1
                                          2




               For Lily
    Muri ga toureba douri hikkomu




First Electronic Printing December 2003

     Copyright 2003 by S.L. Viehl
         All Rights Reserved

Cover Art and Design by Lazette Gifford
       http://www.lazette.net/
                                                                           3

Introduction


It’s the end of the year already?

That was my first thought when I started putting together this e-book.

2003 was the Year of Landmarks That Whizzed Right On Past Me. My
first hardcover novel, Blade Dancer, was released in August and sold out
almost immediately. My first Christian adult fiction novel, Going to the
Chapel, was published in the same month (as was my sixth romance, The
Kissing Blades.) I sold and wrote more novels than I have in any other
year since I turned pro. As I write this, I am nearly finished Heat of the
Moment, which will be the ninth book I’ve written in 2003.

While all these important things were happening, I was, well, writing.

I’m not complaining. Any author who complains about having too much
work should be smacked in the head a few times, then forced to re-read all
the rejection letters he or she ever received as an aspiring writer. The
latter would take me a good month.

You guys have stuck with me through it all, even when I up and
disappeared for eight weeks back in September (I was writing three books
at the same time.) I can’t tell you how much your loyalty means to me. I
can show a little well-deserved appreciation, though, so along with all the
web site stories from 2003, I’ve included in this e-book two never-before-
published short stories, Defense Mechanism and The Widow, and a
sneak peek at BioRescue and Into the Fire, two of my new novels for
2004.

Although there will be some changes on my web site over the next year, I
remain committed to providing free stories for my readers, so stop in
when you can. I will always be writing for you.

Happy Holidays, and may 2004 be the Year of Excellent Things That
Happen for all of us.

Sheila Kelly
December 2003
                                                                             4

                               Back to Back

                                By S.L. Viehl



      I woke up when they threw the body into my crawl.

      He was alive, but roughed up – gashed, bleeding green blood, and

his right arm was at a wrong angle to his shoulder – and despite that he

landed on his knees and was back up in two seconds. He went for the

door first and took a heavy jolt that sent him reeling back toward me.

      “Don’t do that again,” I said, and sat up as he whipped around to

face me. “Two stuns will set off an alarm, and then the guards will come in

and kick your ass until you’re unconscious.”

      He stepped out of the shadows, but they stuck to him. No, he was

naturally dark – blue-skinned, a really pretty shade of sapphire. His eyes

were completely white.

      “Locega Jorenhai?” He had a low, deep voice, and used one of his

six-fingered hands in a fluid motion. He was looking around, and his white

eyeballs moved, implying he wasn’t blind.

      “Sorry, no.” I plucked a piece of my bedding from the matted hair

hanging in my eyes and palmed a chunk of stone in my other hand, just to

be safe. Some of the new ones thought nothing of raping a female, and he

was a lot bigger than me. “You speak stanTerran?”
                                                                            5

      His spooky eyes studied me, from my bare soles to the little dip in

the middle of my nose. “Te-her-hran?”

      “That’s right.” I spat on the floor of the crawl in emphasis. “Terran.”

      He looked up at the crawl roof and muttered something under his

breath. Something that sounded mean.

      “I’m thrilled to meet you, too.” I scooted back down into my mound

of dead grass and pointed to the one Gfrra had occupied until yesterday,

when he’d taken one blow too many on the sands. I didn’t thinking I’d miss

his snoring, but I did. “That pile is yours.”

      Big Blue started pacing the length of the crawl, studying every crack

in the stones. I curled up and tried to ignore him, but after an hour I

sighed. He was heavy, and his footsteps pounded the stone. He’d be at it

all night if I didn’t do something. I got up and got in his way.

      He stopped and looked down at me. “Junia’arral tobereno?”

      “Time for bed.” I pointed to his mound, then closed my eyes and

tilted my head for a second. “Sleep.”

      He made another quick gesture – sort of like the universal gesture

for screw you – and went around me. I turned and smacked the base of

his skull with my rock. He hit the dirt in stages – knees, hands, face – and

didn’t move again.
                                                                                  6

         I checked for a pulse – if I’d killed him, the guards would be pissed,

so I’d have to make it look like he’d done himself – but he was still alive.

Steady, heavy pulse, nice face, well-built body.

         The guards especially loved breaking slaves like him, poor bastard.

         I tucked my rock back in the little niche I’d dug out in the floor,

dropped onto my grass bed and slept.

                                          #

         “Rise for the count. Rise!”

         I dragged myself up in time to see centuron HekVar kick my new

bedmate over onto his back. Big Blue continued the roll, got up on his feet

and lunged at the Hsktskt.

         I closed my eyes, but the sound of the zap he took still made me

wince.

         “Fool.” HekVar was not amused by such antics, and glared down at

him as he writhed on the floor in agony. The wide scar on his brow

wrinkled as he bent down and snapped Big Blue’s arm back into its socket.

“Gnat, why have you not instructed this one yet?”

         I immediately assumed the position of response, dropping to my

knees, bowing my head and holding my hands open and out.

         “Forgive me, centuron. I don’t speak his language.” I hoped it

wouldn’t get me zapped, not when I had warming to get through before

breakfast.
                                                                             7

      “He likes to fight; he has been doing so since we removed him from

the transport last night.” HekVar walked around Big Blue in a circle. “I will

allow you translators.”

      Great. Now I’d have to talk to him, and he was completely untrained.

I changed position, clasping my hands behind my neck, and elevating my

head an inch higher. It meant I needed direction.

      “What do you not understand, Gnat?”

      I’d never gotten a raw captive before. “Centuron, will I be held

responsible for his infractions?”

      He considered that. “Not for seven days.”

      I only had a week to train him? It would be simpler to kill him.

Touching my head and palms to the ground in the position of gratitude

nearly made me choke, but I was a good slave, so that’s what I did. “My

thanks, centuron.”

      We were counted and then hustled out of the crawl. My new

bedmate didn’t try to escape – the passages beneath the arena were

narrow, featureless stone, so there was nowhere for him to go – until we

hit the sands. Then he ran at an entry and discovered the inhibitor grids.

      He landed at my feet again, totally dazed.

      “Those are charged, too.” I held out my hand and helped him to his

feet. He was big and heavy. HekVar had better get those translators for

us soon, or this one wouldn’t last the day. “Stay with me and do what I do.”
                                                                               8

         “Nua.” He slapped his chest and glared down at me. “Jalka Adan.”

         “Jalka Adan?” I pointed at his chest as I repeated it, and he inclined

his head. I nodded and tapped my own sternum. “Gnat.”

         “Nyatuh?”

         His palate was really too fluid for my lingo, but it was close enough. I

copied his gesture and inclined my head. “Yes.” Then I saw the warmers

coming out of the training hall and grabbed his arm. “This way.”

         The warmers never wasted time but went right to work and

attacked us with their padded weapons. We were supposed to dodge and

evade. The Hsktskt considered it a good way to loosen tight slave muscle.

         Jalka Adan didn’t understand, and would have counter attacked the

warmer who came at him, had I not rolled in front of him and shoved him

back before whirling away from the padded pole end.

         The warmer, an old slave named Yerv, snorted in disgust. “Why give

you him?”

         “Don’t know.” I yelped as large blue hands grabbed me and Jalka

tried to shove me behind him. “No, big guy, it’s okay. Yerv, you rec his

kind?”

         “Jorenian,” Yerv told me as he went after a sluggish Tingalean.

“They self term.”

         Which meant they committed suicide. A lot of newcomers did,

when they got to the crawls – not every species accepts enslavement, and
                                                                                9

it was better than going crackbrain and killing everyone around them. As

a couple of Emsalmalin warmers headed our way, I tugged at the

Jorenian’s arm. “Come on, move.”

           He glanced at me, then the spiny pair. “Fa klaree n’oal.”

           “You can Fah-clare-ree-no-all later. Come on.” I yanked, and he finally

followed me.

           Warming continued for another ten minutes before a guard

sounded the end chime and the warmers retreated back to the training

hall. I prevented the Jorenian from getting whacked, but it wasn’t easy –

he kept digging his heels in and wanting to counter. By the end of the

session, some of the guards had perked up and were watching us – not a

good thing.

           “Stupid Gnat,” Yerv muttered as he passed by me. “He get you

killed.”

           “Yeah, yeah.” I hadn’t had this much trouble since they’d stuck me

with an Icthorii last cycle. The feeding horn sounded, and I looked up at the

stern blue face. “Time to eat.”

           I showed him how to fall into line and shepherded him into the

feeding hall. Since Gffra was gone, there was a space open at my table,

and I pushed Jalka to kneel down beside me.

           Distributor drones rolled up and down the aisles delivering food,

which was allocated based on species and body weight. I showed the
                                                                               10

Jorenian how to identify himself by using the DNA scanner, and watched

the drone dole out a huge pile of assorted syn veg.

      “Not a meat eater, huh?” I scanned and got my own small bowl of

mixed protein stew.

      Jalka gingerly sampled his fare and grimaced. “Gtak.”

      “Yeah, this sucks, but it’s all you’ll get until after the bouts. Force it,

you need the calories.” I made faces to go with the words, and he must

have understood because he started eating.

      We were only allotted ten minutes for feeding before the guards

came to hustle us out to walk. We had to trot in pairs around a one kim

track for the next hour without stopping, but it was the one place we were

allowed to speak to each other. We formed our usual information relay

teams and I passed the word on about Gffra.

      Kosper, the latest and smartest of the crawl bosses, fell in behind

me and Jalka. “I see you scored raw meat,” he called to me. “Need any

help?”

      “Not yet.” I checked the guards to see if they were watching Jalka.

They were. “Kos, you got anybody who speaks this guy’s lingo?”

      “He’s Jorenian. I know some.”

      “Good.” I let out a pent-up breath. “Tell him we’re getting

translators, but until we do he needs to do what I do.” When Kos relayed

that, Jalka almost turned around, then eyed me and said something back.
                                                                             11

       “He wants to know your name.”

       I frowned. “Gnat”

       Jalka shook his head and said something else to Kos.

       The crawl boss frowned. “Something about kin – I think he wants

your birth name.”

       I didn’t remember the one I’d been given, but I’d heard one I liked

once, from an old Terran merchant trader. He’d been beaten to death by

the guards for trying to start a riot.

       I looked at Jalka. “Mary.”

       “Mah-ar-ee.” He made it sound pretty, then he said something else

to Kos.

       Kos chuckled. “Uh, he doesn’t want you to hit him in the head with

the rock anymore.”

       Fair enough. “Okay, but tell him that he has to sleep when I do.”

       The scrubs horn sounded, and I guided my new bedmate to the

cleanser corridor. He watched me pull off my tunic, then reluctantly did

the same before following me under the sprayers. I rubbed my hands over

my skin, sluicing off the sweat and dirt, then felt something pulpy touch my

hip.

       “Suck on someone else.” I shoved at the Edpriyin trying to attach

itself to me.
                                                                           12

      “You taste like alloy.” The skinny bloodeater gave me a lascivious

grin. “But I like your new friend, Gnat. He looks hydrated.”

      Jalka grabbed him by his emaciated throat. “F’tal et samballo

neechal Mah-ar-ee.”

      The Edpriyin’s four eyes about popped from their sockets before Kos

and a couple others were able to pry him away from Jalka. Kos argued

with my bedmate for a minute, then snorted and gestured to me. “Gnat,

say Ayral tebas tunirecas.”

      I repeated the words and watched Jalka’s expression change from

enraged to only somewhat pissed off. I looked at the crawl boss. “What

did that mean?”

      “You shielded the bloodeater. It’s the only way to keep him alive.” As

guards entered the tube to see what the hold up was, Kos hustled us out

to the dryers. “Gnat, you’d better ask HekVar to pair the Jorenian with me

for the bouts today, or he’ll go after anyone who lands a blow on you.”

      I was completely confused. “Why the hell would he do that?”

      “Don’t know.” Kos waved a few tendrils. “I think he’s decided to

adopt you or something.”

      We donned fresh tunics before we were marched back to the

arena. Heavy betting already filled the board displays, which meant we’d

have a capacity crowd. As soon as I saw HekVar, I dropped and requested
                                                                           13

attention. Since I hardly ever assumed the bitch position, he came over to

me.

      I thought of how to say it, and touched my forehead to the edge of

his footgear. “Centuron, it is possible that the new Jorenian slave may

serve longer if paired with Kos.”

      “Indeed.” HekVar gestured for me to rise and follow him into an

empty crawl. Once we were out of sight of the others, he hunkered down

to my eye level. It was kind of a compliment. “Why do you ask this of me?”

      I might get Jalka zapped to death for telling the truth, but the

centuron was the only one who could switch pairings. “He tried to kill a

bloodeater in the cleansers for touching me. He doesn’t seem to

understand that I’m sword bait, same as him.”

      “Has he attempted to breed you?”

      “No.” It was odd that he hadn’t made a demand for sex yet – that

was the reason we were bedmates. “He might have some kind of taboo

about Terrans.”

      “More likely he thinks you a child.”

      Why would that make a difference? “As you say, centuron.”

      “He can fight alone for now.” HekVar tapped my cheek with one of

his talons. “You will do well not to become attached to this one, Gnat.”

      I never got attached to any of them. “Yes, centuron.”

                                      #
                                                                          14

      There were three types of arena bouts – singles, in which one slave

fought against another; pairs, which were two on two; and meleés, groups

of slaves against guards, which were always bloodbaths. Most slaves

fought singles in the beginning, for physical evaluation and to weed out the

weaklings, and then were put in paired bouts after they proved

themselves. Meleés should have been called executions, but the Hsktskt

liked the slavers who paid to watch to think we always had a fighting

chance.

      We didn’t, of course. No slave had ever killed a Hsktskt in the arena.

      That afternoon I was paired with Paddala, a bad-tempered Trytinorn

who hated bipeds like me. He had lousy peripheral vision, and nearly

accidentally stomped on me as we entered the arena. Next to him, I really

was gnat-sized.

      I picked up the short sword one of the guards tossed down from the

stands. Every slave was given the same size blade, as the Hsktskt thought

that kept things even. I eyed the other blade thrown in for my partner.

Considering his size, it was like throwing him a toothpick. “Are you going to

use that?”

      “Idiot Terran.” He reached down with his nasal appendage, grabbed

me, and hoisted me onto his back. Then he picked up the weapon. “Keep

quiet and watch my hindquarters.”
                                                                            15

      “Easy job, considering the size of your ass.” I watched the other

team enter from the opposite side of the crawls. One was a snake-like

Tingalean, the other a three-foot tall spider being. “Oh, no. Is that an

Aksellan?”

      “Yes.” Paddala trumpeted his displeasure. “What did you do, little

one, spit on a guard?”

      Both of our opponents were relatively new but effective fighters –

probably because they each packed enough natural body poisons to wipe

out the entire crowd. There was no way to spar with their kind, we had to

knock them out or kill them immediately. That meant we had to be very

fast and strong. The Trytinorn was strong, I was fast – but that was all we

had going for us.

      I heard alien laughter. Some slaver must have made a special

request, thinking the match would be amusing.

      The snake and spider were splitting up, each going to either side of

the arena for a flanking attack. No more time to sit and cry over my bad

luck. I grabbed Paddala’s shaggy neck fringe and leaned over. “Insult me,

and do it loud.”

      “What?” He didn’t get it.

      “You blockheaded behemoth! Can’t you follow simple instructions?”

I shouted, thumping the top of his skull with my fist. “All you’re good for is

hauling waste!”
                                                                             16

      The low, hollow groan he gave wasn’t from pain. “Shut up,

pipsqueak, or I will use you to polish my tusks.”

      “Did I ask for your opinion, you stupid oversized piece of meat?” I

watched our opponents, then added in a low tone, “Throw me so that I land

between them, then pretend you’ve gone crazy.”

      “This had better work, or I won’t have to pretend.” Paddala’s

appendage curled around my waist, and he lifted me high over his skull.

