover for illicit shipping 

Spike frowned. Because AASU insures many of the ships and businesses the pirates prey on. Whether 
its a cargo that doesnt get to its destination or a local business that gets undercut by black market 
competition, piracy hurts our clients. Most of the time we cant touch the pirates AASU doesnt 
maintain a private military fleet 

But fences and money laundering are less violent crimes, I said, just to show him I was with him, and 
you want me 

To help me trace this end of the pirates operation, Spike replied promptly. AASU would hire you 
and everything. 

He grinned slyly. We even can offer you a special insurance rate reserved for employees in good 
standing. 

Thats right. I couldnt help laughing, though the problem was serious. Twist my arm. Seriously, Spike, 
why me? AASU must have lots of people more qualified to take on this job. 

More people, Spike agreed. More qualified? Thats questionable. As much as I hate to admit it, the 
pirates could have spies inside AASU. I didnt go into the details before, but there has been a small but 
significant upturn in the number of valuable cargos being taken. One way the pirates could learn about 
these cargos is by having a mole inside AASU. Thats why I wanted to meet you here rather than having 
you come to my office. 

I frowned thoughtfully. Someone working with the pirates from inside an insurance company did make 
sense. 

How about working with the local militia? I asked. 

Spike looked disgusted. Remember, Endpoints system government is not yet acknowledging that there 
is local pirate activity. 

That seems impossible! I protested. 

Not really, Spike shrugged. Nonviolent crime is always easier to overlook. 

I see. I kept my tone noncommittal 

Spikes voice took on a pleading note. Allie, you know this systemeveryone who counts, both in 
legitimate business and otherwise. 

Hardly, I demurred dryly, but Spike did have a point. Id been coming to Endpoint since the original 
hundred settled. I knew the system pretty well. 

Spike persisted. You know the jump points the smugglers use, the likely places to cache fuel or 
supplies. You even know the surrounding systems. Besides, you and I get along. 

What, I asked frostily, does that have to do with anything? 

Why, Spike beamed, glancing around the crowded confines of the singleships cabin, Ill be coming 


with you. Certainly you dont think Im going to let you have the fun of catching the pirates all by 
yourself! 

with you. Certainly you dont think Im going to let you have the fun of catching the pirates all by 
yourself! 

The data disk containing our contract was hand-carried to AASU headquarters by a private courier I 
personally selected for discretion and reliability. Thus, as far as regional AASU was concerned, Captain 
Ah-Lee remained nothing more than a freelance courier. Anyone on the inside of the company who might 
be working with the pirates shouldnt be able to discover my new involvement. 

Next, my new partner went undercover. Allen Spike West took a liner out-system to investigate a 
claim on heav-ily populated Fyolyn. He would slip back in-system a few standards later on the ship of a 
smuggler who owed me more than a few favors. 

While Spike was away, I hunted for signs of the pirates operations. Since Id carried a few cargoes of 
dubious legality in my timemostly information rather than actual goodsfolks would talk to me who 
would never talk to a more usual insurance investigator. I played poker with smugglers and 
black-marketeers, hung out in seedy spaceport bars. It didnt take long to learn that the local operators 
were feeling pressure from outside. 

Its them Batherite refugees, Allie, one smuggler told me. Its not just displaced parents and sad-eyed 
kids whove come in on those ships. Somebody else has come in with em. 

A dealer in slightly-used ship parts nodded. 

My business has dried up, she said, just when things should be hot as a nuclear plant. I nosed around 
a bit and learned that somebody else is sellingand not just parts. Ive seen ships come in that I could 
swear Id seen listed as missing by the Watch. 

And the black ships dont interfere? I asked, Normally the members of the Silent Watch couldnt wait 
to cause trouble for people. 

I guess they try, the black-marketeer shrugged, but what can they do if the registration is all in order? 

Another smuggler, one who augmented a perfectly legitimate business carrying food supplies by 
transporting the occasional crate of high-duty luxury goods, added: 

Ive been hit, too. You should see whats being sold in the market at the edge of the Bathtub. Oh, on 
the surface theyre just poor folks trying to make do by selling homemade delicacies or whatever they 
salvaged before they got off planet, but if you keep your eyes open, youll see that theyre selling things 
that no refugee could have grabbed. 

Like? I said, reaching for the deck of cardsit was my turn to deal. 

Like, the food merchant said, cases of stabilized wines in the kind of packing that the luxury cruisers 
use. I swear I caught a glimpse of the Orion Lines logo on the side of one crate. It had been painted 
over, but you could still see the curves. 

He didnt need to add more. The word pirates. though unspoken, hung in the air. The suspicion of 
pirates also answered the question of why these normally feisty outlaws werent going after the 
competition. No spacers in their right mind tangled with pirates. The pirates reach was too long and their 
methods of retribution too ruthless. 


I wondered what Id let Spike get me into. 

I wondered what Id let Spike get me into. 

Early the next morning, I put the Mercury into a parking orbit, then hailed one of Endpoints squat, 
in-system shuttles to take me down to the main planets largestand pretty much onlycity. 

Endpoints major inhabited planet was named Gilbert, after the explorer who had organized the initial 
colony group. The capital city, with great originality, was called Gilbert City. It had started out as a 
couple of pressurized domes meant to protect the colonists from whatever secret horrors the planet might 
hold. The domes werent bad. In fact, Id grown up in similar structures. 

Once the colonists confirmed that the worst hazards were weather-related, they tailored their architecture 
to combat these. It wasnt long before Gilbert City sprawled out around the original domes. These had 
eventually been torn down and recycled, leaving no trace of that historical first settlement other than the 
position of the main spaceport. 

When the shuttle unloaded at the spaceport, I hopped a tube to the end of the line where the Bathtub had 
evolved into a small town of its own. 

Clearly the residents of Gilbert City had tried to make the refugees welcome. From where I stood 
packed flank to flank in a crowded tube car, I could see that when the refugee camp had been initially 
designed the registration center had been positioned as a hub from which neat rows of prefab dwellings 
extended like spokes on a wheel. 

As the war between the Absolutists and the Loyalists grew uglier and uglier, more refugees flooded out. 
To remain was to be forced to take sidesand the Absolutist fanatics didnt care if this was against your 
will. With the new influx, the tidy order of the camp had broken down. Now buildings were being put up 
any old way, the only criteria being access to water, sewage, and power. 