      “And don’t try to help me,” I murmured. I made a show of struggling

and screamed, “You colossal idiot! Put me down!”

      “Gladly, runt.” He tossed me to the enemy.

      He didn’t throw me too hard, so I had to make it look like a bad

landing. I hit the sand and rolled, dropping my sword as I shrieked and

clutched at a non-existent injury to my arm. At the same time, Paddala

started snorting and cursing and stomping around, waving his blade wildly.

      The ploy diverted the Aksellan and the Tingalean, who turned to

converge on me, the easiest kill. I continued the bogus act, howling and

crawling across the sands away from Paddala. There were shouts from

the stands and the crawls, so I must have looked pretty convincing.

      That was the other thing I was good at – faking.

      The guards didn’t like us to rush the finale, but both the Tingalean

and the Aksellan were naturally quick strikers, and they closed in fast. I

measured the evaporating space between me and death, and when I
                                                                           17

judged the time was right, I curled over and brought my knees up under

me in a surrendering pose.

      Not yet not yet not yet. I heard the Tingalean hiss, and I tensed.

Almost there. Almost.

      Any slave who made a kill was given special privileges for three

rotations after a bout, so both the snake and the spider jumped at me,

eager to be the first to sink their blades and fangs into my hide. My death

represented more food, warmth, and possibly an interval with a

professional pleasure-giver.

      Only I somersaulted out of the way.

      The Aksellan tried to rear back, but the Tingalean followed his

species’ tendency to bite whatever moved on a killing strike. In self-

defense, the spider bit back. They stabbed each other with their swords,

then went down as their wounds and poisons went to work on each other.

      I didn’t like watching them die, but it had been them or me. I

wondered when I would stop caring if it was me.

      Paddala stomped over, picked me up and placed me on the curve of

his brow. “Very clever, little one. I hope I’m never matched against you.”

      I covered my guilt by reaching down to pat his cheek. “If you are, I’ll

make it quick.”

                                      #
                                                                              18

      Making two kills entitled me to return to my crawl if I wanted, but I

stayed. Jalka Adan would be fighting one-on-one, and I wanted to see what

he was made of. I had a feeling HekVar wanted to pair us – some kind of

Hsktskt inside joke, putting me with Big Blue, whose species probably

hated Terrans.

      The lizards had a weird sense of humor.

      Jalka had watched enough bouts to enter the arena on guard, which

was good – they matched him against a very tough Baduvarti male named

Mengud with plated skin and half again Jalka’s muscle mass. They started

out circling each other, sizing up the assets and watching movement

rhythms. My bedmate was paying close attention, not allowing the shouts

from the stands to distract him.

      Good, I thought, leaning against the view grid of the observation

crawl. Keep those white eyeballs open, don’t look away for a second.

      Mengud didn’t have much imagination – he just barreled his way

through his bouts – but he was solid and it took a lot to hurt him. He

came at Jalka first, head-on, testing the waters with sweeping cross-cut to

the midsection. Jalka spun a second too late and caught the tip of the

blade, then returned the favor with a lateral thrust. His eyes widened as

he felt the jolt of the blade hitting and sliding off the Baduvarti’s thick

abdominal plating.
                                                                             19

        Numbskull. I grabbed the grid slats, wishing I could stab him myself.

Can’t you see the thin spots on his chest?

        By then they had crossed swords and dug their feet in, wrestling for

control. Muscles bulged, sweat ran, and yet neither of them gave in. This

bored the spectators, who started jeering, and a guard shouted out a

warning that thankfully Mengud understood.

        “Break!” he snarled into Jalka’s face before shoving him away. He

followed through with a fist to the Jorenian’s jaw, but didn’t land the blow

squarely and only made him stagger back. Mengud stooped and took a

handful of sand, and flung it in his face before tackling him.

        Shit. He wasn’t going to make it. “Come on,” I said under my breath,

digging my fingers into the grid as I watched them roll, blades flashing.

“Come on, get up, get up! ”

        Mengud made a funny sound and went flying backward, and Jalka

rose to his feet in a single fluid motion. Suddenly, he had claws, lots of

long, sharp blue ones. Mengud saw them but he couldn’t get up,

something was wrong with one of his legs. His sword had been knocked

from his hand and was a good twenty yards away. He began crawling

toward it, but from the expression on his flat face he knew the game was

over.

        The Jorenian looked up at the spectators, who were screaming for

the kill. He shouted something in his lingo and flung down his blade.
                                                                          20

        “Jalka!” I tried to remember what he’d said during warm-ups. “Fa

klaree n’oal! Now!”

        He glanced my way, and for a second looked even more pissed-off.

Then he went over to Mengud, and raised his claws. The Baduvarti

dropped his head back, to make it easier. Jalka used a single strike to rip

out his throat, and he was dead before he slumped over on the blood-

soaked sand.

        The spectators loved it.

        As they cheered, the Jorenian he walked over to the grid and looked

down at me. He showed me his hands, and the Baduvarti’s blood dripped

from his claws. But it was his expression that made my chest hurt. He

wasn’t angry or bitter or disgusted.

        He was sad.

        Jalka gestured back at Mengud’s body. “Thees sah-hucks, Mah-ar-

ree.”

        Yes, it did.

        As the guards led him away and dragged Mengud off the sands,

someone came up behind me. I heard the metallic clink of the uniform, but

I didn’t bother to assume the position of response or even turn around.

Let them zap me.

        “Gnat.” HekVar’s talons tugged my hand away from the grid. I was

bleeding, too. “It is time to cleanse.”
                                                                            21

                                        #

        I went through the sprayers and the dryers like a drone, then

marched back with the other fighters to my crawl. Jalka never showed, so

I assumed HekVar had decided to move him to another tier. It was for the

best – Kos told me after scrubs that as I suspected, Jorenians weren’t

too fond of Terrans. And I had hated seeing that look on his blue face after

the kill.

        I used to look like, once. A long time ago.

        I took the extra rations and rest intervals that were my privileges for

winning, but I couldn’t eat and I didn’t want to sleep. When someone

opened the door and threw something at me, I barely felt the sting.

        “Mah-ar-ee?”

        I opened my eyes and saw Jalka standing over me. He was wearing

a wristcom and holding another one out to me. I took it, put it on my arm

and activated it.

        “The centuron with the scarred head gave these to me.” He smiled

a little. “We can speak and understand each other now.”

        “Yeah.” And I had nothing to say. “Terrific.”

        “Your pardon, lady. I can see you are not well.” He looked me over.

“Were you injured in the arena?”

        Only where it didn’t show. “No, I’m fine.” I sat up and curled an arm

around my knees. “How about you?”
                                                                              22

      He touched his hip. “I received only a minor wound.”

      Which reminded me. “Do you want sex?”

      He looked stunned, and checked his wristcom as if he thought it was

malfunctioning. “What say you?”

      “You know.” I put my hand on his good hip and rubbed it. “That’s

why we’re roomed together. Male to female.”

      He didn’t say anything at first. Then he removed my hand. “I cannot

share such intimacy with you.”

      “No problem.” I wasn’t insulted; plenty of slaves preferred their own

kind or gender, and to tell the truth sex had always been kind of a chore. “I

bet you have a lot of questions.”

      “I do.” He crouched down by my pile of grass. “How long have you

been here?”

      That he wanted to know about me kind of threw me for a moment.

“I don’t know. We’re not permitted to keep records or anything.” I never

thought about my first life and the raid that had ended it; surviving in my

second life kept me busy. “I was taken when I was little.” I frowned. “I’m

not a child, you know. I think I’m almost fifteen.”

      “Indeed.” He stared at the sword scars on my legs. There were a

lot of them. “Why did they not leave you behind?”

      The Hsktskt were pretty famous for leaving the children of the

colonies they raided to starve in the ruins.
                                                                                  23

          “One of the raiders kicked me out of the way, and I kicked back. He

decided I would be good arena bait.” I let my lip curl on one side. “HekVar

kept me off the sand and had me clean out crawls until I was old enough to

fight.”

          He looked at the ceiling for a moment. “What of your kin?”

          “They were all killed when I was taken.” I sighed. “Look, we need to

talk about what’s expected of you here. You have to follow the rules, or

you won’t live very long.”

          “I am not one to . . . follow rules.” He rose and held a six-fingered

hand down to me. “We should go.”

          I couldn’t stand up, I was laughing too hard. Finally I got myself

under control. “Um, no. We can’t.”

          “Why not?”

          “If you haven’t noticed, Jorenian, this place is lousy with Hsktskt, and

they don’t like their slaves trying to run away.” His expression didn’t

change, and I rolled my eyes. “Okay, so you aren’t afraid of the lizards.

Besides them, there are security monitors and alarm sensors all over the

place. We stay here or we die.”

          He hauled me to my feet. “We will die if we stay here.”

          “I’ve done okay so far.” His gentle touch bothered me, and I pulled

my hand from his. “You haven’t seen what happens when someone gets

caught trying to escape.”
                                                                              24

      “They are punished?”

      “They’re executed. Tied back to back and thrown to the guards in

the arena.” I checked the door, but no one was listening in. “We could be

punished just for talking about this, so drop it.”

      “You’re afraid of death.” He folded his arms. “I am not.”

      “Don’t let me keep you.” I gestured to the door. “Life is cheap

around here, and there will be someone to replace you tomorrow.” There

was always someone.

      “You called to me in the arena.”

      I shrugged. “I don’t like breaking in a new bedmate.”

      “You do not wish to kill any more than I do.” He moved to tower over

me, but like in the arena, he wasn’t angry. “I saw it in your eyes.”

      “Shut up.” I pushed him away and started pacing. “I have six

rotations to train you, Jorenian, then I’ll be punished for your mistakes.

And if I have to take a zap or a beating because of you, I’ll strangle you in

your sleep.”

      “You will not.” He looked out at the darkening sky, then gave me that

little smile again. “Very well. Tell me what to do, Mary.”

                                       #

      My bedmate listened to me that night, and in the days that followed

did everything like I told him to do. Living as an arena slave wasn’t really all

that difficult, but he didn’t like it. No one could tell from his expression or
                                                                            25

attitude, which he kept under control, and he didn’t talk much. I learned

from Kos that when the tips of a Jorenian’s claws extruded, it meant he

was upset or angry.

      Jalka went around flashing them most of the day.

      Our privilege time came to an end, and we were both sent back to

the arena. I was paired off as usual while Jalka continued to fight solo, but

we both survived each day. Other than acting a little protective of me

around other males during scrubs, he didn’t show much emotion. I figured

he was disconnecting from it, the way I had.

      That came to a screeching halt when a new group of sword bait

were brought in and turned out to be Terran-bashers.

      There was always someone who had it in for me; after all, my kind

had pushed the Allied League of Worlds into war with the Hsktskt. Even

before that humans had been unpopular with other species – homeworld

Terrans were rabid xenophobes who refused to let aliens breed with them

or live on their planet. Although I’d never lived there, and could care less

how pure someone’s blood was, I’d still taken a lot of waste over the years

on account of them. It was just another part of being an arena slave.

Usually I ignored them and they got tired of baiting me.

      Usually.

      The bashers were a nasty bunch of T’Nilf bug warriors who had

been captured while defending their colony against the Hsktskt. Seeing
                                                                           26

that many huge red insectile beings come in together made everyone

nervous – nobody likes a swarm.

      They didn’t cause any trouble, however, except for the fact that they

zeroed in on me the first day.

      Jalka and I had just gotten our rations when a half dozen of the

buzzing T’Nilf came buzzing past, and a multi-jointed limb knocked my bowl

of stew out of my hands and into the dirt.

      “Cluuumsyyy Teeeraaan,” one of them said.

      Jalka tensed, but I shook my head, picked up what was left in the

bowl and went back to eating. The bugs moved on.

      “That was deliberate,” he said, glaring at the T’Nilf as they took their

places at another station. He looked around for guards before dumping a

big portion of his syn veg into my bowl. “Take this.” Before I could jump on

him for violating feeding rules, he added, “I have enough to share with you.”

      “You need more food than me,” I snapped.

      He turned the glare on me. “Do not make me feed it to you.”

      The bashing continued. The bugs seemed to hover around me

wherever I went. Jalka tried to watch out for them, but they were pretty

cagey, and I ended up being “accidentally” tripped, shoved, and knocked

aside on a daily basis. Once I fell during exercise and two of them stomped

me by pretending to be unable to avoid me. When they couldn’t make me
                                                                           27

drop my rations, they started spitting some kind of vile-smelling green

mucous in them as they passed by.

      The guards would have zapped them if they’d seen them harassing

me, but just my luck, every time it happened the centuron on duty seemed

to be looking the other way. And Jalka only got angrier, every time it

happened.

      “You got problems,” Kosper said to me on the track. I’d been

shoved face-first into a warmer’s pole earlier that morning, thanks to the

bugs, and blood kept trickling from my swollen nose. Jalka had moved

ahead, staying between me and the T’Nilf. “I’ve talked to them, and they

pretty much want you dead.”

      “Good to know.” I was more worried about Jalka; if he didn’t get his

temper under control he would get us both killed. “Any suggestions?”

      “You need to take out the female; the others are male and

subservient to her.” He pointed to the largest T’Nilf, then hesitated. “I can

bribe a slaver to make a request, get you on the sand with her.”

      Jalka overheard and dropped back. “It is too dangerous.”

      “I can’t go on like this.” I sized up the female. I’d never taken on one

of her kind before, but I’d seen her fight. She was over-confident and her

blade work was sloppy. But I didn’t have any barter, and the crawl boss

didn’t intervene for free. “Can’t afford a bribe, though, Kos.”

      My bedmate shook his head. “We will find another way.”
                                                                             28

       “Paddala’s already paid for the guard,” Kos said, surprising me.

“Said to tell you it’s for the last bout.”

       “Mary.” Jalka sounded grim. “No.”

       I’d have to revise my bad opinion of Trytinorns. “Set it up, Kos.”

       “You are not fighting that female,” Jalka insisted.

       The crawl boss chuckled. “You got spine, Gnat. You got spine.” He

nodded to Jalka and moved on.

       “I need to go over some moves with you when we get back,” I said

absently, already making plans in my head. “Can you teach me that rolling

block you –”

       A hand dropped on my shoulder, hard enough to make me jump.

“Why do you not listen to me?” Jalka demanded. “You cannot challenge

her. She will divert your path.”

       He really was upset. I felt a little warm inside, knowing that. “It’s the

only way. If I don’t do something, they’ll kill me anyway.”

       “I will speak with them.”

       “Kos already tried, and he’s the crawl boss. Why would they listen

to you?” I saw a guard approaching and lowered my voice. “Centuron.

Drop it.”

       When the guard pointed at us, we dropped into position. Only then

did he approach and say, “HekVar orders you to report to quarters.”
                                                                          29

      I made the affirmative gesture and got up to leave the track. A hard

claw shoved me forward, then something heavy hit my leg. I heard

something distant snap. Pain shot up through my whole body. Hard

hands grabbed at me, but my tunic ripped and I bounced against the

centuron’s chest plate before collapsing at his feet.

      The pain was so bad that I barely saw the prod stick coming down to

zap me. Then everything melted into a white-hot blur, and I burned away

into darkness.

                                     #

      I woke up on the sands, with my right leg in a slate-and rope splint,

which was bad – they only did that for broken bones. My arms were

bound at the elbow to something behind me, which was worse. Then I felt

the coils of rope around my waist, and the heat and muscle pressed

against me, and knew it was the end.

      Jalka and I were tied together, back to back.

      I got my feet under me and tugged on the ropes. “What

happened?”

      Jalka groaned, but started lifting when I did. “I struck the guard who

harmed you.”

      My eyes popped open. The stands were filled with Hsktskt, all sitting

quiet and watchful. There were no bets on the boards, and no slavers

around, which meant this was official. “Did you kill him?”
                                                                                30

          “Yes.”

          I closed my eyes briefly. They would take their time with us, then.

          HekVar strode out on the sands, and stopped before me. Hsktskt

don’t show much emotion, but from the way his tongue flickered and his

scar pulsed it was obvious he was outraged. He didn’t hit me, though.

          “You should have trained this one better, Gnat.”

          “Yes, centuron.” I met his oversized yellow eyes, which were half-

closed. I don’t know why I said what I did next. “I’m going to miss you.”

          He took hold of my tunic and jerked me close, then pressed

something into my hand. “Die quickly.” He left the arena.

          The small plas pouch was warm and filled with some kind of liquid,

and had a pressure dart on one side, but I already knew what it was.

Hsktskt took poison to avoid capture, but I’d never heard of them giving a

suicide sac to a slave. Especially one who had gotten one of their own

killed.

          As compliments went, it was pretty major.

          The T’Nilf female and one of her males were thrown out onto the

sand, also tied back-to-back at the mid-limb joints. But instead of sending a

detachment of guards in to hack us to bits, HekVar threw four short

daggers out onto the sand.

          Maybe he thought I wouldn’t have the nerve to use the poison.
                                                                           31

       Jalka folded one of his hands over mine. “Pull up your legs. I will get

the weapons.”

       I looked at the bugs, who were struggling to find their balance and

get to the daggers. They had longer forelimbs, and neither of them had to

deal with a broken leg. I tightened my fingers over the pouch. I could inject

both of us, and we’d be dead in seconds. It would be painless.

       And the hell of my second life would be over.

       Over the rushing sound in my ears, I heard Jalka say, “Mary.” His

fingers entwined with mine. “Wherever the path takes us, I am with you.”

       I’d never had anyone care about me. I was a slave, sword bait,

worthless now that I couldn’t fight. I hadn’t done this Jorenian any favors.

Yet Jalka had protected me, watched over me. He’d even killed a Hsktskt

for me.

       Die quickly.

       No. I wouldn’t. Being with him was worth fighting for a few more

minutes of life.

       I lifted my legs, groaning as the ends of my broken bone shifted.

Jalka pulled me over onto his back and went for the blades, and got two

before the T’Nilf reached them. He backed away, still crouched over to

keep me off the sand. All I could see were the silent Hsktskt watching us,

waiting for blood to spill.
                                                                          32

      Jalka fighting while balancing me on his back gave the bugs a big

advantage, but he didn’t let them take it. Rather than continue to retreat,

he attacked, and I felt him slashing at the female with both blades. I tried

to keep my weight centered and coiled up my good leg, ready to kick at the

bugs if they tried to attack from behind. I couldn’t see exactly what Jalka

was doing but I heard alloy clashing and felt his muscles shifting under my

back. He should have been coiled like a neurotic Tingalean but his

movements were graceful and fluid, almost like he was floating around the

arena.

      He took a hit, then a deep growl rumbled out of his chest and he

lunged, jerking the ropes binding us hard. She must have countered his

move because he dropped and rolled, ending up facedown in the sand with

me on top, and the T’Nilf only a few feet away.

      “Are you hurt?” I asked him.

      “No.” He spat out some sand. “Is she?”

      I saw dark blood dribbling from the female’s side. “Nice deep gash

on the left torso. She’s bleeding a lot.”

      He struggled to his feet. “I must do the same to the male.”

      The problem with that was, the female guarded the male just as

fiercely as Jalka protected me. He went after her three times, but couldn’t

get past her guard. I realized he had lied to me when I saw green blood on

the sands.
                                                                           33

      I had to do something, but all I had was the poison. I could do myself,

but I couldn’t bring myself to kill him. Then I clutched the little sac. “When

she charges, turn around and let her at me.”

      “You wish to embrace the stars?” he sounded breathless.,

      “I want to give her a little present.” I pressed my hand against his.

“Just trust me.”

      The female charged at us, and at the last possible second Jalka

jerked around, facing me toward her. I deflected her sword thrust with a

kick and pressed the sac against the open wound at her side. She

staggered away, then swayed and buzzed.

      “Back around them,” I said to Jalka. “Get me to face the male.”

      He did as I asked. The male was distracted by the female’s

shuddering and was fooled by my feint. I emptied the rest of the sac into

the side of his throat, then kicked him away.

      They both went down, laboring for breath, then fell over and went

into convulsions. It only lasted a minute, then they didn’t move again.

      “What did you do?”

      “Poison.” I let the empty sac fall from my fingers. The bugs would be

the last beings I ever harmed, and I felt relieved, knowing that. I was tired

of killing. My eyes started watering, and a strange, hitching sound came

up out of my throat. “The guards will come in and do us now. I’m sorry, I

know I should have used it on us.”
                                                                              34

      Jalka said something, but it was lost in the explosion. We both were

thrown into a wall, and the Hsktskt in the stands tumbled down around us.

Blood streaked down my face, and I was pretty sure my other leg was now

broken.

      “I am . . . glad . . . you did . . . not.” He inched around to put me

between the wall and him. “Don’t cry . . Mary.” He went still.

      I tried to keep my eyes open, but they didn’t want to cooperate. The

last thing I saw were strange launches, flying over the open roof of the

arena.

                                       #

      I was kind of in and out of it for a while after that. I was pretty

banged up, and whoever had me let me sleep. I dreamed of the arena,

and Jalka, only we prevailed together over every opponent we faced.

      They were good dreams.

      When I woke up, I still felt like I was asleep. They had put me in the

cleanest place I’d ever seen in my life – some kind of medical facility, with

tons of shiny equipment and Jorenian slaves dressed in brand new tunics.

Not one of them wore yellow, so I wasn’t exactly sure they were slaves.

      Someone had taken away my slave tunic, and dressed me in a plain

white garment. It was softer than anything I’d ever touched. They’d also

put two strange white things over my legs, from the ankles to above the
                                                                               35

knees. They were hard and smooth, like some kind of body armor, but

lightweight and strong – I couldn’t bend my knees at all.

      Maybe they were trying to hobble me.

      The slaves called the female who took care of me Healer Anea. She

looked a little like Jalka, but had darker blue skin, a purple streak in her

black hair and was a bit shorter. She had the same white eyes, though,

and every time she looked at me, I thought about him.

      When Anea discovered I was awake, she brought me food and

helped me eat. The food was clean and fresh and tasted wonderful. She

made me put on a funny necklace that turned out to be translator, then

through it said that I had to remain quiet and rest.

      I had no problem doing that.

      I waited for her to do something worse, but all she did over the next

three days was bring me more food and keep me clean. She didn’t want

me to assume any position but to stay flat on my back.

      None of her rules made sense, either. She’d say stuff like “Child, you

must not sleep on the deck, you will aggravate your injuries” and “Do not

hide food in your linens, little one, you may have as much as you like,

whenever you like.” She never zapped me or even raised her voice, except

once when she helped me out of the thing she made me sleep on so I

could take my first scrub. Then she looked at my body and got angry.
                                                                              36

      “Sorry.” I cringed, covering myself. Maybe they had some kind of

taboo against nudity.

      She called one of the females she called nurses over to help me and

stomped out of the cleansing cubicle.

      “Did I offend her?” I asked the nurse, but she insisted I’d done

nothing.

      Anea and her females kept better watch over me than the Hsktskt

centurons, but they wouldn’t tell me anything about what had happened or

where Jalka was. Every time I asked, they changed the subject or made an

excuse of work and moved away from me.

      I got tired of not knowing.

      As soon as I felt strong enough, I slipped out of the soft thing they

made me sleep on and snuck out of the medical place. It was worth

getting zapped, just to see how pretty and clean the place was. I

wandered down a long, circular corridor, wondering if there would be

another arena waiting around the next corner. I didn’t care if I had to fight

again, but I needed to know if Jalka was all right. Surely someone would

tell me.

      I heard two men speaking just ahead of me, and pressed myself

against a wall panel.
                                                                          37

      “—arena slave,” a deep, stern voice said. “No education, no training

whatsoever. Anea says the child has had most of her bones broken, and

she is covered in scars.”

      “She knew enough to stay alive in that place,” I heard Jalka say. “She

earned her scars.”

      His voice made me slump against the wall. He had survived, that

was all I cared about. They could do whatever they wanted to me now.

      A few seconds later Jalka crouched down in front of me. “Mary,

what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in medical, resting.”

      “They won’t let me sleep on the floor.” I tried to smile, but my eyes

were watering and I couldn’t see right. “I didn’t know you were alive. I’m

glad you made it.”

      “Your pardon. I should have come to you sooner.” He put one arm

under my shoulders and the other under the strange things on my legs,

then lifted me into his arms. To the other male, he said, “Inform my

ClanMother that Mary will be in my quarters.”

      The older man didn’t like that. “Anea will not be pleased.”

      “She may come to examine her there.”

      Jalka carried me down the corridor and into a funny kind of box with

a sliding door. It moved up, then opened into another corridor.

      “Where are we?” I asked as he carried me past some door panels.
                                                                              38

      “This is the RainWing, HouseClan Adan’s flag ship.” He stopped at

one and punched the access panel.

      A ship? “How did we get here? Who owns us?”

      “My HouseClan came to retrieve me.” He smiled as the door

opened and he carried me in. “No one owns you and I any more, Mary.

We’re free.”

      I didn’t believe him, until I saw the rooms he’d been given. One was

big enough to sleep twenty slaves, and there were other rooms attached

to that. He set me down on another padded thing, and put a pillow under

my head and legs.

      I watched him prepare two servers at an odd-looking food station.

“Why did you bring me with you?”

      “Why did you not choose an easy death in the arena?” he countered

as he came over and gave me one of the servers. It was filled with a

colored liquid that smelled sweet.

      It was hard to tell the truth, but I figured I owed him that much. “I

didn’t want to leave you.”

      He smiled at me. “Nor I you.”

      I recalled what he’d said to me in the arena. Wherever the path

takes us, I am with you. He’d really meant that.
                                                                          39

      A little confused, I sipped the drink. The liquid was warm and so

sweet it made my teeth ache – and I wanted to chug it down like water. “I

don’t understand all this.”

      “In time, you will.” He took my server and put it aside, then folded my

hands in his. “Will you share your journey with me and my kin?”

      I thought about it. “Can I sleep on the floor?”

      “If that is your wish, yes.”

      There were things I used to wish for, but I’d forgotten about them.

Maybe now it would be all right to remember. “Okay.”



For Mary, aka BarGnat, with love –
Keep fighting.
S.L. Viehl, December 2002
                                                                             40

                                     Arcanum

                                    By S.L. Viehl



       I figured I got stuck with Ulundu IV mission because I was the only

Terran on Staros Station, a non-academic, or someone wanted me dead.

Maybe all of the above. The department chair of Artifact Recovery relayed

the assignment the day before my team was scheduled to leave, probably

thinking I’d be too stupid or too busy packing to give him grief about it.

       He thought wrong.

       “Chief Delancy!” The chief’s personal assistant, Tegel, a little

Marpas with great big eyes, tried to get in my way. “You can’t go in there

– Dr. Varoopik is in an important meeting – ”

        “Meeting’s over.” I hit the access panel before Tegel could lock me

out and strode in.

       Varoopik looked up, sighed, then waved one of his branches at his

three cronies. Like my boss, they were all elderly, root-bound Oklonda, and

according to my students they got together every day to drink their weird

saptea and swap stories about the good old days, before bipeds arrived

and the plant forms ran everything on Staros. “Excuse me, gentlemen. It

seems one of my investigators requires some attention.”

       “What I require” –I parked myself in front of his desk– “is a transfer

off this flying dirt box. Today.”
                                                                            41

      As his pals enabled their glidepots and rustled out of the office, my

boss assembled his frills into an arrangement reflecting strained patience.

“Really, Keasa, such dramatics. Calm down and take a seat.”

      “I don’t want to calm down, and if I take a seat, you’ll be wearing it.”

That dented his frills, and I threw out my arms. “Come on, Var, what the

hell did I do to rate the City of the Dead? Forget to file a requisition

properly? Step on somebody’s roots?”

      “You’re the best field supervisor I have on staff right now.” When

my expression didn’t change, he added, “And the most capable. And the

most. . . mobile.”

      “Uh-huh.” I rolled my hand, waiting for the rest of it.

      His face sheath wrinkled. “Central sent down orders and every

other investigator I asked threatened to quit before they’d take the

assignment.”

      “Gee, I wonder why. After all, Ulundu IV is just a big dead cold hunk

of rock a jillion miles away from any other occupied world, and the only

colonists who ever lived there vanished without a trace before recorded

time, and half the salvagers, scientists and rock hounds who have gone

into the ruins where they lived have also mysteriously disappeared, along

with their crew, their equipment, and their ships. We won’t even talk

about what happened to the ones who made it back.” I looked at the upper

deck and took a steadying breath before I met Var’s eye stalks again. “It’s
                                                                            42

not that, is it? I am not going to commit suicide just because Central has

a stamen up their seedpods about some unrecovered hardware

somebody left on that death trap.”

       “It’s not just that.” He took out a datapad and handed it to me.

“They’ve lost a passenger transport out there.”

       I read the stats on the missing vessel. Four hundred transfers and

their immediate families had been shipping out to some newly-established

agri-colony when they experienced engine failure and sent a distress relay.

Last known position, Ulundu IV. I dropped the pad on his desk. “I don’t do

search and rescue. I teach students how to dig up old stuff without

breaking it. Get someone else.”

       “With all the military forces tied up in the war with the Hsktskt,

Central was ordered to send in an investigative team,” Var said.

“Resource management determined that our group was the next best

alternative.”

       “Why? We’re archeologists, we don’t handle living things!” I

snapped.

       “You don’t have to go near the ruins,” he assured me. “All you have

to do is set down a few hundred klicks away and send in drones. Get some

vid for the official report. That’s all.”
                                                                            43

         “Right. And how am I going to fit a team and survey drones and the

remote equipment on a dinky little dig ship? And what about survivors?

What, if I find them, I just strap them to the hull in envirosuits?”

         “We’ve taken care of that.” He pressed a button on his console.

“Tegel, would you signal Captain Andar for me?” To me, he said, “We’ve

arranged commercial transport for you and your team.”

         Another warning flare went off inside my skull – Staros barely had

enough funding to keep the staff from collective malnutrition. “That’s nice

– do I get hazard pay out of this, too?”

         Before he could answer, Tegel’s voice came over the console.

“Andar is standing by, Doctor.”

         “Excellent, thank you.” My boss punched up the signal and

transferred it to the wall screen. The image that coalesced was a little

dark and indistinct, and the figure in the middle of it very fuzzy. “Captain,

thank you for responding.”

         “Are they ready to leave?” The Captain sounded about as happy as I

felt, but it might have been the translator – it made his voice come across

hissy.

         “Not quite yet,” Var said. “My team leader, Chief Investigator

Delancy, has some concerns about the Ulundu IV mission. I thought you

and she could meet and discuss the details.”

         “I am busy. Later, perhaps.” The vague image vanished.
                                                                             44

      That time I definitely heard stressed consonants. I eyed Varoopik.

“What, exactly, is Captain Andar?”

      My boss tried not to shift his layers, but Oklonda were lousy at

pretense. “He is a hybrid.”

      “A hybrid what?”

      “I am not sure.” Dignity straightened Var’s stalks. “He has scales.”

      Scales meant he was cold-blooded, and likely reptilian. Reptiles

didn’t hire out to ferry warm-bloods around unless it was to a slaver depot.

“Where’s his ship?”

      “The Silverfire is in portdock, but you can’t –”

      I didn’t hear the rest as I stomped out of his office.

                                      #

      The ship was big, scarred, and ugly. She looked like she had been a

speedy freighter at one time, but someone had been busy retrofitting her

with some heavy-duty additions, and they hadn’t bothered to make it look

tidy. Captain Andar had an extensive weapons array with what appeared

to be enough firepower to reduce Staros into a floating cloud of cosmic

dust. He had also installed layers of buffered shields, at least three or

four, and the configuration of his stardrive core allowed for emergency

venting, ejection, and in-space replacement.