Between the prefab units, huts like you might see on some primitive world had been erected, shelters 
where the spillover residents from the houses slept and perhaps dreamed of the day when they could 
return home. 

Gilbert City had provided only one tube stop to serve all the inhabitants of the Bathtub. No one had 
anticipated that the camp might grow large enough to need more than one. I shuffled my way to the 
station exit, glancing at the tired faces of men and women burdened down with packages of goods dearly 
bought in the main city. Some were empty-handed, burdened only with sorrow and disappointment. 

Fortunately, at least for now, there was plenty of work available throughout the Endpoint systemone of 
the reasons that it had become a popular choice for the refugees. As I walked briskly down the wide 
avenue leading toward the registration center, I had a feeling who one of the less reputable employers 
might be. 

Pirates would find this refugee camp a good recruiting ground. As my smuggler friends had noted so 
acidly, it would serve even better as an outlet for black market goods and as a place from which the 
pirates planetside spies could gather information. 

From the pirates point of view, the Bathtub would be all the more attractive because of the secondary 
spaceport that had been erected nearby. Theoretically, the port was solely for refugee shipsthere 
having been complaints that refugee traffic was crowding the main spaceport. Realistically, other ships 
could get clearance to land and take off. Endpoints orbital traffic control, like everything else, was 


strained these days. 

strained these days. 

Steeling myself to the taskfor no spacer walks when she can rideI trudged up and down rows 
marked out in a more or less orderly fashion. Sound-deadening barriers along the edge of the secondary 
port muted the noise, but intermittently I heard the rumble of a spaceship engine mostly shuttles like the 
one that had brought me ground-side, but every so often the deeper roar of a larger vessel. 

The thundering of these high-tech vessels provided an odd contrast to a market so simple that its like had 
existed anywhere humans had gathered. Many of the vendors merely spread a blanket or tarp on the 
ground and piled their wares on top. A handful had set up stalls cobbled together from packing crates or 
from less identifiable scavenged junk. 

Along these tatty corridors of commerce, men and women sold everything from household goods and old 
clothes to cheap luxury goods. A few of the more ambitious sold food or offered opportunities for 
entertainment. 

After one quick tour through the surprisingly crowded lanes, I ducked into a stall selling puffy fried cakes 
seasoned with curry and onionsa Batherite treat. I traded some of my unassigned credit vouchers for a 
heaping platter and something pungent, iced, and cool to drink. 

Seizing a seat on a plastic crate at a table that had begun life as a cable spool, I mulled over what to do 
next. Overall, everything was as innocent as could be. The vendors were Batherite refugees mixed with a 
few entrepreneurs from Gilbert City come to take advantage of the crowds. Most of their wares were 
just what youd expect. 

It had been among the shoppers, not the vendors, that Id caught a glimpse of something that didnt fit the 
settinga few men and women whose body language didnt match the pervading mood of exhaustion 
and pathetic hope. They were too confident, too eager to be interested in the sort of rag-trade, used 
goods, and craftwork ostensibly being sold in this marketplace. 

After some cautious observation I thought I even recognized a couple of these shoppers. In the parlance 
of the underworld, we called them shuttlers because they made their money buying goods of dubious 
legality at low prices and reselling them with the registration stamps and such mysteriously in place. 

Essentially, shuttlers were high-tech fences with operations that often spanned multiple star systems. As 
such, they were useful to both smugglers and planet-based fences. Since shuttlers could often locate what 
more usual channels could not, some even had a semi-legitimate status. My most recent contact with one 
had involved a per-fectly legal request on the part of a well-known artist for an exotic hallucinogen. 

Of course, most shuttlers were scum, buying low, selling highoften to the very people from whom the 
goods had been stolen in the first place. I didnt doubt that some shuttler had made a good profit 
returning Orion Lines their misplaced wineand perhaps more importantly, the expensive stabilizing 
crates. 

Licking the last of the curry-seasoned oil off my fingers, I decided to wander until I spotted one of the 
shuttlers, then follow him or her and see with whom my mark did business. Despite my aching feet, I set 
off in an optimistic mood. Three days later, I was less cheerful. 

Perhaps the last of the black market goods had been sold the very morning I spotted the shuttlers in the 


market. Perhaps that was why enough shuttlers had been present for me to pick them out of the crowd. 
For whatever reason, the Bathtub market had descended into mundanity. I did find a copy of a 
hard-to-locate holo-documentary about one of my favorite musical performers, but as far as anything that 
would lead me to the pirates, I came up as cold as the interstellar void. 

market. Perhaps that was why enough shuttlers had been present for me to pick them out of the crowd. 
For whatever reason, the Bathtub market had descended into mundanity. I did find a copy of a 
hard-to-locate holo-documentary about one of my favorite musical performers, but as far as anything that 
would lead me to the pirates, I came up as cold as the interstellar void. 

Now, I hadnt been such a rube as to roam around the market day after day without any disguise at all. 
The first day Id gone pretty much as myself. It was reasonable that Id want to look around a new part 
of town. The next several days Id gone dressed in the general style of a system local, but as a different 
type of person each time. Usually, Id changed my disguise more than once in a day. 

It isnt hard to seem what you arentespecially when youre small and slight to start with. Built-up 
shoes and padding make you seem larger. Very active body language makes you seem younger. Add in 
basic changes in hair or eye color or manner of dress and youre set, especially in a crowd where no one 
person is in your company for too long. Really, the only thing that gave me trouble were my aching feet, 
especially when I wore built-up shoes. 

For my last tour before Spikes return, I went as myself. During earlier jaunts, Id noticed a couple of 
gambling parlors and figured that Id sit in on a poker game or two when my feet got too tired for 
wandering through the market. Since my skill at the game is well-known in some circles, I sometimes 
have trouble getting into a high-stakes game. If any of my local acquaintances recognized me, theyd 
figure I was looking for a hot game. If I was lucky, theyd even pretend not to see me. 

Courtesy, you know. 

I was deep into a game of seven card stud, the Fyoly-nese version that offers some real challenges when 
calculating the odds, when I heard the distant rumble of a large ship landing out in the field. I didnt think 
anything of it. Many large ships arrived after dark. Its all one and the same to the ships pilots and eases 
things for system traffic control by decreasing the amount of competition from routine daytime air traffic. 