      The SilverFire wasn’t a transport. It was a freaking battle cruiser.
                                                                           45

      “Halt.” A drone met me at the dock ramp. “You are not authorized

to board.”

      I popped its panel, yanked out its logic chip and watched it trundle off

to talk to a support strut. “I’ll knock.”

      I wasn’t armed, so it was pretty stupid going on board, but I had to

see this deal for myself. My parents had been slaves for a few years, until

some really pissed-off Jorenians had invaded and destroyed the Hsktskt

depot where they were slated to be sold. Fortunate for me, as Mom had

been hiding her pregnancy with me at the time and Hsktskt didn’t like kids.

If there was one thing they’d taught me, it was how a slaver smelled.

      The interior of the ship was no trappings, all function. Lots of gray

and black alloy and efficient-looking consoles. The air felt warm but

smelled sterile, like the inside of a newly-erected seedling shelter on a hot

day back on Oklon. Aside from some minor engine hum below my feet, the

place was quieter than an empty house of worship.

      Metal started sliding somewhere behind me, and I glanced back in

time to see the door at the end of the entry corridor close and a red

security light flash on the control panel. The corridor lights dimmed, then

winked out. I braced myself back against one wall, expecting some drone

to pop out and start shooting at me.

      “Identify yourself.” It sounded like a drone.
                                                                          46

      “I’m C.I. Delancy from Artifact Recovery. Enable the emitters and

call your boss down here, will you?”

      A big shadowy form moved in on me. “Are you afraid of the dark?”

Now it didn’t sounded like a drone. It sounded male and mean.

      “Oh, yeah.” I folded my arms. “I’m terrified.”

      The lights came back on, and I shrieked with terror. A great big

fanged greenish-brown four-armed snake man holding some kind of alien

cross bow leveled at my throat stood in front of me. I nearly did something

really stupid before I clamped down on my emotions and took a long, deep

breath.

      He didn’t look too happy, either. The spotted skin on the sides of his

bald scaly head was erect, and curved white fangs glittered from his top

and bottom jaws. Body-wise he looked like a Terran from the ribs up,

except for all the scales and the extra pair of arms between his shoulders

and hips. Below the waist he was all snake, though – no legs, just a wide,

long, powerful-looking tail lined with heavily-muscled segments that he

contracted rhythmically to move along the deck.

      “Are you afraid now?” he asked me.

      “No, I always scream like that when I’m happy.” I glanced down at

the short, spiky bolt he had ready to shoot through my neck and

concentrated on not having hysterics. “Could you point that somewhere

else, please?”
                                                                           47

      Slowly he lowered the weapon until it was aimed at my heart. “What

are you doing here?”

      “I came to see your ship and talk to you. I’m Delancy. You’re Andar,

right?” He nodded once, and I glanced around. “What’s a nice merc like

you doing in a place like this?”

      “Ex-mercenary.” He inspected me the way he would a tasty rare

meat kabob. Which is probably what I looked like to him, minus the stick.

“This team of yours – are they all Terran as well?”

      “Just me.” I smiled. “Lucky you.”

      “A matter of opinion, I think.” The stretched hood around his head

slowly subsided, but the fangs stayed in place. He used one of his very

humanoid-looking hands to gesture down the corridor. “Come this way.”

      The captain escorted me to a big room that looked like some sort of

command center, what with all the consoles and monitors showing various

parts of the ship. Once inside, he stowed the crossbow and sent a signal

to the helm saying he’d be tied up for a few minutes. He even lowered his

hostility enough to offer me a beverage before slithering behind his desk

and curling into a spiral-shaped piece of furniture built to accommodate

the lower half of his body.

      All of this was truly odd, but the real question mark was him – I had

already guessed he was part Tingalean (the hood, scale color and double

set of fangs were a dead giveaway) but his head was not the usual reptilian
                                                                        48

triangular shape, and from the mid-torso up he really did look pretty

Terran. Since reptilian species were a pain about who they bred with, and

my kind stayed at the very bottom of their desirable mates list, his

existence just didn’t make sense.

      “My nest mother was taken by the Garnotans,” he told me,

accurately reading my mind. “I believe my sire was Farradona.”

      So he was slave-born. That explained a lot, including the extra arms

and the charming personality. Farradon’s extreme surface conditions and

heavy gravity had changed the humans who had settled there a couple

hundred years ago, and some said the weird magnetic fields also made

them more aggressive. Whatever the cause, their hostility toward aliens

was even more pronounced than it had been on the Terran homeworld. If

someone had force bred his mother to a Farradona male, it had been as

some kind of joke or punishment.

      And no one deserved that. “Sorry.”

      “They’re long dead.” He moved his shoulders in a very human shrug.

“What do you want to know?”

      “Why you took this job, for starters.” I nodded toward a star chart

on one monitor beside his console. “Ulundu IV is the most dangerous

planet in this quadrant, possibly the galaxy. You know everyone who’s gone

there has either gone mad or disappeared.”
                                                                               49

      He made a negligent gesture. “If you’re afraid, chief investigator,

refuse the assignment.”

      “I can’t, but I have no intentions of going within ten miles of the City

of the Dead,” I told him. “How about you?”

      “I provide transport, not salvage.”

      “But you must have heard the rumors about it being one of the

Founding Colonies.” I leaned forward. “Maybe you’re thinking of doing a

little treasure hunting of your own, huh? Use us to hunt down whatever

they left laying around or get us to dig it up, and then . . .” I lifted my brows,

willing him to finish the thought.

      He looked bored. “Kill you all and abandon your bodies there?”

      Boy, he’d picked that up quicker than I liked. “You’re a merc.

Wasn’t that generally the job description?”

      “Ex-mercenary.” His fangs retracted a little. “It is a tempting

prospect, but unfortunately” – he pulled open his tunic, and displayed the

top of a white dermal brand shaped like a seven-headed snake sprawling

over the center of his scaly chest – “I have made my vows to Tawwa.”

      Tawwa was the ruling warrior deity of the Tingalean people, and to

bear the mark meant sticking to the vows made within the Serpentosque

on his mother’s homeworld – where they also branded the true believers

who pledged themselves to protect all life. From what little I knew of the
                                                                              50

culture, it was not something they did lightly. However, he was part

Farradona, and anyone could burn a pretty picture onto their hide.

      “You do not wish to take this assignment, do you?”

      “No, but it’s not like I have a choice.” Actually, I knew I didn’t. I wasn’t

Oklonda, I didn’t have tenure or a bunch of letters after my name like the

rest of the C.I.s on staff. No question about it – if I said refused, Varoopik

would pull my slot and send me packing.

      He was watching me pretty close. “There is always a choice, Chief

Delancy.”

      “Thanks for the advice.” I checked my wristcom. “I’ll send my

equipment over. My team and I will be assembled at the dock in twelve

hours.”

      He balanced on the lower part of his tail as he rose, adding another

foot to his height. That let him loom over me, probably for effect. “Then I

will see you in twelve hours.” Before I reached the door panel, he added,

“Replace the logic chip in my guard drone on your way out, if you would.”

                                       #

      I prepped my gear and checked on the team of techs and grad

students going with me, and then I spent a few hours pacing the floor in

my private quarters. Even if we stayed well away from the City of the Dead,

I was still courting death or madness, so I decided to contact my parents

just before it was time to leave.
                                                                                51

      Dad answered the relay with a big grin. “Keasa! What a lovely

surprise.” He was in the kitchen area cooking something, as usual. “How

are you, baby?”

      “Fine.” I tried to match his tone. “Mom around?”

      “I haven’t seen her all day.” My father chuckled at the family inside

joke, then added, “I think she’s seeding something in the hydroponics lab.

Do you want me to get her?”

      “I’ll catch her next relay.” Shit, I had really wanted to talk to her –

she’d hung out with a few Tings in BioTech. On the other hand, she’d want

to know why I was so interested in snakes all of a sudden. “How’s the

Master of Disaster?”

      “Your brother blew up the shed in the back yard last month, trying to

stabilize that damned illegal fertilizer. Something about encapsulating it

into indigestible pellets.” My father, who was an older male version of me

in looks, rolled his dark eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know where he gets these

ideas.”

      “From Mom.” I wanted to laugh, but the knot in my chest made it

tough. “Dad, I’m going on a remote assignment, and I just wanted to touch

base before I left. I’ll probably be out of relay range for a few weeks.”

      “Wonderful!” My father loved to hear about my work. “What are

you hunting for this time? Is it a pre-League settlement?”
                                                                             52

        Ulundu IV was pre-everything. “Yeah. I don’t want to jinx things so I’ll

fill you in when I get back, okay?”

        Dad frowned. “Is something wrong?”

        “Bad relay channel.” I forced a smile. “Hug Mom for me when she

shows up, and tell the monster to give the chem set a rest. Love you,

Dad.”

        “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

        I terminated the signal and banged my head against the viddisplay. I

should have told him, but he’d only worry. Mom would likely go ballistic if

she found out I was being transported by a merc, and knowing her, she

wouldn’t hesitate to jump in a ship and come after us.

        I thought about my mother meeting Andar, and snickered. And he

thought he was scary.

        My door panel chimed, and I answered it to find two Qobarec

students waiting outside, cases in their paws.

        “Chief Delancy!” Like all their kind, they were twins and spoke in high-

pitched tandem. “Have you seen the ship? The Captain’s a Tingalean

‘breed, and Rssu thinks he’s a mercenary.”

        “Ex-mercenary,” I muttered under my breath as I grabbed my cases.

“Come on, boys, let’s get this show into space.”
                                                                           53

      The dock drone (which I had repaired when I’d left the day before)

moved a few feet away as I approached the ramp. “Present identification,”

it said, its voice processor sounding a little squeaky.

      “Relax, bolthead.” I presented my ID chip and performed a quick

headcount. Varoopik had assigned seven non-botanical life forms to my

team – playing favorites, naturally – but they were a good mix of

specialists with lots of experience. The female Omorr who was supervising

the haulers loading the survey drones bounced over to report like a one-

legged soldier.

      “Berryldav of Hudeca, fourth-year cybertechnician,” she introduced

herself with a formal gesture of greeting. The beard of white gildrells

around her mouth were undulating with dignified serenity. “It’s a pleasure

to serve with you, Chief Delancy.”

      I didn’t make the mistake of asking her to call me Keasa, she would

have considered the informality an insult. “Nice to meet you, Hudeca.”

Had she been in charge I would have tacked on a Lady to that, but it was

the proper address for an Omorr subordinate. “Do you have everything

you need?”

      “Yes, Chief.” She glanced up at the ship. “Captain Andar has

requested we forego any pre-launch meetings and prepare for jaunt

immediately.”
                                                                              54

      “In a hurry, is he?” I didn’t like that, but the sooner we got out of

here, the sooner we could come back. “All right, Hudeca, let’s get

everyone inside and strapped in.”

                                      #

      The jaunt to Ulundu IV took a solid week, during which I went over

standard surface procedures and had my team members check and

recheck their equipment. Captain Andar and his crew stayed busy and

away from us, which I liked – they may have all been ex-mercs, but their

battle-scarred faces and tough attitudes still rattled me.

      A day out from Ulundu IV, I gave a mini-lecture to the team on what

we did know about the City of the Dead, mostly theory based on fragments

from damaged ships’ databases and the ramblings of the brain-wipes who

had actually survived a tour.

      “This is the most complete survey map we have of the city, from an

orbital survey performed two revolutions ago.” I put the photo scan up on

a wall screen in the conference room Andar had allocated to us for our

use. Digital enhancement didn’t improve the scan quality, which showed a

maze of streets and stone structures forming patterns with no straight

lines or sharp angles. “Based on what has been brought back, we know

that the city was built from native cynagranite, which the degradation of

the atmosphere has for the most part preserved.” I moved to the next

image, which had been taken just inside the city’s outer walls. “A few
                                                                              55

survivors claim that the city still retains artifacts from the former

inhabitants, but nothing except a few pebbles has been recovered so far.

The popular theory is that the inhabitants evacuated or abandoned the city

very swiftly, possibly overnight, due to natural disaster.”

      I clicked up the next image, which I knew would shock them. From

the gasps, it did the job.

      “This is a special long-term psychiatric ward on Oklon, where the

survivors of the City of the Dead are still being treated for mind injuries

received while on planet. Take a good look at them, ladies and gentlemen,

because if you wander off, this will probably be you.”

      “I thought the madness was just a myth,” someone muttered.

      “That one clutching the stuffed toy and crying is Dr. Josan Haloo.” I

waited for them to study the slack-mouthed, wet-faced Haloo, who prior to

his visit to Ulundu IV had been one of the most brilliant scientists in the

quadrant. “Physicians have tried every technique and treatment known to

medical science to help these people, but to date, not one single survivor

has recovered their sanity.”

      Hudeca raised one of her three arms, and I nodded to her. “Chief

Delancy, do they know what caused the brain damage?”

      “No.” I left the image up and walked in front of it. “And I want you to

remember something – these are the people who made it out alive. If the

City of the Dead can do this to someone as intelligent and capable as
                                                                           56

Haloo, think what it will do to your brain. Anyone who violates boundaries

while we’re on planet will be subjected to the harshest discipline I can

come up with – and that will only be the beginning of your troubles. So

don’t even think about it.”

      The team members exchanged a few glances but no one looked

mulish. As I’d anticipated, seeing the wreck that had been Josan Haloo

had done more to convince them that I ever could.

      “Chief Delancy.” A drone trundled into the room. “Captain Andar

requests your presence in command.”

      “Hudeca, will you finish the presentation?” I handed over my data to

her and followed the drone out into the corridor. “What does he want?”

      “Unknown.” The drone led me to the room where Andar spent most

of his time, and signaled over the com panel, “Chief Delancy to see you,

Captain.”

      I went in when the door opened, then stopped just inside. The

Tingalean had a console full of pulse weapons and was checking the power

cells on one. Not a sight I exactly wanted to see. “What’s this? You get

bored flying the ship?”

      “We’ll be landing in a few hours.” He nodded toward the weapons.

“Distribute these among your team and make sure they know how to

handle them. If they need practice, they can use one of the simulators on

deck four.”
                                                                            57

       “No.”

       He looked up, and the vertical black slits in his eyes contracted.

“This is not a request.”

       “I don’t care what it is,” I told him. “You’re not passing these out to

my kids.”

       “They are of majority age.” He placed the weapon down carefully. “I

thought you were concerned about their safety while on the surface.”

       “They’re young, and they’re nervous. Giving them guns will only

spook them more; they’ll end up shooting at each other in the middle of

the night.” I studied his face. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

       “There is talk about this world.” He came around the desk and went

to the viewer to look out at the stars. “I can’ t spare any crew to

accompany us to the surface, and I alone can’t safeguard your team

properly.”

       “You were hired to drive, not baby-sit.” I walked over to him. Close

up, he looked a little less intimidating. “What kind of talk?”

       “When people disappear, slavers are usually involved. This could be

a trap.” He turned toward me, and his eye slits dilated. “I am pledged to

protect life.”

       Maybe he was everything he said he was. “Look, if you want to hand

out some stunners, that’s fine, but I don’t want anyone packing anything

lethal.”
                                                                               58

        “What about you?”

        I thought about letting him in on my particular specialty, but Mom

said it was better not to spring things on reptilian beings all at once – they

were fairly twitchy, too. Besides, it was really none of his business. “I’ve

got my own weapons, thanks.”

                                        #

        Ulundu IV had once been a very fertile, happy little planet, the fourth

in a eleven-planet system around a fairly intense red star. From the soil

samples brought back by a few survey drones (all damaged beyond repair)

we knew that planet was a couple of billion years old, and that an ancient

asteroid collision probably caused the original change in orbit, which was

in turn the reason for the atmosphere and sea water burn-off.

        In simple terms, something big had slammed into the planet,

knocked it a little closer to the sun, and everything went up in flames and

steam. It would have still been too hot for us to land on, had another big

rock not hit it a few millennia later and knocked it back to its original orbit

path.