Several hands later, I noticed an increase in the amount of activity outside the gaming parlor. Parlor 
was really a courtesy title. The place I was frequenting was little more than a tent. As the night was warm, 
the side-flaps were up to let in some fresh air. 

New visitors, grumbled one of the other players, a stately, plump young man who had introduced 
himself as Buck. Wouldnt think there was anyone left on Bath to fight the war. 

Bucks use of the euphemism visitor rather than the blunter refugee labeled him a Batherite, as did his 
accent. As he had obviously gotten out of the system rather than fight, I thought his criticism less than fair, 
but didnt say anything. One of the other playersa weathered older womanwas more vocal. 

You sound like you want the war to continue, she said, her voice rusty with exhaustion. She had 
introduced herself as Cookie and carried with her the scent of curry, onions, and sugar. 

I dont! Buck protested, glancing at Cookie, then back at his cards. I was just making a comment. 

Are you in? asked one of the other players, his eagerness betraying a good hand. 

I am, Buck said. Cookie nodded, pursing her lips into a thin, angry line. 

Play went on for several hands without further comment. The Batherite War wasnt something the 
systems natives liked talking about. It wasnt just a political thing. Some of the weapons the Absolutist 


fanatics employed embarrassed even those who favored their cause. 

fanatics employed embarrassed even those who favored their cause. 

Ill quit while Im about even, I said. Actually, I was ahead, but they didnt need to know. Cookie 
grunted something that might have been good-bye. No one else seemed to notice my departure. 

Outside, the market was busier than it had been for several days. It seemed as if all the Bathtub had 
turned out to see the new arrivals who, their arms filled with bundles or small children, hurried down the 
road toward the registration center. A few pulled small wagons, but such were rare. 

Apparently, most of the refugees had been limited to what they could carry on their persons. 

No need to rush! called someone from the market, following the comment with a good-humored laugh. 
The cen-terll keep you waiting long enough. 

The sense of this seemed to get through to some of the new arrivals. While the majority continued 
pushing their way toward the center, a few peeled off from the flow. Most of these headed for the food 
stalls, doubtless tired of ships rations. Some drifted about asking after the location of friends and family. 
I noticed that the name Kingsley came up repeatedly, though matched with different surnames. 

Admittedly, Kingsley is a popular Batherite personal name, in honor of Kingsley Moisan, the charismatic 
leader who founded the original colony. What caught my fancy was how often the request was made to a 
perfect stranger and how often that stranger seemed to have directions or guidance to offer. 

I trailed after one of these parties, noticing that the bundles they carried seemed particularly heavy. We 
worked our way through a maze of streets to where a row of prefabs from the earliest days of the camp 
stood. They were well-kept, with a minimum of tents and auxiliary buildings around them. I wondered if 
Gilbert City zoning was trying to maintain some standards. 

Inside the buildings lights glowed and sounds of domestic activity drifted from the open windows. I heard 
a baby crying, the sizzle of something dropped into frying oil, running water, laughter. All well and normal, 
even pleasant. 

The refugees were directed inside a building near the middle of the street. I slipped into the shadows 
between two buildings across the way, watching. While I lurked there, two other guided parties arrived. 
Then a few people departed. Although they had all the hallmarks of new arrivals, they were not the ones 
I had followed, so I continued my vigil. 

After a time, my group came out. Their guide was not with them, but otherwise, they seemed much as 
before even a bit more cheerful. They laughed and their steps were light as they hurried toward a cross 
street that would take them to the registration center. 

Then it hit me. Their feet were light! Though they still carried their bundles, these were clearly no longer 
as heavy. No chat with folks from home, no matter how friendly, could have relieved the burden. Clearly 
an exchange had been made. 

I pondered for a moment, wondering whether or not to follow the new arrivals. Then I decided. These 
were probably just mules carrying goods. The real action lay inside that building. I hunkered down in the 
shadows, preparing for a long wait. 

A few more parties of bundle-bearing refugees came through, but not many. I decided that this must be 
only one of several places where smuggled items were being dropped off. To occupy myself, I tried to 


reconstruct the chain of events that had gotten the goods to this point and decided that whatever had 
been brought here wouldnt stay here long. Eventually, the houses grew quieter and lights were 
extinguishedall but a faint glimmer low on the wall to one side of the house Id been observing. 

reconstruct the chain of events that had gotten the goods to this point and decided that whatever had 
been brought here wouldnt stay here long. Eventually, the houses grew quieter and lights were 
extinguishedall but a faint glimmer low on the wall to one side of the house Id been observing. 

My curiosity grew as I estimated the chances of sue-cessfully satisfying it. After Id staked the place out 
for quite a while longer and traffic on the street had diminished to nothing, I decided that Id never forgive 
myself if I didnt take a look. 

Padding across the street, I gained the side of the house. Fortunately, the wall of the structure on the 
other side of the narrow alley was windowless. If I stayed pressed close to the wall alongside the bit of 
light and no one on the streetshould anyone pass at alllooked directly down the alley and noticed 
movement from behind the trash can, I should remain unseen. 

The source of the light proved to beas I had deduced a makeshift window cut into the prefab 
material. The scrap had been skillfully shaped into a shutter that would cover the hole, but it was propped 
open now. I lowered myself slowly prone, both so I would be less visible and to get my ears closer to the 
opening. 

Conversation, lazy and sporadic, accompanied by rather interesting thuds and clanks came to me. I lay 
there in the dirt, wishing Id brought along some peepers, hoping that someone inside would speak up. I 
didnt dare sneak a look until I had a better sense of where the occupants were in relation to the hole. 

Tired as I was from my long day, the ground seemed quite comfortable and the warm night air made my 
watch almost relaxing. I believe I was close to drowsing when a new voice, male and commanding, 
addressed the group in the basement. 

Almost done? 

Almost, Your Absoluteness, replied one, bolder than the rest. These could only manage mutters of 
agreement. I could almost hear the bowing and scraping. 

Very good, the first voice replied. We shall ship out in the morning. You may as well get some sleep. 
A mis-take at this point would be fatal to our Causeand we must be alert for our meeting with our new 
allies. 

I could hear the capitalization in his tones. Nor was I in the least sleepy any longer. Adrenaline coursed 
through my veins, adrenaline with a chaser of pure terror. 