        It didn’t look like much from orbit – a golden sphere with vague

surface striata left behind when the oceans evaporated – but there was a

tiny dark oval of indeterminate color in the southern hemisphere, where

the only signs of any preexisting civilization – aka the City of the Dead –
                                                                               59

had been found. The striata and the location of the city made it look like a

big, ugly mole on an old lady’s chin.

         Andar insisted on piloting the launch to the surface, which freed me

to run a last minute gear check and deliver the final pep talk.

         “When we get to the surface, I want everyone to pair off and stick

together.” I read off their work assignments. “While you’re setting up

camp, Hudeca and I will set up the drone launchers. I want everything by

the book on this site – if you’re not sure, ask first.”

         “Chief Delancy, should we set up an aid station?” our medic wanted

to know.

         “Let’s see what the drones find first.” I didn’t expect to find any

survivors, but there was no reason to tell them that. Hope was a good

thing.

         “Final approach in two minutes,” Andar announced from the helm.

“Get in your rigs.”

         The trip to the surface and the landing went smoothly, and we were

able to unload the launch within the hour. Because the red sun had

damaged but hadn’t completely destroyed Ulundu IV’s atmosphere before

it was knocked back into its original orbit, the levels of oxygen were low but

within tolerance ranges. We wore supplemental breathers until we got

used to the thin air, but even with the O5 packs I made sure everyone took

it easy.
                                                                               60

       Andar scouted the perimeter of the flat plane where we set up

camp, and returned in time to watch me and Hudeca launch the first

surface probe. “You waste little time, Delancy.”

       “I don’t want to hang around here any longer than we have to.” I

watched the probe’s return feed on the viddisplay and recalibrated the

optic sensors. “Hudeca, what are you getting on thermal?”

       “Green screen, no signatures detected.” The Omorr’s head frills

spiked as she concentrated on her readouts. “No trace of the passenger

vessel within fifty klicks, either.”

       “They may be on the other side of the planet.” Unlikely, as the

strongest concentration of oxygen was centered around the city, but the

transport’s pilot may have been trying to avoid it. I set the vid to record.

“Keep on monitor; let me know if you detect any signs of life.”

       I helped the rest of the team set up the temporary shelters we’d be

using, which took the remainder of the afternoon, then as the horizon

darkened and the temperature dropped I enabled the emitters. The

Qobarecs prepped a quick meal for everyone and we all gathered around

the site envirocontroller to eat and rest. The silence of this world was so

absolute that every sound we made seemed magnified a hundred times,

so I started telling a funny story about a jaunt I’d made as an intern

investigator to a dig on Deddele Minor, where I’d found my first pre-League

artifact.
                                                                               61

         “After we entered the main vault, the linguist scanned the wall and

turned this strange shade of yellow. I thought he was going regurgitate

something, so I checked his transunit.” I sat back in my camp chair.

“What we thought would be reverent passages dedicated to the Deddelen

goddess were actually quite graphic instructions.”

         “Instructions for positions for prayer?” one of the students asked.

         “No, these were more, um, basic.” I leaned over and used my finger

to draw one of the symbols in the powdery amber soil. “Can anyone

translate this one?”

         Hudeca studied it. “That is not a position assumed by Deddelen

during worship. It is to insure proper fertilization of a female.”

         “Yep.” I grinned. “You see, we hadn’t discovered a temple. It was a

breeding brothel.” Everyone erupted into their various forms of mirth.

“You can imagine how thrilled my supervisor was – he’d invited the local

religious dignitaries to come and have a look when we opened the vault. I

never saw anyone shove priests out of an archaic structure so fast in my

life.”

         “On how many worlds have you worked, Chief?” the Qobarec asked.

         I really had to think about it. “A couple of hundred. I started out

doing planetary geothermal surveys with my parents, which is where I got

interested in artifact recovery. Something to think about, if you’re

considering specializing – you get to travel a lot, and you get a better
                                                                          62

scope of what it must have been like for pre-League species.” I still missed

hopping around and exploring different systems, but now that Mom and

Dad were permanently settled, I didn’t feel like traveling alone.

      “It must have been isolated and dull,” one of the other students said.

“Imagine being stuck on one planet for your entire existence, never

knowing any other culture. Light-speed transportation is the greatest

development in galactic civilization.”

      “Which led to inter-species slavery and warfare,” Andar said, putting

an immediate damper on everyone’s spirits.

      “Which we’re trying to overcome.” I stood up. “Let’s initiate the

security grid and get some rest while we can. The drones will reach the

city by sunrise.”

      The team had already decided on their sleeping arrangements,

which left me to pick who I wanted to bunk with for the night. I was

tempted to squeeze in with some of the students, but site protocol made

me head over to the Captain’s shelter. He followed me in without

comment, and secured the shelter entry as I stripped off my outerwear

and stretched out on my narrow cot.

      “You deal well with young ones,” he said as he unfastened his flight

jacket.
                                                                              63

       I pillowed my head on my arm and watched him strip down to his

waist. “I like them; they’re good kids.” I covered a yawn. “I’ve set my

wristcom with a pre-dawn alarm; don’t let it scare you in the morning.”

       “I doubt I will sleep.” He began to wrap his upper torso with

thermals, reminding me that he needed extra insulation to be comfortable.

       “Do you want me to get a temperature regulator?” I’d brought

some of the portable envirocontrollers down from the ship. “I don’t mind

heat.” In fact, I loved it.

       He shook his head. “I prefer the natural alternative, but I have no

wish to offend you.”

       It took a minute to process what he was saying, but I wasn’t

offended. “You won’t fit in this cot,” I warned him, “and I think I snore.”

       “We could push our cots together.” He gave me a speculative look.

“And I could wake you if you snore too loudly, Delancy.”

       “Okay.” I got up and dragged his cot over and clamped the side

frame to mine. “If we’re going to be sleeping together, you might as well

call me Keasa.”

       He inclined his head. “My given name is Sev.”

       It took another few minutes for us to lie down and find a mutually

comfortable arrangement of limbs. Turned out that we both liked sleeping

on our left sides, so I ended up with my back against his front, one of his

arms draped over my waist, and his tail wrapped around my legs. His skin
                                                                           64

felt stiff and cool against mine at first, then it grew softer and warmer as

he absorbed and reflected my body heat.

      “Yours is not a human name,” he said against my hair.

      “No, it’s not.” I could just imagine what Mom would say if she knew I

was bunking down with a crossbreed reptile. Lots of words my little

brother wasn’t supposed to hear. “My mother is a xenobotanist.”

      “She chose well.” Sev’s breath brushed the back of my neck as he

tucked a piece of my hair under my head. “Pleasant dreams, Keasa.”

      “You, too.” I closed my eyes and let myself settle into the heat and

the dark.

                                      #

      The dream I had wasn’t pleasant at all – it was one of those slow,

terrifying ones that creep up around you and smother you with fear. I

knew it from the moment I emerged from mindless sleep into the hidden

vault of the Deddelen breeding temple that it would be bad.

      I was naked, cold, and the broken bodies of humanoids lay scattered

like bloodied dolls all around me. Bugs were buzzing around the remains,

which had been dead long enough to acquire a nice crop of maggots. I’d

seen a lot of corpses in my time, but not until they’d been dried out for a

few centuries. This was way too recent – I wanted to vomit, scream and

run all at the same time.

      It is time for you to come to me, Keasa.
                                                                            65

      Nothing like a scary omnipotent voice coming out of nowhere to add

to the ambience of the tableau. I backed away from the bodies, but I

couldn’t see a way out. Who are you?

      Another voice answered me. Something is wrong.

      I woke up in a panic, tried to sit up and bumped heads with Sev

Andar. He was still wrapped around me, but we were facing each other.

“Huh?”

      “Quiet.” He lifted his head and flicked out his tongue a few times.

Every muscle in his body tensed. “Something has happened. We are in

another place.”

      I glanced over his shoulder. “Looks like the same shelter to me.”

      “It is not the shelter that has changed.” He unwound his tail from

my legs. “The air tastes different.”

      We got dressed as quickly and quietly as possible, then Andar

handed me a pulse weapon. “Keep it,” he said, when I would have

protested. “I do not know what is out there waiting for us.”

      “Probably just Hudeca with breakfast.” I had a weird feeling, though,

so I tucked it in my belt as he opened the entry a few inches. “See

anything?”

      He stepped back, then grabbed my arm and pulled me over. I looked

through the gap, and saw a weathered stone wall standing in the middle of
                                                                           66

what had been our campsite. The wall stretched out in both directions,

farther than I could see.

      I backed away. “This is some kind of practical joke.” And if it was, I

was going to strangle the responsible party. Slowly.

      “No, I do not believe it is.” Sev nodded toward the view panel at the

back of the shelter. I went and opened it, and yelped. On the other side of

the shelter was an alley and two old structures with open doorways. “As I

thought. We are inside the City of the Dead.”

                                      #

      We tried signaling camp on our wristcoms, but they wouldn’t

transmit.

      As I saw it, there was only one explanation for how our shelter

ended up in the worst spot in the galaxy: “Someone moved us here during

the night.” I didn’t feel drugged or crazy, though. “But why?”

      “We must leave, now.” Sev took a moment to shove a few more

weapons in his jacket and belt before opening the entry. “Ready?”

      I nodded, and followed him out.

      There were no other shelters besides ours in the vicinity – maybe

the rest of the team hadn’t been brought here like us. The city sprawled

around us, reminding me of the pretty, empty shell of a deadly sea

creature. Everywhere there were fascinating structures, all hewn from

the same amber stone, polished smooth and seamless by the passage of
                                                                            67

countless centuries. There were no angles or corners; like the walls and

streets of the city, everything was rounded. The pristine condition of the

ruins struck me as odd – samples had been tested and accurately dated,

so we knew the City of the Dead was at least a couple of million years old –

yet the streets appeared clean and debris-free, as if a maintenance drone

had swept them an hour ago.

      “Do you smell it?” Sev asked me, his voice tight.

      I breathed in, catching a trace of something unpleasant. My sense

of smell was not as keen as his, though. “What is it? A dead body?”

      He enabled his pulse weapon and approached one of the open

doorways, then pressed himself against the wall before having a quick look

inside. “Signs of occupation,” he told me.

      I went over and had a look myself. The interior of the house was full

furnished – rather simply but beautifully – and there was food and dishes

sitting on a table. The food was spoiled, as if it had been sitting out for a

few weeks, which explained the nasty odor. “There are no prep units, no

emergency packs.”

      He met my shocked gaze. “Why does that concern you?”

      “This is a dead world – no water, no botanicals, no life forms.

There’s no sign of the colonists, either.” I nodded toward the prepared

meal. “So where did dinner come from?”
                                                                                 68

      There was a small screech of metal behind us, and I turned and

nearly shot one of our survey drones. “Damn it, you stupid bucket of bolts,

announce yourself next time.”

      “Hi, there. Would you like me to show you the way?” the drone

asked politely. “I know the fastest route.”

      The voice – not to mention the syntax – were totally wrong.

“Someone’s reprogrammed it,” I said as I went to open its front access

panel. It trundled out of reach. “Hold your position,” I snapped at it.

      “I will not. You’ll just have to find it yourself, then.” It backed away

and turned as if to go.

      “Wait,” Sev called out. “We apologize.”

      I stared at him. “We do? To a drone?”

      The drone swiveled its torso around to face us. “I don’t want her

fiddling with my components.”

      I started to tell it where it could shove its components, but Sev

nudged me and shook his head. “She will not,” he said to the drone.

“Would you show us to the outer retaining wall of the city?”

      The drone buzzed for a moment as if thinking it over. “That’s thirty

miles from here on foot, and there’s really nothing to see there. Besides,

she’s waiting for you at the arc. Come along, now.”
                                                                                 69

         I didn’t want to follow the damn thing, especially to where she was

waiting for us. At the same time, I didn’t want to hang around waiting for

her to trap us in some alley.

         “What’s the arc?” I asked the drone when I caught up to it.

         “The central arcanum,” it told me, still sounding a little miffed. “You

know, she was very careful with you, and it isn’t as if she invites outsiders

in every day. You could show a little gratitude.”

         “Oh, we’re very grateful,” I said, playing along. “In fact, I plan to thank

her personally. Who is she?”

         It hummed for a minute, processing that. “She is she, of course.”

         “Of course.” A glitter of light caught my eye, and I looked ahead to

see a very different-looking dome-shaped structure of rounded, glassy

black material set in the center of a waist-high amber stone maze. Unlike

the rest of the city, this looked alien and brand-new. “Is that black dome

this arc you were telling us about?”

         “Aren’t you insightful for a human?” The drone led us up to the

entrance to the maze, then halted. “You may as well leave your weapons

here.”

         I pointed my pulse pistol at its power cell. “I don’t think so.”

         “They won’t work inside the city unless she permits it.”

         I pulled the trigger, and nothing happened. “Shit.” I glanced at Sev,

who was staring at the black dome. “Yours?”
                                                                           70

      “I have already tested them. The cells are completely drained.” He

began removing them and placed them on the top of the short wall.

      I put mine alongside his before I stepped into the maze. The

moment I did, everything around me vanished, and I was enveloped in

complete darkness. “Hey!” I tried backing out and bumped into Sev.

“What happened to the light?”

      He turned and ran into a solid surface, judging by the thump and the

grunt. “There is a wall here now.” His scales rasped over something. “No

way out.”

      Someone laughed nearby, and I could feel the hair rising on the back

of my neck. “Who’s in here? Show yourself!” I shouted.

      A sweet smell drifted to my nose, and I felt something brush my

cheek. When I swatted at it, it stung my palm, and I yelped. Sev hissed

and grabbed me, hauling me back against him, but his arms sagged the

same time the strength went out of my legs.

      We fell together, and the last thing I felt was his tail winding around

me in a protective embrace.

                                      #

      It is time for you to awaken, Keasa.

      I didn’t want to open my eyes. Sev was holding me, and he felt big

and warm and sleek against my body. Who would have guessed a snake

‘breed like him would turn out to be so cuddly?
                                                                            71

      You are well-suited. The omnipotent voice sounded amused.

      “I know that’s not my mother,” I murmured, rubbing my cheek

against Sev’s Tawwa brand. “She wouldn’t talk if she found us in bed

together.”

      Sev stroked my back with a lazy hand. “What would she do?” He

sounded drowsy.

      “Probably dismember you first, ask questions later.”

      You’ll have time enough for this when we are through here,

children. I have a problem for you to solve now.

      I suddenly remembered the city, the drone, and the black dome, and

opened my eyes. Sev and I were lying together on a simple mat on a stone

floor, next to a huge black wall covered with intricate golden pictographs.

We were both naked. Next to the wall stood a very large female Tingalean,

also naked. As I watched her, trying to think of what to say, I felt Sev pull

me closer.

      “Welcome, human and first-hatched.”

      He bared both sets of fangs. “You are not my nest mother.”

      “No, I am not, but this visage is serves my purpose.” It gestured with

two of its twelve abbreviated limblets. “Stand up, both of you.”

      Slowly we got up from the mat. I felt shaky and light-headed, and if

Sev hadn’t been holding onto me I probably would have fallen on my face.

He was trembling a little, too.
                                                                         72

      “Who are you, and where are we?” I glanced down at myself. “And

where are our clothes?”

      “I am Dsa,” it told me. “You are three hundred meters below the

surface of this planet, in my central repository. I removed your garments

to see if you were carrying any other weapons. They fell apart. Why did

you come here?”

      “We’re trying to find a missing ship.” I didn’t know about Sev’s

trousers, but my underwear was new, and certainly wouldn’t fall apart.

“There were a lot of people on board.”

      “You must mean the humanoids who invaded my city.” Dsa sighed

rather dramatically. “They’re all dead. What else do you want?”

      “Did you kill them?”

      “They killed each other.” Dsa slithered down the wall and touched

one of the pictographs, waited, then hissed and pressed another.

“Watch.”

      Instantly the chamber went away, and we were back on the surface

in the city. I saw humanoids dressed in envirosuits moving through the

streets, their faces terrified, their weapons drawn and enabled. They were

firing at something. I tried to grab one of them, but my hands passed

through the colonist as if he were a ghost.
                                                                               73

      “These are merely stored images,” Dsa told me, slapping my face

with the tip of her tail. The impact nearly knocked me on my butt. “You

cannot touch them.”

      “What are they shooting at?” Sev demanded.

      “Each other. Their brain chemistry was altered by Sdu, the surface

defense unit.” She turned, and the surface vanished, returning us back to

the chamber. “As defense system administrator, I myself did not become

aware of them until they were all dead, but that is generally the case.” She

shook her head. “Poor Sdu. So overworked, so unappreciated.”

      I didn’t like her attitude, or this killer Sdu thing, or the fact that she’d

slapped me. “Why are we still alive?”

      “You did not invade the city,” she said. “I was still disposing of the

bodies from the last intrusion when you landed, so I deactivated Sdu and

brought you here myself. Systems must be maintained. I require some

explanation.”

      “You need what?” I uttered a bitter laugh. “You’ve killed or driven

crazy everyone who has set foot in this place – what don’t you

understand?”

      “Sdu does that, not I.” She moved to another pictograph and

touched it. This time a vid screen appeared on the wall, showing a map of

the city – and what appeared to be an even bigger structure beneath it.

“There are two systems defending this arcanum – myself, and Sdu, which
                                                                            74

constructed the city to resemble one of your abandoned settlements.

When a living being enters it, their body heat activates Sdu’s autosystems.

Traps are baited to lure the intruders, and their brain chemistry is altered

by the chemicals they absorb. This causes them to exterminate each

other. If they do not take the bait, Sdu uses a sonic disruptor to broadcast

a high-frequency stream throughout the city. The resulting brain damage

prevents the intruders from entering my level.”

      “It fries their brains permanently, too.” I thought of the food we had

seen, waiting on the table, and the images she’d produced. Something

was very wrong with this whole scenario, but I couldn’t tell what or even

why I felt that way. “What is the arcanum?”

      “It is knowledge stored by my creators, those you call the Founding

Race, here and on a thousand other worlds. The collected wisdom from a

billion centuries of evolution.” She smirked a little. “That is why your kind

come here, is it not? To steal from my creators? Sdu cannot be

conquered.”

      I tried to imagine how much knowledge could have been stored over

a billion centuries – that was too many zeroes to grasp – and all by a

prehistoric species fabled to have seeded a hundred thousand worlds with

their DNA. That made Ulundu IV even more dangerous than anyone had

ever imagined. “It’s all here? In this chamber?”

      “Here and in other places.” She didn’t seem too sure.
                                                                            75

      “But no one came here for this – they just wanted to see the city,” I

told her. “Those colonists your surface unit killed were stranded here by

accident.”

      “They killed themselves, and I cannot differentiate.” She seemed

pretty unconcerned.

      “I thought you said you didn’t know they were here until they were all

dead.”

      She sighed. “Yes, well, had I known, I would not have differentiated.”

      Sev rose up to his full height, and his head hood arched. “But you

did with us.”

      Dsa regarded him with amusement. “I brought you here, first-

hatched, because you would not come otherwise. It is not my duty to herd

witless intruders away from harm. Systems must be maintained. Your

kind should have recognized the dangers on this planet long ago.”

      “Yeah, well, now we know.” I stepped between her and Sev. “We’ll

just go back to our camp, collect my team and take off.”

      “You have seen the lower level,” she told me, still very blasé. “I

cannot permit you to leave.”

      Sev tried to push me out of the way, but I hit him in the abdominal

plate with my elbow. “So what are you going to do with us?” I asked her.

      She made a grand gesture. “I will allow you to dwell in the city. You

may breed, if you like.”
                                                                              76

      “But the city will kill us,” I reminded her. “And there is no food or

water on this planet.”

      “I will see to your needs. Systems must be maintained.” She

touched another spot on the wall, and a rounded hole appeared in the wall.

“Go back to the city.”

      Do not leave, Keasa, the omnipotent voice whispered inside my

skull. And you, Sev, press the fourth rectangle on the left.

      Sev’s eye slits narrowed as he met my gaze. He was hearing it too,

because while Dsa was looking at me, he pressed something near him.

      The door abruptly closed, and Dsa frowned and touched the same

space on the wall again. Nothing happened.

      “You have not maintained your systems,” Sev said, moving a little

closer toward her. “Have you?”

      “What do you know?” She slithered over and without warning

slapped at him with the end of her tail. He blocked the blow with two of his

arms, but one of her tail spikes gashed his hand. “You know nothing of me.

I know these systems. I control them. I control everything. Systems must

be maintained.”

      That was what had been bugging me. She knew a hell of a lot about

the surface, but had been pretty vague about things down here. And the

way she acted, and kept repeating systems must be maintained – just like

a bolthead with fried circuits.
                                                                           77

      “Um, Dsa?” I went to the wall, drawing her attention to me. “Tell

me, what does this thing do?” I asked, pointing at a scroll-shaped

pictograph.

      Do not press it, the voice said behind my eyes. That will remove

the oxygen from the room.

      “It is a recording device,” Dsa told me.

      “How about this one?” I pointed to another at random, trying not to

look at Sev. From the corner of my eye I saw him moving into position.

      Press the one three rows to the right of that, the voice told me.

But do not allow her to see you do it.

      “It measures some type of thermal fluctuations.” She made an

impatient sound. “Why do you ask these questions?”

      “Oh, I don’t know.” I shuffled back a few steps, counting rows until I

was even with a golden star shape that looked a little recessed. “For

someone in charge, you don’t seem to know much.”

      I rested a hand against the star, and then I did something that I

rarely did in mixed company – I triggered a dermal change, which

rendered me invisible.

      That is the one, the voice confirmed.

      Dsa’s head hood arched as she looked around for me. “Where are

you? Where did you go?”
                                                                             78

       “Guess.” I pressed the star, then moved away. As I did, I altered my

colors to match the surfaces around me.

       “Keasa?” Sev looked confused, but he couldn’t see me either.

       “It’s okay.” A bright light flooded the chamber, and I moved again,

closer to Sev. “I think someone else is in charge now.”

       Dsa shrieked as the light coalesced into a semi-transparent form. It

was a beautiful humanoid male with dark hair and very light skin. It

shimmered in the air like a holoimage, but the Tingalean female backed

away from it as if it were a fully-armed Hsktskt.

       “You are in need of repair,” the image said in a lovely, resonant

voice. “Terminate your autofunctions immediately.”

       “I will not,” she told him, sounding like a sulky child. “And you cannot

make me.”

       Sev moved then, so fast I barely had time to blink. A lunge, a whip of

his tail, and Dsa hit the stone floor. In two separate pieces, with

component wire spilling out of the torn ends of both. Her Tingalean

exterior crackled and faded, revealing the drone beneath the projected

outer hololayer.

       Her eyeslits became two red optical processors. “I am not . . .

finished . . . with . . . ” Her lights dimmed, and she stopped moving and

talking.

       I changed back, resuming my Terran dermal colors.
                                                                          79

      The image hovered over her, looking sad. “She served the city well,

until a few centuries ago. By the time I realized she was

malfunctioning, she had already seized control of the lower level

domain.” He glanced at me and Sev. “I must apologize for my

colleague’s activities.”

      “She’s the surface unit, isn’t she? Sdu. And you’re Dsa,” I guessed.

      He nodded. “We were designed to protect this arcanum, not to

harm the beings who came here. We merely monitored them, and only

altered the memories of those who found evidence of our creators.

Regrettably, one of the visitors fired a weapon at Sdu, and the resulting

damage led to her malfunction. She disabled me and took over control

of the defense grid.”

      “So all the people who disappeared are dead.”

      Dsa nodded. “I am sorry, Keasa. You and Sev are the first beings

I have been able to communicate with since Sdu’s malfunction. The

rest she damaged or forced to kill each other from the moment they

entered the city, before I could access their minds.”

      “Why didn’t she hurt us?”

      “In all the centuries, you are the first two visitors who did not

wish to enter the city. I believe she was curious as to why.” Dsa moved
                                                                            80

to the wall. “I will return you and Sev to your companions on the

surface.”

       “And that is all?” Sev sounded as angry as I felt. “How will we know if

you fix her? What if she begins killing again?”

       It regarded us both for a moment. “Sdu will remain offline, and

there will be no more killing. I will allow your kind to enter and

investigate the city above in safety. Should anyone try to enter the

lower level, I will remove their memories.”

       “What about us?” I didn’t want my mind wiped. “Are you going to

stir our brains, too?”

       “You will not tell anyone.” Dsa smiled at me. “There is work for

you to do now.”

       His image increased to a painful brightness, then Sev and I were

pulled into the light.

                                      #

       The pre-dawn alarm from my wristcom woke me from a deep,

comfortable sleep.

       I opened my eyes to see Sev watching me. We were back in our

shelter, lying together, as if everything that had happened had been some

kind of a bad dream. I felt my cheek throb and lifted a hand to touch it.
                                                                          81

      “That was real, wasn’t it?” I murmured, gingerly probing the fresh

bruise. “Not a bad dream.”

      “It was real.” He examined his gashed hand, which was still oozing a

little purple blood. Then he gave me a slightly indignant look. “You told me

that you were human.”

      “I said I was Terran, and I am – three-quarters, anyway.” I grinned

and stretched, allowing different colors to ripple through my skin. “My

mother is half Kobecian.”

      He admired my showing-off for a moment. “Now I understand your

given name.”

      “My little brother lucked out in the recessive genes department; he

got my grandfather’s tail and the claws. I got grandmother’s name and

the color-changing hide.” My smile faded as everything sank in. “All those

poor people, Sev. My God. And we can’t tell anyone what happened.” I

met his gaze. “We can’t, right?”

      “Dsa was correct in assuming that I will not tell anyone. You?”

      “Me, tell people that a berserk superdrone murdered everyone to

protect a storage facility with a million centuries of knowledge on tap?” I

shook my head. “Even if they didn’t throw me in the nearest psych ward,

exposing the arcanum would be worse than anything Sdu’s had done.

Besides, we have to . . . ” I trailed off as an image formed behind my eyes.

“Hey, are you seeing star charts in your head?”
                                                                          82

        He had the same faraway look in his eyes. “Yes, hundreds of them.”

        This was not the only arcanum; there were many more. Here and

on a thousand other worlds, Sdu had said. And Dsa’s last remark – There

is work for you to do now.

        As more of the implanted instructions popped in my head,

everything became very clear. We hadn’t been brainwashed; what Dsa

wanted us to do was a request, not a demand. The arcanum was much

more than a repository of knowledge. It was hope for a distant time in the

future, when our kind evolved enough and that incredible collection of

wisdom gathered by the Founding Race could be safely passed along. In

the meantime, it had to be protected, and as more and more worlds were

colonized and explored, so did those living around near its many storage

facilities.

        The arcanum needed new guardians – guardians who could travel,

who could be trusted – and who could not be accidentally reprogrammed.

In return, the guardians would have access to what they guarded.

        Full access.

        “You know, I’ve been meaning to take some time off, do a little

independent investigation.” I eyed Sev as he came to his own conclusions.

“How about you?”
                                                                              83

      “I think I am glad that I am pledged to life, and that you are part

reptilian,” he said, wrapping his tail around me again, “but will I have to

meet your mother?”
                                                                           84

                                    Touch

                                 by S.L. Viehl



      “Why don’t blind people skydive?”

      I turned in the darkness toward the voice, which was warm, male,

and didn’t belong in my garden. “Because it scares the hell out of the dog.”

I put down the pot of geraniums I was replanting. My security guard didn’t

know it yet, but he was fired.

      The stranger chuckled. “He doesn’t look like a real tough guy.”

      “He’s meaner than he looks.” I stood and used a hand signal, and

felt Mid drop out of defense into watch mode beside me. “Help you with

something?”

      “Coral Bay sent me over – I’m Thomas Jackson, your new physical

therapist.”

      Anyone might know what hospital I went to for treatments, and the

security guard was new and oh, so fired. “Which doc and why?”

      “Dr. Trovanni. Little guy, big gruff Italian voice. He said you’ve been

having some back problems.” Thomas didn’t sound nervous, just a little

concerned. “Would you like to call hospital to verify things?”

      “That’s okay.” I held out my right hand to my new therapist. “Olivia

Edgeway. Call me Livy.”
                                                                               85

      “I’m Tom.” He had a nice grip, firm but gentle, and very smooth

palms. He was smiling, too, I could hear it in his voice. “May I say hello to

your dog?”

      “Sure, hold out the back of your hand to him. Tom, this is Midas.

Mid, friend.” I felt Tom’s body heat as he bent over, and heard my dog

sniff. His tail wagged three times before he went back into watcher

stance. “Don’t let the lack of enthusiasm bother you; he’s a little

protective.”

      “As he should be. Beautiful animal – Labrador?”

      “Golden retriever.”

      “Ah. That explains the name.” Tom’s voice shifted higher as he

straightened; I figured him to be about six-four. “Olivia – Livy – I’ve gone

over your chart, but I’d like to hear your take on things before we get

started.”

      “No problem. Come on inside.” I tugged on Mid’s harness, and

started in the direction of the back door of my kitchen. My dog moved

ahead of me, then tugged to the right to remind me not to walk into the

little bronze fountain.     “Amazing place,” Tom said as he followed us in.

“This was once a villa in France, wasn’t it?”

      “Italy. My folks had it disassembled and shipped over, brick by brick.

They were big on architecture.” For his benefit I flicked on the kitchen light,

then released Mid and went to the fridge. My live-in housekeeper was off
                                                                             86

for the week, sunning herself in Palm Springs, so I had hostess duty.

“Would you like some ice water?”

      “Please.” The chair on the right side of my table creaked.

      So far he hadn’t made any of the mistakes most sighted people did,

like trying to help me with the door or patting my dog, which was

promising. I removed two glasses from the cabinets, filled them over the

sink, and brought them to the table before I slowly sat down.

      I was hot and stiff from working outside, so I took a drink before I

went into why he’d been sent to me. “My arthritis started up when I was

twenty, and it’s aggressive. Over the last fifteen years, I’ve had both hips

and my right shoulder replaced, and I’ll need a new left elbow pretty soon.

My back’s the worst right now; I haven’t been sleeping much. The doc

thinks my back is tension.”

      I heard him swallow some water before he asked, “When did you go

blind?”

      “Ten years ago, also thanks to the arthritis.” I’d nearly gone crazy,

too, but he’d probably read about that, too. My dog heard the change in

my tone and chuffed out some air. “Midas has been pretty decent as my

replacement eyes, but I’m still adjusting.”

      “You don’t take pain killers.”

      I shook my head. “Another handicap I don’t need.”
                                                                                  87

      “Smart. Your chart said you’re controlling your arthritis through

diet. How’s that working for you, Livy?”

      Sounded like he’d memorized my chart. “I feel like a big bunny

sometimes, but it’s okay.” I was lying, it sucked. My parents’ restaurants

made something like ten million cheeseburgers every year, and I couldn’t

have a single one. “No sugar, flour, salt, meat or processed food – I live on

rice and vegetables -- but I haven’t had as much inflammation as when I

was on the meds.”

      “How do you feel about in-home therapy?”

      I shrugged. Odd, but it was like he was stalling for time. Maybe he

was more nervous than I was. “As long as you don’t tie me into a knot or

steal any of the family silver, it’s fine with me. Can we get started?”

      “Of course.” The smile was back in his voice, a little forced. “The

best place to do this is an elevated flat surface, like this table or a bed, if

you’re comfortable with that.”

      “Table.” I wasn’t going to test Mid’s patience and bring him into my

bedroom – my dog was used to being the only male allowed in there. I

stood up. “I’ll go change. Should I strip to the underwear, or the skin?”