The Absolute! Here, separated from me by just a few meters of prefab and dirt stood the monomaniacal, 
charismatic leader who had galvanized his followers into what had become the Bath War. Just a dozen 
standards or so past it had been reported that he had vanished following the bombing of his 
headquarters. His opposition claimed he was dead, but his followers proclaimed him alive and fought on 
as if he was still at their head. 

Apparently, he was. Equally apparently, he didnt want anyone to know precisely where he was or he 
would have been enthroned in some public palace, defying anything short of a planet-splitter to kill him. 

I remained outside the window while the Absolute took his leave. Then I dared a peek through the 


window. I glimpsed a small room, roughly dug out of the heavy, clay soil. There was no evidence that 
power tools had been used, so it must have been dug by handa considerable task. 

window. I glimpsed a small room, roughly dug out of the heavy, clay soil. There was no evidence that 
power tools had been used, so it must have been dug by handa considerable task. 

They were sweaty from their labors, yet their only comforts were a plastic cooler of water, some ration 
bars, and a covered bucket that served as a chamber pot. When the four had finished their sparse meal 
and limited ablutions, they lay down on the floor, pillowed their heads on their arms and dropped off to 
sleep. The last to lay himself down extinguished the light. 

Until the ragged note of an exhausted snore convinced me that they had settled in, I waited. Then, still 
shaken by what I had learned, I made my stealthy escape. 

I wondered what Spike would think of my report. 

I picked Spike up at our planned rendezvous several hours after my return from Gilbert City. Id insisted 
on launching into my report as soon as he was aboard, talking as I inserted the Mercury into a parking 
orbit on the dark side of one of the lesser moons of Gilbert. In my excitement, I didnt give him a chance 
to get a word in edgewise or to tell me his own planssomething Id regret later. 

I dont think were dealing with pirates here, I said, concluding my tale, or not just pirates. Those 
were Absolutist fanatics I saw. 

Spike nodded. He looked particularly goony today, clad in coveralls like those worn by most shippers 
instead of his usual suit. As he listened, he kept his hands in his pockets, playing with some junk hed 
stuffed into them. 

So, I concluded, theres no way that this is just an insurance matter anymore. We need to notify the 
authorities. Theres time before morning reaches Gilbert City. They might be able to catch the Absolute. 

Endpoint system, Spike said, quite mildly for someone who had been forced to endure a monologue, 
is neutral regarding the Batherite conflict. 

But the Absolute is a mass murderer! I said aghast. 

Technically, he is the leader of a political groupthe legitimate elected ruler of a large portion of Bath. 

Technically, I snarled. 

Allie, Spike said, still mildly , I didnt know you were so political. 

Im not, I replied, more calmly, but you and I both know that the Absolute is a fiendthat the votes 
of those who elected him were meaningless. 

So his opponents say. 

So the chemists say, I retorted. Then I calmed down, realizing that I was being unfair to Spike. 
Chemists who have analyzed the blood of some of his deceased followers. The fanatics are so pumped 
up theyd shoot their own sweethearts if the Absolute gave the command. 

The Absolutists say that their soldiers are chemically enhanced to make them strong and faithful, Spike 


said, in-furiatingly insisting on playing the devils advocate. And there seems to be some evidence to 
support that position. 

said, in-furiatingly insisting on playing the devils advocate. And there seems to be some evidence to 
support that position. 

No, Spike assured me. Personally, I cant stand the Absolute and what he advocates, but going after 
him isnt my job. That wouldnt stop me if I thought we could actually do anything about him, but without 
Endpoints support, we cant touch him groundside. Im more interested in the contents of those crates 
you saw. Those might fall within the range of my job. 

Stolen goods? I asked. 

Maybe, Spike rubbed his chin. Most of the ships carrying refugees dont carry just refugees. It 
wouldnt pay. Nor do they make a one system trip. It would be easy to make a trade for passage, to use 
some of the refugees as mules for stolen goods. 

The pirates would give them some identification code, I said, nodding, for Spikes picture matched the 
one Id been working out while I staked out the building. Then when the refugees get here, they hand 
over whatever theyve been carrying. Its repacked and sold. The plans a bit elaborate, though, and it 
doesnt account for larger shipments like crates of wine. 

Spike shook his head. I dont agreeyou havent been elaborate enoughand you havent accounted 
for the presence of the Absolute. Absolutist holdings in the Bath system have suffered serious assaults. 
Their troops move constantlybuoyed, doubtless, by some of those chemical stimulants you mentioned 
earlier. Their ships gnaw, bite, and snapwinning battles but rarely holding ground. Even so, the 
Loyalists are hard pressed. 

Thats what the news services say, I agreed. Now, tell me, what elaboration am I missing? 

Those very chemicals you mentioned, Spike said, take time and high-tech facilities to synthesize. Their 
formulas are highly guarded secrets, known only to the Absolute and a few trusted minions. One of the 
first things the Loyalists did was pinpoint and destroy as many of the Absolutist factories as they could 
and so limit the supply. 

And you think, I cut in eagerly, that what I saw in those crates were the Absolutes potions? Those, at 
least, we could get Endpoints authorities to seize. The killer drug in particular has been outlawed 
universallyno one wants their local troublemakers both hopped up and suggestible. 

Spike held up a hand. No, Allie, I dont think its killer drugnot exactly. I think what you saw were 
the ingredients for the drug, smuggled in piecemeal so that no one could trace them and suspect whats 
going on. I think that the Absolute plans to mix up a batch and get it to his troops. 

But he wont do it planetside, I mused, because that would leave him open to local law. 

Right.Spike gestured into the star-flecked darkness outside the Mercurys view ports. Somewhere 
out there a factory is waitingprobably on a pirate ship since we know theyre using this system and the 
Absolute mentioned allies. The Absolute will go there, do his voodoo, and return home. His greatest 
weapon will go with him, scattered among several ships so one or two lucky shots cant destroy it all. 

And with a new supply of the drug, the Absolutist fanatics will win, I said, because with the drug, the 
Absolute can convert even the most unwilling Loyalists to his side. 

Spike nodded, then he grinned his goofy grin. 


Unless, of course, you and I stop them. 

Unless, of course, you and I stop them. 

The ships carrying the cratesand the Absoluteleft the surface of Gilbert at midmorning. In the 
meantime, Id gotten some sleep, as had Spike. In between naps, Id scanned the Endpoint system, 
mapping out every blip and crackle so that we could locate the factory ship when the time came. Every 
so often Id come across something Id flag for myself, not bothering Spike with that particular detail. 

Making this map should have been an impossible task would have been except for two things. One, 
the Mercury has some of the best communications and scanning equipment money can buy. Two, Spike 
and I had an idea what we would be looking forand that there would be something out there for us to 
find. 

We figured that the factory ship couldnt have been given an advance location where it had to wait. Too 
much could go wrong with that sort of plansomeone else in the area, a bit of unanticipated debris 
drifting through, a breakdown or delay. 

Therefore, the factory ship would be sending out a signal of some sort to direct the Absolute and his 
supply ships to where it waited. Would be because it wouldnt start emitting the signal until the 
Absolute sent it a query signal first. If the factory ship had been delayed in getting to the rendezvous, 
there would be no response to the query sig-nal. The supply ships would take a parking orbit and wait, 
signaling occasionally and scanning the appropriate bands. 

Spike and I were sure wed worked out the same chain of logic the pirates would have used, but even so 
I nearly jumped from my seat when a broad band scan announced a new signal. It came intermittently, 
but always from the same direction. If we hadnt been looking for it, we would have dismissed it as 
background noise. 

Checking Gilbert, I said aloud, my hands moving across the scanner bands. Yes! A ship just left 
immediate orbit and is heading in the direction of the signal. 

Wait until were sure, Allie, before starting to follow, Spike said. If were right, we have time. They 
wont be going anywhere for a while. 

I nodded, listening to my comm units report. Another ship just left orbit. Its going out on the same 
general vectorprobably they were filed as a convoy. 

A good safety measure, Spike replied solemnly, in these pirate-plagued reaches of the stars. 

Well, I said, feeling pretty satisfied with myself, weve found them. What next? 

The pirates wont have unloaded whatever goods they smuggled in, Spike said promptly, not until 
their rendezvous with the Absolute is completed. Therefore, theres certainly something incriminating in 
the hold of the factory ship. When we get there, Ill go take a look. 

I stared at him, unable for a moment even to speak. 

Youre not planning on going aboard alone? I finally managed. Twenty trained spacerstwenty 
marines! would consider that foolhardy. You dont know how many pirates are aboard, but I doubt 
that the Absolute is traveling without a bodyguard. 

Twenty marines, Spike mused aloud, his expression wry and mocking. Would twenty-one be enough, 
then? 


Dont be an idiot! I shouted, then I went on more calmly. Just how do you plan to get aboard, 
anyhow? I doubt they have time for traveling insurance salesmen right now. 

Dont be an idiot! I shouted, then I went on more calmly. Just how do you plan to get aboard, 
anyhow? I doubt they have time for traveling insurance salesmen right now. 

And how will you get through the entry port? I said. They arent usually left unlocked. 

In reply, Spike produced a mag-key from one of his coveralls voluminous pockets, tossing the rather 
routine piece of equipment from hand to hand as if it were some great amulet. 

This one is set to decode a wide variety of locks, he explained, as if I wouldnt recognize the make. 

And the ships engine? I asked. Do you think the engine crew will just sit by while you turn the engine 
off? 

Spike scowled at my doubt, but produced a packet of gas pellets from another pocket. 

I thought Id put these in the ventilation, he explained. He brightened and reached in his coverall again. 
I have a mask. 

I sighed and rubbed my hands over my face. He probably had a weapon of some sort, too, and a coil of 
rope and who knows what else. The man had seen too many action vids. 

Its my fault for not asking in advance what you planned, I admitted, but I never dreamed you planned 
on taking them on alone. Listen, I have another idea. 

I told him. Spike looked interested, but slightly disappointed. I think hed been looking forward to 
playing the hero and capturing a pirate vessel single-handedly. 

When I finished, he only had one question for me. 

And if they wont come? 

I think they will, I said with more certainty than I felt. As youve noted, theyve been hurt by the 
pirates, too, and heres a chance to get back something of their own. And if they dont show, well, we 
can always fall back on your plan. 

The three ships we were trackinga third had joined the convoy while we were arguingheaded in the 
direction of a large planetoid just beyond a broad asteroid belt. 

The backside of this planetoid was a favorite place for smugglers to linger before bringing in a cargo, 
since it gave them a chance to scan the system and make certain that the black ships were patrolling 
elsewhere. Most successful smugglers carried legal goods as well as illegal, but who wanted to risk a 
search if one could be avoided? 

So popular had this particular lurking spot become that the black ships checked it as a matter of routine. 
Still, the Absolutists might not know that. Once I was fairly certain where the convoy was headed, I took 
the Mercury out along a different route, one that took advantage of intervening asteroids and other bits of 
space debris to obscure our signal. I prided myself that the supply ship never knew we were closing on 
them. 

Meanwhile, I sent out tight-beam comm squirts to a couple dozen locations Id marked earlierplaces 


where a faint signal hinted that a ship with damped identification beacon drifted, its power downa 
typical smugglers trick. My message was scrambled, just in case the wrong ship intercepted it, and 
pretty terse. In a few words it invited these outlaws of the solar lanes to join the Mercury in kicking some 
pirate butt. 

where a faint signal hinted that a ship with damped identification beacon drifted, its power downa 
typical smugglers trick. My message was scrambled, just in case the wrong ship intercepted it, and 
pretty terse. In a few words it invited these outlaws of the solar lanes to join the Mercury in kicking some 
pirate butt. 

Wheres the pirate? and, most often, Whats in it for me? 

I sent out the answers, offering each ship that joined me and Spike a share of the loot. Most of the 
outlaws agreed, tantalized by the promise of gain beyond a smugglers dreamsand enticed further by 
the chance to get even with hated pirates, those big operators who made it almost impossible for a little 
ship to turn a slightly dishonest profit and who ruined a good market just when the smugglers had opened 
it up. 

Not knowing how theyd respond to the political angle, I kept the news of the Absolutes presence to 
myself for now. I figured if we took the pirate, I could act as surprised as anybody, and if we didnt, it 
wouldnt matter. 

We glided through the Endpoint system, our engines powered down as low as possible. The fact that we 
were approaching a smugglers rest most of us had used at one time or another helped us to hide our 
presence. So did the fact that we were coming toward our target and the mass of our ships masked our 
engine signatures. 