      “A loose robe and skin would be best.” He picked up our glasses and

carried them over to the counter. Glass chinked as it met Formica. “I’m

going to lay out a mat on the table.”
                                                                             88

         I left him in the kitchen and had Mid guide me to my room. He didn’t

like me undressing and came over to sniff at my bare legs and whine.

         After I slipped into my night robe I reached down to scratch him

behind his right, rather lopsided ear. “Easy, boy. He’s going to fix my

back.”

         We went back to the kitchen. “Ready?”

         “Just about.” Tom came to me. “I’m going to lift you onto the table

now, Olivia. Hands on your waist.”

         I nodded and released Mid’s harness. Tom’s hands on my bare skin

still made me jerk a little, but he lifted me quickly and sat me on what felt

like a foam rubber pad covered with terry cloth. Mid came over to the

edge and licked my hand.

         “If you’ll stretch out on your stomach, we’ll get started.” There was

the sound of cloth rubbing against skin. He was rolling up his sleeves.

Some metal jingled in his pocket. “I’m going to work your muscles first,

from your neck to your hips. If anything hurts, tell me.”

         I cradled my face against my folded arms and tried to relax as he

began kneading my shoulders.

         “You’ve got some tense muscles here, Livy,” Tom said as he worked

on me. “What’s worrying you?”

         “Nothing much.” My last book had gone to auction, and no one had

any idea that bestselling horror author Jason Black was actually the blind
                                                                               89

crippled heir to the country’s third-largest fast-food franchise. I kept it that

way, too. Mid was terrific company, and I’d come to terms with everything

else in my life. If I got a little bored now and then, it was tolerable. Not like

I could go out and paint the town red or any other color. “I spend a lot of

time on the computer.”

       He used his thumbs on either side of my neck, pressing in. “Got one

with voice recognition?”

       “Yeah. It even reads to me.” I was getting a bit uncomfortable with

the amount of pressure he was using. “That hurts, Tom. Can you move

on?”

       “It won’t much longer.” He planted an elbow in the middle of my

back, pushed his fingers around to the front of my neck and increased the

pressure. “Sorry, Olivia. You seem like a great lady.”

       I tried to yell, but his grip kept me from getting any air. The door

opened and closed quickly. I heard Mid snarl, then whimper, then I didn’t

hear anything at all.

                                        #

       “Olivia.”

       Blind people don’t have to open their eyes, but I did out of reflex. For

a minute I was confused – there was no darkness, but light – bright

buttery light that I hadn’t seen since I was a kid. I lifted a hand up to my
                                                                              90

face, but I couldn’t see it. So the light was bullshit. “Where am I? What

happened?”

      “This is a deciding place.” The voice was nice but distant, as if the

speaker was far away. I couldn’t tell if it was male or female. “A man

attacked you. You’re dying, Olivia.”

      If a tunnel and my dead parents suddenly appeared, I was going to

freak. But why was I dying? Tom Jackson, the new therapist – I

remembered him, vaguely. He’d grabbed my neck, knocked me out – but

why? And what did I have to decide? “I’ll just go back to sleep now.”

      “You’re not asleep, Olivia. You’re in a coma in a hospital. In a few

hours the doctors will declare you brain dead and remove you from life

support.” The speaker didn’t sound very sympathetic. “You have to decide

whether you wish to live or die.”

      I wanted to live, but this had to be a trick question. “Will I be

paralyzed or something? Will I be worse off than I was?”

      “No. If you choose to live, your arthritis will be cured and your vision

restored.”

      I laughed. “Hey, if you’re God, you’re really nice.”

      “I am not God.” He, she, or it was miffed, though.

      The light started to get hot, like the sun. “Then why the miracle

healing?”
                                                                                 91

         “You can do something in return for me.” Something moved in front

of me – something big and dark and fuzzy. “It won’t hurt, Olivia. You’ll

never hurt again.”

         Being able to see anything was scary enough, but this sounded like

soul-selling or something. “I don’t understand. I don’t know you. What do

you want? Money?” I had piles, not-God could have some. Just not all of

it.

         “Decide now, before it’s too late for me to bring you back.”

         I wanted to see Mid, and my house, and my geraniums. I wanted to

watch the cops toss Tom Jackson’s ass in jail for the rest of his life. I

wanted to see and not to hurt, period. “Okay, so fix me already.”

         “Initiate injection sequence.”

         Light filled my skull like yellow fire, and I found out not-God had lied.

                                          #

         The next time I opened my eyes, they worked.

         I could see a man in a white lab coat, and equipment, and the

bottom half of my bed. I could see my bare toes sticking up from the edge

of the sheet. At first it was all blurry, but slowly everything sharpened into

focus.

         I spent what felt like an hour just looking at my toes. Someone had

trimmed the nails, and there was a little scab across the third toe on my

right foot. I had pretty feet. I didn’t know that.
                                                                               92

      The man came over and checked my eyes a couple of times with a

light. That was when I found out I couldn’t speak. I tried, but nothing came

out and my mouth wouldn’t move. He didn’t speak, either, but wrote things

down on some kind of handheld unit. He was tall, dark but average-looking,

and had kind of small brown eyes.

      I didn’t care that I couldn’t talk, but I wished I could have told him

that he’d missed a spot on his jaw, shaving.

      Something strange had happened to my body. I was in it, but it

wasn’t responding to me. At the same time, I didn’t feel paralyzed. I could

feel the brush of air conditioning against my face, and the weight of the

sheets on my skin. All the nerves were working, and I felt better than I had

in years – rested, full of energy, and no twinges of pain from my swollen

joints. Even when I was a kid I hadn’t felt this good.

      Finally the man in the lab coat put down the handheld unit and left. I

wanted to call him back so I could look at him some more.

      “Good morning, Olivia.” It was the voice from my not-God dream.

Still couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. “Standard response.”

      “Good morning,” I heard myself say – or my throat say, the words

weren’t mine, and neither was the idea. If they’d been my words, I’d have

said something like, “Come here so I can kiss you, whatever you are.”

      “Enable vocal input. You can speak to me now, Olivia.”

      I took a deep breath, and tried. “Hi. I can see.”
                                                                              93

          “Yes, I know.” That sounded a little sad this time. “I’ve restored your

sight.”

          I glanced up. There was a set of windows at the top of the room,

and a man sitting behind the glass. He didn’t look happy. “How did you do

it? What hospital is this?”

          “You’re not in a hospital. This is my private lab.”

          Somebody had written one hell of a referral. I grinned. “Thanks for

giving me my eyes back, doc. This is just –” There simply weren’t words.

“What’s your name?”

          “I’m William Kennedy.”

          I knew that name. “Wait a minute . . . you’re that guy on the

Discovery Channel.” He’d sounded different on TV. “The mini-robot guy,

right?”

          “That’s me. Why don’t I come down and explain things?”

          “I’m not going anywhere. Is that temporary, or permanent?” I was

so happy I really didn’t care. Stick my ass in a wheelchair and cart me

around – I could see. I could really see.

          “Give me a second.” He stood up, reached for something, then

moved away from the window in a jerky way. I saw why a minute later

when he gimped into the room, using forearm-supported steel canes to

brace his body. His trousers didn’t quite conceal the fact that both of his

legs were oddly twisted from the mid-thigh down.
                                                                                  94

      I wanted to see my dog. “Where’s Midas?”

      He hobbled over to the side of my bed, and eased himself into the

chair there. “I need to tell you some things first.”

      I looked around. “He can come in here, right? I mean, I’ve never

seen my own dog, and – ”

      “Olivia, Midas is dead.”

      All the air went out of my lungs. “What? How?”

      “You were attacked in your home, and your security guard was killed.

The intruder ransacked your house and took most of your valuables. He

also strangled you and left you for dead. One of your neighbors noticed

your gate had been left open, found the guard and then discovered you.

She was able to get you breathing again, but there was massive brain

damage.”

      I felt the wetness of tears running down my cheeks. “Mid?”

      “It was very quick.”

      I tried to focus on the other things he’d said. “You said there was

brain damage. I don’t feel any stupider.”

      “You’re not. I was able to heal it.”

      I knew enough about medicine to know that was pretty unlikely.

“How?”

      “By injecting you with bioflex. They’re self-replicating artificial cells

which have replaced the ones destroyed by the oxygen deprivation. They
                                                                                95

encode themselves from your own DNA. I also programmed them to

remove the arthritis and restore your vision.”

      He was serious. “Did Darth Vader show you how to do that, or

Captain Kirk?”

      His mouth curled on one side. “It will probably take some time for

you to accept the idea. I’m rather astonished myself at the results.”

      So this hadn’t been a sure thing. I felt like clubbing him over the

head with one of his canes. “You used me as a guinea pig? What did my

doctors have to say about this?”

      “You were dying, Olivia. I had no choice.” He looked down at his

twisted legs. “Jerry and I had to take you from the hospital.”

      He’d stolen me – like some grave robber. Pre-grave robber. Maybe

they were going to harvest my organs while I was still alive. Oh, hell, why

had I read so many of Robin Cook’s novels? “Okay, we’ll get back to that.

I’m grateful that I can see, but why can’t I move?”

      He didn’t want to say it or look at me, but finally he lifted his head.

His eyes were green as the grass I used to run across when I was five and

could still see and run. “I haven’t programmed you to do that yet. Disable

vocal input.”

      And then I couldn’t speak again.

                                       #
                                                                             96

      Dr. Frankenstein put me to sleep with another verbal command (I

found out later that I was already programmed to respond to a bunch of

those) and while I was out I guess he tinkered on me a little more. When I

regained consciousness the second time, he kept my mouth disabled and

put me to work. His assistant Jerry silently supervised me, watching as I

went from getting in and out of my bed by myself to a fairly rigorous

workout on a bunch of gym equipment he had set up in a room adjacent to

mine. Kennedy issued commands from the control room, and Jerry kept

watching me while I adjusted to being sighted and mobile.

      I tried to fight the commands, of course. I tried every single time he

ordered me to do something. Whatever Kennedy had put inside my head

wouldn’t allow me to twitch so much as an eyelash voluntarily. He either

didn’t want me to have free will at all, or figured I’d be so grateful for him

fixing me that I’d go along with whatever he wanted.

      I didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, Kennedy had not only saved

my life, but he’d given me back my sight and my mobility. On the other,

he’d hijacked me from the hospital, injected me with God Knew What and

now was playing with me like I was an oversized Walks-By-Herself Barbie.

      I’d just finished my daily afternoon workout when Kennedy limped in

and ordered me to accompany him to a room I’d never been in before. It

was set up like a nice library, with comfy chairs, a fireplace, and thousands
                                                                          97

of leather-bound books. He told me to sit across from him and then

inspected me. “You’ve done very well, Olivia.”

      I inspected him. He looked terrible, which made me a little happier.

      “Disable motor functions. Enable vocal input.”

      “About time.” My voice sounded raspy. “Why are you keeping me

from talking?”

      “I knew you’d be angry.” He set his canes to one side. “I know what

I’m doing is wrong, but we don’t have a great deal of time.”

      “What’s the hurry?”

      “I need you to rescue someone. Access memory file Kennedy-

seventeen-R-one.”

      Information and images flooded into my mind. A little boy, a heavily

guarded research facility. Billions of dollars, thousands of drugs made

from microscopic robots that could repair a body from the inside out. An

explosion. A dying woman. A gorgeous man with silver-blond hair and

bright blue eyes.

      My brain told me that the boy was Kennedy’s son Paul, and the

woman was his wife, Lana. The woman – Lana – she’d been killed in an

explosion at Kennedy’s research facility. She’d also been having an affair

with the gorgeous guy, who had kidnapped her son.
                                                                             98

        I knew way too much about Lana. “That man is keeping Paul in your

home, in Beverly Hills. You want me to go in and take Paul away from him.

Who is he?”

        “Tom Jackson, the man who tried to kill you. He doesn’t know my

wife is dead. You’re going to take her place.”

        “That’s great, but I don’t look a damn thing like your wife.”

        “You’re the same height and weight. I can change the rest.”

        Not without comprehensive plastic surgery, unless – “Have you

done it already?” Of all the things I’d seen, my own face hadn’t been one of

them.

        “No.” He looked down at his twisted legs. “I wanted you to know why

first, before I initiated the alteration program.”

        “These Frankenstein cells can make me look like Lana?”

        “They can make you look like anyone. I’ll show you. Enable motor

functions, follow me.” He got up and limped to the door. I trailed after him

like a good little robot, trying to decide what to do. I’d been trying to lunge

at him since we’d started talking, but my body refused to cooperate. I had

to play along until he gave me back control over my body.

        “Kennedy, how come I know so much about Lana?”

        He didn’t look at me. “I programmed her history into your memory.

She was my wife, after all.” We were in front of the wall mirror across

from my bed. “Watch now, Olivia.”
                                                                            99

      I forgot about Tom and Lana and the world as I stared at myself. I

looked just like my Mom. Same lean, lanky body, same chestnut brown

hair, same hazel eyes. I even had the same sprinkle of freckles on my

nose. No one had ever told me that.

      “Disable motor functions. Initiate alteration program one.”

      I cried out yellow light exploded inside my head, and the image of

myself/Mom began to change. My hair turned redder, my skin whiter. My

eyes went from hazel to light blue. All of my freckles vanished. My face

thinned and my cheekbones sharpened. I could barely see it, though. The

pain got so bad I couldn’t think.

      “The alterations are done on the cellular level – the bioflex cells can

modify tissue, bone, pigmentation, whatever is needed.” Kennedy leaned

against the wall as my body became Lana’s twin. “Genetically you’re

identical now. Even your teeth and fingerprints will match hers.” He

frowned. “Why are you sweating?”

      “It hurts, idiot,” I said through gritted teeth.

      He looked shocked. “It’s not supposed to–”

      “You screwed up something.” The yellow light inside my skull was

finally fading, and I could breathe again. “It feels like I’m on fire.”

      “I’ll have to make some adjustments. Later.” He hobbled over to

me. “Olivia, my son is only five years old. Jackson will kill him and leave the

country if Lana doesn’t show up soon. He has enough money now.”
                                                                               100

         Which explained why he’d ripped me off – my folks had had a ton of

Italian paintings hanging on the walls, all of them worth major cash. “Why

don’t you just call the police and have them go get your son?”

         “Everyone believes I was killed in the explosion, and all the data about

bioflex was destroyed. I need to keep it that way.” Kennedy finally looked at

me. “Bring my son back to me, Olivia, and I will give you whatever you

want.”

         “I want this shit out of my brain. Can you do that?”

         He shook his head. “You’ll die.”

         “Then I want control of my body back – total control. Now.” He

didn’t say anything. “You can’t run me on remote control from a distance,

right?” He nodded. “Then you have to trust me, Kennedy.”

         “My son’s life depends on you now.” He closed his eyes briefly.

“Enable autonomous function.”

         I lifted my hand and touched my Lana-face, then turned and walked

to him. He braced himself with his canes, expecting me to clock him, I

supposed.

         I pressed my lips to his cheek. “That’s for saving my life.” Then I

stepped back and slapped him as hard as I could. “And that’s for

everything else.”

                                        #
                                                                             101

      I didn’t try to run out on Kennedy, though I was tempted a few times.

He went over every detail of the rescue with me. It was going to be a very

quick, snatch-and-run type of deal. All I had to do was convince everyone

that I was Lana until I could get the kid out safely.

      Dressing up in Lana’s clothes was a little bizarre, and I could see it

was upsetting Kennedy, too. He told me how Jackson had met Lana at

some society thing and had set out deliberately to seduce her. He started

running into her at different places, usually when she was with Paul. The

kid had loved Tom, of course. Tom was good at being lovable. Since

Kennedy had been buried in research for years, Lana had been lonely, and

responded to Tom’s interest. They’d slipped into an affair, and then Tom

had started making plans.