As we approached, I used the Mercurys comm system to collect and relay information. I got each ship 
to give me her strengths and weaknesses. I knew from past experienceand a couple of devastating 
poker lossesthat a couple of the other ships captains were brilliant tacticians. They took the 
information I beamed to them and transformed it into a possible plan. Despite their input, the Mercury 
remained in command since only her comm system had the reach and power to blip out and retrieve 
information so swiftly that the pirates would have no chance of detecting our signals. 

Even as we laid our plans, every ship in my outlaw fleet kept alert for the black ships. At this moment, we 
were doing nothing precisely illegalthough some might argue that we had turned pirate ourselvesbut 
a delay would be bothersome and the presence of a black ship or two cruising, these reaches might 
spook the pirates into deeper cover. 

However, there was no trace of the Silent Watch in this vicinity. Doubtless they were being kept busy by 
the increased traffic in-system, but I did wonder if a Watcher or twoperhaps the officer who set the 
duty rostershad been paid to keep the black ships out of this area. A solar system is vast beyond 
mortal comprehension; not even the black ships could be expected to patrol every bit of it. 

Eventually, the Mercury closed on our target. Signaling my approaching allies to hold their various 
concealed positions, I set the Mercurys scanners to a broad sweep that would be unlikely to trip even 
an alert comm tech. Thus, the picture that appeared on the Mercurys screen had to be cleared and 
enhanced. It hardly mattered. We had found what we sought. 

A hulking vessel large enough to dwarf the Mercury though small in comparison to some war ships Id 
seen hung in the shadows behind the planetoid. Its orbit was set to avoid easy detection both from 
Gilbert and from the more or less inhabited reaches in the planets vicinity. Tellingly, the identification 
beacon required by interstellar law had been pulledeven smugglers usually only damped theirs as 
clear a sign of a pirate ship as a skull and crossbones had been millennia before. 

The pirate vessel was not a pretty ship, her hull scarred and patched, her blocky shape constructed for 


deep space, not atmospheric entry. She had probably started life as an ore hauler. Such ships were often 
drafted into pirate service as general cargo carriers. 

deep space, not atmospheric entry. She had probably started life as an ore hauler. Such ships were often 
drafted into pirate service as general cargo carriers. 

I told Spike all of this, cautioning him not to underestimate the vessel and adding that the three supply 
ships we had followed had probably been taken directly on board. As I saw it, we were lucky that there 
was only one ship waiting out here, but doubtless the pirates werent wasting vessels. 

One ship to the fourteen in our outlaw fleet. Victory looked easy enough in the abstract. The thing was, 
only half or so of our ships were armed. Most smugglers didnt bother with armamentit drew too much 
attention. Other recruits to our fleet were guilty of prospecting without a license; other ships held fugitives 
from the justice of one system or another. A few were simply the dwellings of interstellar hermits. 

Armed and unarmed, sleek and beautiful, or battered bits of metal and machinery eking out a last few 
years before being scrapped for junk, the outlaw ships slipped through the chill void, taking heed of my 
cautions, tight-beaming their communications so that all the pirate ship could have heard were vague 
whispers that would have been dismissed as the hissing pops of a stars breathing. 

In less than an eye blink the pirate hulk found herself surrounded by a sphere of some dozen plus ships, 
each carefully positioned to balance our various strengths and weaknesses. Since the Mercury was 
unarmed and unarmored, built for speed and communications rather than war, we were placed where the 
pirates first shots should not be able to reach us. 

Spike was disappointed, but I was rather glad. I would rather not risk my lifeno matter how well 
insured. 

When the glittering globe of lights on my board showed me that the outlaw fleet was all in place, I hailed 
the pirate ship: 

Beaconless ship, this is Captain Ah Lee of the Mercury. Identify yourself and open your ports to 
inspection or prepare for the consequences! 

I had deducedperhaps hoped is a more honest term that the pirate ship would not fire. No matter 
who had been paid off, no matter how far up the chain of command, none of Endpoints guard ships 
could overlook a fire fight right in system and the pirates wouldnt want to attract notice. 

To my dismay, the pirate ship fired almost immediately, a thin beam of eye-searingly brilliant light jolting 
out from forward energy batteries. 

The blue-white light melted an ugly runnel through the heavy armor of the ship holding the dangerous post 
directly in front. Later Id learn that an engineer had been killed. Even as the energy weapon did its 
worst, the nameless pirates gunnery tubes belched forth slower, but more deadly missiles. Energy fire 
from our own side caught these before they could reach their destination, but I saw that the missiles had 
been meant merely as a distraction. 

On one side of the pirate vessel the enormous bay doors began slowly sliding open. My tactical masters 
had been ready for something like this. As briefed, I thumbed a pre-coded message from the Mercurys 
board, jamming the doors long enough for a barrage from a couple of the prospectors digging lasers to 
ruin them beyond use. 


Our unarmed ships were maintaining a jamming screen, making it impossible for the pirate ship to call on 
others of its ilk for helpif any others were near. Based on our pooled observations we thought this 
unlikely, but still the possibility could not be overlooked. 

Our unarmed ships were maintaining a jamming screen, making it impossible for the pirate ship to call on 
others of its ilk for helpif any others were near. Based on our pooled observations we thought this 
unlikely, but still the possibility could not be overlooked. 

Beneath our initial barrage, the pirate vessel seemed to rock. Burning air gouted forth from several 
breached compartments; scanner readings showed a loss of power from various systems. 

Still, the pirate hulk held up remarkably well. None of the systems we had targeted had been completely 
destroyed. Engine power remained strong. Even as our ships danced in evasion of expected retaliation, 
the Mercurys scanners reported that backup systems were coming on-line all over the pirate ship. 

In this initial attack, it had been to our fleets advantage that the Mercury had been able to scout ahead, 
to our advantage as well that none of our number believed we could take a pirate vessel without 
coordinated effort and planning. In that way, our small flotilla was wiser than marines and militia, for these 
often underestimated their opponents. 

I bit my lip in growing desperation, speaking more to myself than to Spike: 

We cant keep this up for long. None of our ships has the power to keep firing and we dont have a 
warships armory. If we dont take the pirate out soon, it will get away and leave us to do the explaining 
when the black ships arrive. 

The pirates dont know that, Spike said suddenly. 

Hed been rather quiet since the real fighting had started, though hed had plenty to say while the outlaw 
fleet assembledsome of it useful, too. 

What? I asked. 

The pirates dont know that, Spike repeated with emphasis. They might suspect our capacities are 
limited, but not those hop-headed Absolutist fanatics. They arent going to want to see their treasured 
Absolute blown into oblivion. Cant you 

Im right with you, I said, hands surging over my boards as I worked up something that would splice 
into the pirate ships intercom system and override any other messages. Spike, get on another channel 
and tell our fleet to prepare for another strike. Dont worry about being overheard. It might be better if 
we were. 

Spike nodded, and moments later I could hear him snapping out orders to the others. Wed all hoped 
that wed never need fire a shot, but not one of us had been so optimistic that we didnt plan for a fight. 
As we hadnt lost a shipthough there had been damageour second strike could go ahead as 
programmed. 

The most heavily armed of the miner shipsa ship I suspected of doing a bit of small-scale piracy itself 
when opportunity presentedtook the front this time. A red-orange globule was forming on the tips of 
the forward energy weapons when I broke through the pirates internal communications. 


This is the commander of the fleet surrounding you, I said, promoting myself shamelessly. Surrender, 
else we will destroy you. You have been warned once. We will not be so gentle a second time. Since we 
want your cargo, not your persons, we will be targeting personnel compartments. No one can expect to 
survive our next attack. 

This is the commander of the fleet surrounding you, I said, promoting myself shamelessly. Surrender, 
else we will destroy you. You have been warned once. We will not be so gentle a second time. Since we 
want your cargo, not your persons, we will be targeting personnel compartments. No one can expect to 
survive our next attack. 

You have a five count to surrenderabsolutely, I announced. 

The last was a hint to the pirates. Surrender the Absolute, and wed let the rest pass. Who knows, 
maybe the pirates would take us for Batherite Loyalists whod tracked the Absolutist leader into hiding. 

I wondered what the rest of the fleet would think. 

Absolutely! I repeated as thunderously as possible. Then I started counting, Five! Four! Three! 

On five, the globes of energy forming at the tips of our ships energy weapons turned white hot. On four, 
missile tubes rotated, some preparing to vomit forth nothing more than junkbut the pirates didnt know 
that. On three, I added a bone shivering frequency beneath my vocal track. On two, a thin, panicked 
voice yelled over a broad band. 

Dont fire! Dont fire! Its over here. In control! Well surrender! We have everything under control! 

It didnt sound like the speaker had even himself under control, but I heard Spike sonorously address our 
allies: 

Stand by, fleet. Dont power down. I repeat. Dont power down. 

A crackle from another channelfrom one of the hermits, I thinkreported simultaneously: 

Scan shows no evidence that pirate vessel is powering up. We still hold the advantage. 

I addressed the panicked voice. Identify yourself. 

Im Jeremy, Jeremy Langthorp. Im with this ore carrier, the Deep Pockets, it is. 

Deep Pockets, I confirmed. You seem to have pulled your ID beacon, Captain Langthorp. 

Im not the captain. Langthorp shrilled a thread of near hysterical laughter. They shot the captain, the 
fanatics did, shot her soon after they came aboard and she wouldnt drink their foul tea. 

Over the next hour, the full story came out. It seemed that when the Absolute and his fanatics had 
boarded, the pirates found themselves the victims of piracy. Several of the crew had already been bought 
by the Absolute and these attacked their shipmates. It had been intended that the turncoats would handle 
the ship while the Absolute did his work in the onboard chemistry lab. Then richer by a ship and a hold 
full of drugs, the Absolute would have returned to his war. 

However, the rest of the crew hadnt been as easily subdued as the Absolute had planned. The Deep 
Pockets captain had died early on in the take-over, as had her first officer and several others, including 
over half of the turncoats. At that point, the rest of the pirates had submitted philosophically, first pointing 
out to the Absolute that they couldnt run the ship with their brains turned to goo by one of his teas. 

Jeremy Langthorp had been the chief gunnery officer and cook when there was no shooting to 


doand although he had ordered the first volley against our fleet, he had delayed a second strike, 


claiming that some of his systems had been damaged. 
Then my announcement had thrown the fanatics into a paniceven the Absolute, who had not realized to 
that point what danger hed put himself in. 


While the fanatics were dithering, the remaining pirates had counterattacked. The fanatics had retreated 


into the chemistry lab where the pirates had imprisoned thempresumably with the Absolute. 
My shipmates and I are ready to surrender, Jeremy Langthorp said. Ready and willing if youll 
promise us safe delivery to Gilbert. 


Where, doubtless, they have some crooked lawyer ready to get them off, I grumbled to Spike. Then I 
asked Lang-thorp directly, How many of you are left? 


Four, Langthorp replied promptly, not counting the fanatics in the chemistry lab. 
Spike gave me one of his lopsided grins. I guess its time for me to take over, Captain Ah Lee. Youve 
done your part. 


Standing, Spike crowded the Mercurys tiny cabin, but he managed to get his blastera showy metallic 
blue model with a chromed grip and holographic insets along the barrelout of his coverall pocket. 


Coming with me, Captain? he asked, holding the blaster at a jaunty angle. 
I sighed. Let me see who else can go over to Deep Pockets with you. I dont quite trust the pirates. We 
only have their word that there are just four left. 


I trust Langthorp, Spike said. There was real fear in that mans voice, but I suppose I could use a few 
extra hands to help defeat the fanatics. 


Rolling my eyes at his supreme overconfidence, I beamed a request to the other ships. 
Remembering various conversations over poker in spaceport bars, I figured that while many of the 
smugglers might be apolitical regarding the Batherite question, there was enough resentment over how the 
pirates had used the refugees as cover for their own operations to attract a posseespecially now that 
we had taken Deep Pockets and the promise of loot was sweet and near. 


With very little persuasion on my part, a volunteer from every ship agreed to go aboard Deep Pockets 


as long as I went, too. Poor Spikes feelings were hurt, but I reassured him as I suited up. 
It isnt you, Spike. They trust youremember, they came on your promise of payment. Its just that I 
got them into this and theyre going to make sure Im in as deep as they are. 


Code of the underworld? Spike asked, checking his own suits seals. 
Something like that, I muttered. 
Jeremy Langthorp, a short, fairly heavyset man with curly hair the color of sunlit sand and washed-out 


blue eyes, met us at the entry port. He looked more like a well-fed cook than the popular action vid 


depiction of a pirate and I could tell that Spike was disappointed. 
Where are the fanatics holing up? Spike asked as soon as routine introductions had been made and 
four members of our posse had peeled off to discretely cover the pirates. 



Chem lab, Langthorp said. He tapped up a schematic on a view screen. When we took this job, we 

Chem lab, Langthorp said. He tapped up a schematic on a view screen. When we took this job, we 

Thats about it, Langthorp agreed, his round face rueful. Clearly, the pirates had considered the idea 
and had decided that whatever punishment their own higher up doled out for losing a cargo were worse 
than being doped by the fanatics. 

The bulkheads? asked Beatty, one of the prospectors. 
Armor grade, Langthorp said. Goes back to when Deep Pockets was an ore carrier. 
Beatty nodded sharply. Then we cant hope to cut through with any speed. Can we just shut off life 


support to that deck? 
Langthorp didnt hesitate at this brutal suggestion, but I saw Spike wince. 
Could, Langthorp agreed, but they have suits and the chem lab has both scrubbers and extra air. The 


Absolute ordered them cause he said he preferred to mix his potions on a big scale and didnt want to 


risk soaking up the stuff through his skin. 
Whether or not thats the case, I said, forestalling a debate as to the Absolutes real motives, we cant 
get them that way, not before the black ships get here. 


 And if we want to get paid quickly, Beatty said, we dont wait. 
Right. I frowned and studied the diagram. If I had time, I could try and override the bulkhead locks, 


but we dont have time for that. I only see one solution thats both fast and has a chance to work. The 
ducts. 
Spike nodded. I didnt want to suggest it, Allie. Its above and beyond the call of duty. 
I shrugged. But Im the only one small enough to crawl through while wearing a suit. Spike, you still 


have those gas pellets? 
The insurance investigator produced them rather reluctantly. 
They wont work if the fanatics are suited, he warned. 
I know, I said, but Im betting that they wont all be sealed tight. A sealed suit gets pretty 


claustrophobic if youre not used to it, and those poor slobs I watched back in the Bathtub werent 


spacers. 
Beatty had been studying the diagram, his finger tracing the blue lines of the ductwork for the benefit of 
the rest. 


Its gonna get snug, Allie, he warned. 


When youve only got one ace, I said, glad that my deadpan expression didnt betray my pounding 
heart, youve got to bet it or fold. 
Crawling through those conduits is something I dont really want to remember, so I wont share the 


nightmare here. If it hadnt been for Spike keeping me on course through my suit radio, Id have 



probably gotten disoriented, but eventually, I made it to the chem lab. 

probably gotten disoriented, but eventually, I made it to the chem lab. 

After sending this information to Spike and the others who were waiting outside both of the entries to 
the chem labI started dropping gas pellets. 

With his sense for the dramatic, Spike had chosen pellets that sent up theatrical swirls of dark purple 
smoke. This brand did work faster than any other type on the market, so within a few moments the 
fanatics in the unsealed suits were puffing and wheezing. A few fumbled for faceplates and seals. Most of 
the rest just dropped, taken off into deep purple dreams. 

Gas! shouted the Absolute. Cover the entry ports! 

He was smaller than Id guessed from news coverage, but his voice made him seem a giant. I wondered 
if he had some sort of hypnotics implant because I found myself relieved to realize I was already heading 
that waythough from behind the wall. 

I radioed my guess to the others, suggesting they switch off any external sound reception. 

A fanatic now covered the duct through which Id dropped the pellets, but I was sliding toward an 
opening closer to the floor. It was a squeeze, but I made it, ending up flat on my stomach, but with my 
arms free and in front of me. From here I had a clear view of two sets of closed and locked doors. With 
another wriggle, I managed to get a slim, high-powered energy pistol out of my sleeve holster. 

Without bothering to remove the duct cover, I squeezed off a beam targeting the lock mechanism. 
Beattyconfirming my guess that he did a little piracy in his spare timehad assured me that a direct hit 
would cause the door to unlock. 

When I fired, the fanatics jumped back from the explosion of heat and light, spinning to see where the 
shot had come from. They didnt have time to come after me. My buddies were forcing the door open 
and giving them lots to think about. 

As much as I wanted to watch, I shifted my attention to the second door and fired again. When that door 
was opened, I started kicking. With my cover blown, I was like a cork in a bottle and I didnt want to be 
stuck there if someone got a moment to give the cork a pull. 

By the time I had struggled free, the fight was over. It hadnt been easy for all its speed. Wed lost two 
and several more were woundedincluding Spike who had a nasty burn along one armbut we had 
won. 

Spike stood over the collapsed Absolute, blaster in hand, his triumphant pose balanced by an expression 
of wide-eyed shock as he looked at the carnage. Several of the fanatics had gone killer-crazy and now 
their internal organs were splattered on the bulkheads. The rest had been taken prisoner and were being 
herded to a makeshift brig. 

My leg muscles still cramped, I staggered over to Spike. 

Get to, man. See a medic, I said, taking the blaster from him. Weve still got work to do. 

Gotcha, Allie, he said. When he managed one of those funny grins, I knew hed be all right. 

While rapid repairs were made to those of our ships that had taken damage during that first barrage, the 


Deep Pockets was stripped to the very dust in her hold. Spike, recovered somewhat now, stood by the 
exit port, taking pictures of the goods for later identification and research into the pirates activities. 

Deep Pockets was stripped to the very dust in her hold. Spike, recovered somewhat now, stood by the 
exit port, taking pictures of the goods for later identification and research into the pirates activities. 

Jeremy Langthorp and his surviving shipmates were offered the choice of waiting in the brig or parole to 
work the ship. Wisely, they offered their parole. They knew their chances of escape were nil. Already, 
several of the black ships were approaching and some out-system traffic was drifting in our direction. 
Cooperation would help their case. 

Despite Spikes assurances that they were safe from arrest, the various members of our outlaw fleet 
chose to depart before the black ships arrived. I itched to join them, not liking the Silent Watch a bit, but 
I kept telling myself I had nothing to fear from them. This time I was an official insurance investigator. 

Then I remembered. Spike had his own ship now. My job was done. My own ships tiny hold was full of 
perfectly legal goods that I could sell elsewhere for a tidy profit. Why should I wait around? 

I grinned, gunned the Mercurys engines, and surged off into interstellar space, Endpoints sun glowing 
over my shoulder. 