      “She really loved him, you know,” Kennedy told me as I pushed my

feet into Lana’s favorite red shoes. Jerry hovered by the door. “She came

to the facility that night to tell him she was leaving him. Jackson didn’t

know she was there when he detonated the explosives. That’s why he

doesn’t know that she was caught in the blast with me.” Kennedy handed

me a cute little purse. “We’ve gone over the layout of the house, is there

anything else you need?”

      I opened the purse and took out a pretty little silver .22. “What’s

this for?”

      “I thought you might want some payback for Mid.”
                                                                              102

         “I’m not killing anyone.” I handed him the gun.

         He took the gun. “I wish you’d change your mind.”

         “Sorry, you’ve changed enough on me already.”

         Kennedy had set up his lab in an anonymous office building just

outside Beverly Hills, and his assistant Jerry walked me out to the car,

which was a beautiful silver Mercedes.

         That was when the first problem presented itself. “Uh, Jerry, I

should mention that I can’t drive. Blind girls aren’t allowed to take driver’s

ed.” He just climbed in behind the wheel. I got in the passenger side. “You

don’t talk much, do you, Jer?”

         He shook his head and pulled out onto the road.

         Kennedy had told me to gain access to the mansion, separate Paul

from Tom and bring him back to the lab. He’d suggested I keep my story

simple and tell Tom I had stayed away because I hadn’t thought it was

safe.

         “And remember to call him Will,” Kennedy had said. “He’s been

using my identity, and he hired a completely new house staff. They and

everyone else believes he’s me.”

         “But you don’t look alike; wouldn’t your family and friends notice

that?”
                                                                          103

      He shook his head. “Lana and I didn’t have any family or friends.

Most of my employees were killed when Tom blew up the research center.

Tom also studied my voice for awhile, he can imitate me perfectly now.”

      “And your son?”

      “Paul is probably too terrified to say anything to anyone.”

      The Kennedy mansion was a nice one – almost as large as my own

– and Tom dropped me off a block away.

      “Wait for me by the back gate.” I headed toward drive, stopped at

the entry panel and pushed the call button. I pasted on a smile for the

camera that zoomed in on my face. “Will? It’s me. Open up, please.”

      The gates swung open, and a tall golden-haired man came running

down the drive toward me. He stopped a few feet away. “Lana?”

      “Yeah, it’s me.” I looked around him. “Where’s Paul?”

      “Inside.” He walked up to me slowly, looking all over me. “Where

have you been? Why didn’t you call?” His voice sounded much different

than I remembered – deeper, with an impatient clip to the words. He also

seemed shorter than I remembered from when I was blind, which was

weird. I usually could guess within an inch.

      “I was scared to come home, I didn’t know if it was safe.” I nodded

toward the house. “Let’s go inside, please.”
                                                                           104

      He put an arm around me and led me into the house, which was just

as impressive on the inside. A little boy stood waiting in the entry hall, and

when he saw me he ran forward and nearly knocked me over. “Mommy!”

      I bent down to put my arms around Kennedy’s son. “Hi, darling.”

That was what Lana had always called him. “Miss me?”

      “Yes.” Paul wiggled out of my embrace, his light blue eyes wide.

“Where did you go? Daddy’s lab blew up.” He frowned. “You sound funny,

Mom.”

      “I know, I have a sore throat.” I looked up at Tom, who was watching

both of us with his bright blue eyes narrowed. Had he looked like that

when he’d killed my dog? For a moment I wished I’d kept the gun Kennedy

had offered me. “I’ve brought a present for you. It’s right outside, you

want to come with me and get it?”

      Paul grinned and grabbed my hand. “Is it a Pokemon game?”

      “Better than a Pokemon game.” I glanced at Tom before I tacked on

the final lie. “We’ll be right back.”

      Just as I reached the back door, Tom came up behind me and put a

hand on my neck. “Wait.”

      I froze. His hand was warm and strong and it bugged me. “We’ll

just be a minute, sweetheart.”

      “You’re not my wife.” He swung me around. “Command override

Gamma-Seven. Disable autonomous function.”
                                                                       105

      My body locked up, and my vision dimmed. Tom shouted for

someone, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a big Asian man grab Paul

and carry him away.

      Tom came around and stood in front of me. “How did you get the

bioflex? Who programmed you?”

      The whole thing was blown, and now I was dead. I listened dully as

my voice responded. “I don’t know about the bioflex. William Kennedy

programmed me.”

      “I’m William Kennedy, and I’ve never used a human. Enable vocal

input. Who the hell are you and why are you here?”

      “You can cut the act now, Tom.” I looked down at his hands. He had

long, slim hands with callused palms. The Tom Jackson who had rubbed

my neck had had square hands with smooth palms. “Touch my face.”

      “Why?”

      “Just do it.”

      “Don’t bother,” I heard someone say behind me. Jerry came around

me, and pointed a gun at the blond man. “The voice we covered, so where

did we mess up?”

      He had Tom Jackson’s voice. “The hands. You don’t have any

calluses on yours.”

      He shook his head. “Should have thought of that. Olivia, meet the

real William Kennedy. Will, this is Olivia Edgeway, your second
                                                                         106

experimental success on a human.” Jerry smiled at me. “Sorry, Livy.

You’re probably pretty confused now, huh?”

       “Edgeway,” the blond man repeated. “You were kidnapped a few

weeks ago, just after my ex-wife and my research disappeared.”

       I ignored Blondie and focused on Tom’s little mean eyes. “I was

never in a coma, was I? Or dying?”

       “No. I just needed someone who had never seen any of us, and who

had the same basic body type as Lana. The Italian paintings I stole from

your villa didn’t hurt, either.

       “If you’re William Kennedy,” I said to the blond man, “then who was

the man who did this to me?”

       Blondie ignored me. “You used the research you stole from me to

do this?” Will sounded outraged as he glared at Tom. “The bioflex could

have killed her – it’s unstable.”

       “So am I. Still am.” Tom waved the gun. “We’re going to leave now.

Enable the girl.”

       “Command override Gamma-Ten. Enable autonomous function.”

Will turned to Tom. “You have the bioflex. What else do you want?”

       “Lana needs some repair work. We figured we’d take the boy as

incentive, but you’ll do just as well.”

       “You’re not taking him anywhere,” I said.

       Tom cocked the pistol and turned it toward me. “Try and stop me.”
                                                                                  107

         “Enable DM-one,” Will snapped out.

         My left leg did a Rockette’s number and kicked the gun out of Tom’s

hand a fraction of a second before it fired. Will lunged at him from the

other side, knocking him to the floor. The big Asian guy and two other men

rushed in and pinned Tom down. I held out a hand to help Will up from the

floor.

         “Thanks.” I rubbed my thigh. “Do I do magic tricks, too?”

         “I don’t know.” He heaved out a breath. “But we’d better find out.”

                                          #

         The real Will Kennedy called the authorities and had them haul Tom

Jackson away, and then he took me to a nice, normal hospital. He also

personally supervised a barrage of tests showed that I was in perfect

health, but kept everything under Lana Kennedy’s name, and didn’t tell

anyone that my body was saturated with full-functioning bioflex cells.

         “It’s for your own safety, Olivia,” Will said before I went in for the

blood tests. “The government was extremely interested in my bioflex

experiments, and if they learned what it’s done for you . . . “

         I could just imagine. “Yeah, we’d better keep that part under wraps.”

         The hard part was hearing the truth behind the story, which Will told

me on the way to give a statement to the police.

         “We tested a small amount on laboratory rats infected with cancer,”

he said as he parked behind police headquarters. “Half of them died or
                                                                             108

were severely injured by the nanocells, but the other half were cured. We

extracted the bioflex cells from the survivors immediately after the cancer

disappeared, so they wouldn’t take over the rat’s body. I’d been building a

database of specific command structures for a human experiment, which

included some military and intelligence applications, but I felt the risks

were too great.”

       “That explains why I can drop kick a gun out of someone’s hand in

half a second.” I wondered who the other guy at the lab had been. “This

was all Lana and Tom’s idea? No one else was involved?”

       “I’m not sure. I suspected Lana and Tom were having an affair, and

he must have talked her into stealing the data. They didn’t know about the

failure rate or that I was shutting down the experiment because it was too

dangerous. I removed the failure data from the database to stall for time

until I could think of a way to preserve our funding.” He sighed. “So this is

really all my fault.”

       “And you’re sure you can’t get this stuff out of me?”

       “I’m afraid it’s too late, Olivia. Your natural cells have been

completely replaced.”

       “Will this kill me?”

       He thought about that for a minute. “I don’t know. You should be

dead now.”
                                                                            109

      Will and I gave our statements to the detective in charge of the

case, who showed us a photo of a crippled man on canes into the

interview room. “This man was arrested at the lab where Mrs. Kennedy

was being kept. Either of you know him?”

      Will shook his head.

      “He was one of the men who abducted me,” I said. We were

sticking to the story that Lana Kennedy had been kidnapped, since I was

still posing as her. “Who is he?”

      “We don’t know. We’ve got him as John Doe over at L.A. Medical

now, but they don’t think he’s going to make it. The docs over there say

something is eating up his bones.” He gave me a sympathetic grimace.

“Poor bastard is in a lot of pain, and raving mad.” He put the photo back in

the file. “Believe it or not, he says he’s your wife, Dr. Kennedy.”

                                       #

      Will and I went to the hospital, and stayed there until John Doe died

shortly after midnight. The cause of death was advanced bone cancer. He

had been in a coma when we’d arrived and never regained consciousness.

      On the way back to his house, I broke the silence. “That man was

your wife, wasn’t he? Lana. She injected herself with the bioflex.”

      “I believe so. In order to sell the data, she would have had to pose as

me. I’ll know more after I get a copy of the autopsy.”

      I couldn’t have written a plot this complicated. “I’m sorry, Will.”
                                                                             110

      “Me, too.” He glanced at me. “What can I do to make this up to you,

Olivia?”

      So much had been done already; I just wanted to find a hole to crawl

in and hide for a few decades. If I lived that long. “If you can’t get the

bioflex out of me, can you change me back to the way I looked before?”

      Will nodded and pulled up the drive to park in front of the door. “It’s

going to be painful.”

      “I know. I can deal with it.”

      “Initiate restoration program one.” He held my hand as the yellow

fire flared behind my eyes, and the world went away. Then I finished

shifting into my old self, and checked my reflection in the rearview mirror.

      Will smiled at me. “You have a nice face.”

      “Thanks. I got it from my Mom.” I rubbed my cheek, then I heard

barking and looked through the window. The dog running toward the car

was big, golden, and had one lopsided ear on the right side. “Mid?”

      “They found him at your house,” Will said. “Tom lied about a lot of

things.”

      I scrambled out of the car. My dog abandoned all of his training and

jumped on me, knocking me on my butt. I wrapped my arms around his

warm wriggling body and laughed as he licked my face.

      Now that I had my guide back, maybe everything would be okay.
                                                                             111

                                  Fire and Ice
                                  by S.L. Viehl



02/19/20

Press Release
Contact: CDC Media Relations
404-639-6832

CDC identifies source of PIC Syndrome

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) today released a global
health advisory regarding the source of PIC (pregnancy-induced coma)
syndrome, which has been directly attributed to combined exposure to WA
Progestin and rP-18 vaccine.

"Pregnant women exposed to the water additive progestin must not receive retro-
Polio vaccine," said Dr. Julian Walters, director of the CDC. "The combination of
the two will induce PIC Syndrome, and result in an irreversible coma during the
patient’s third trimester. All women who have been exposed to WA Progestin
and rP-18 are advised to seek medical attention immediately."

The use of WA Progestin in the United States of America was instituted in 2015,
after the Supreme Court approved adding the hormone to the nation’s water
supply as an alternative to reinstating legal abortions (ref. Roe Vs. Wade) and to
support the Welfare Reform Act. The population control method was quickly
adopted by other nations around the globe and has proved completely successful
in preventing 99.8% of unauthorized pregnancies.

rP-18 was developed in 2019 to combat the virulent retro-Polio virus, which has
killed or crippled nearly ten million women and children since 2018.

CDC estimates that nearly 20 million patients worldwide are at risk for PIC
syndrome. Presently the number of patients in U.S. PIC long-term care facilities
exceeds 90,000. Studies show that nearly 84.3% of PIC coma patients
experience brain death within twelve months after contracting the syndrome.

"Health care personnel must test for pregnancy prior to rP-18 innoculation," said
Dr. Ralph Garbowski, acting director of CDC's healthcare quality promotion
division. "This is absolutely imperative."

This advisory is intended to promote patient safety. For more information about
PIC Syndrome, go to http://www.cdc.gov/PIC. For more information about the
                                                                          112

CDC's commitment to world population control, see
http://www.cdc.gov/ZeroBirthRate


The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) protects people's health
and safety by preventing and controlling diseases and injuries; enhances health
   decisions by providing credible information on critical health issues; and
  promotes healthy living through strong partnerships with local, national and
                          international organizations.

            DEPARTMENT OF HEALTH AND HUMAN SERVICES

               WORLD POPULATION CONTROL INITIATIVE
                                                          113

                                                June 14, 2020

Dear Bill,

I’ve asked my sister to give you this letter as soon as I’m
hospitalized. My obstetrician performed an EEG this
morning and I’m in the first stages of PIC. I know I
should have been tested earlier, but I was hoping I would
be one of the lucky ones. The doctor says I’ve only got a
few weeks left.

Maybe they will find a cure for this terrible thing, but in
case they don’t, I want you to know that these last eight
months have been the happiest of my life, and that I will
always love you. I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to
tell you in person. I wanted our remaining time together
to be happy.

I’d like you   to name our daughter Andra. Would you do that
for me? And    no matter what’s wrong with her, love her as I
would have.    I’ll be watching over you both from heaven.
Take care of   yourself and our baby, Bill.

Your devoted wife,

Melanie
                                                                                114

                   National Institutes of Health Report:
           PIC Syndrome Causes Tri-Spectrum ABF in DB Infants

Immunization is one of the most effective tools for protecting public health.
Worldwide vaccination programs have resulted in the elimination of
bioengineered diseases such as retro-Polio, Seoul Influenza and Lebonese
Anthrax. Yet along with these benefits have come serious concerns about public
safety, with particular emphasis on the some 100,000 children born to women
infected with PIC Syndrome.

It is widely acknowledged that these children, now commonly referred to among
the general population as “DB” or “Death Bed” infants, have ABF (altered brain
function), attributed to genetic damage sustained from exposure to PIC while in
utero. One issue currently under debate is whether or not all DB infants should
be subjected to mandatory testing to classify these cerebral mutations, of which
three distinct categories (DB-A, DB-B, and DB-C) have already been identified.

Researchers are concerned that if not addressed, the tri-spectrum disorders will
result in serious genetic concerns within the next generation. Although scientists
generally agree that all cases of DB result from prenatal exposure, symptoms
typically do not emerge until the child's second year. In addition, there are
concerns that the number of DB-C cases, as well as the classification of DB-C
ABFs, are being deliberately concealed by some governments from world health
organizations.

The CDC recognized the need for an independent group to carefully determine
safety and other issues involved with DB infants, in order to give some guidance
to themselves, health care providers, researchers, and a concerned public. The
agency engaged the National Institutes of Health, which in turn appointed the DB
Review Committee (DBRC), a 115-member body of health professionals with
wide-ranging expertise in areas relevant to the problem. To preclude any real or
perceived conflicts of interest, candidates were subject to strict selection criteria
that excluded anyone with family members suffering from PIC Syndrome or DB
births. The results of the committee's assessment of the issue are described in
the report titled Assessment of Genetic Alterations in DB Infants and Therapeutic
Recommendations.

The committee has reviewed the numerous research efforts on the DB dilemma.
"The evidence favors rejection of a causal symptomatic treatment program for
spectrum disorders," the DRC committee concludes in its report. "A consistent
body of evidence indicates DB Infants should be separated from the common
populace for further studies and research."

Moreover, the committee can find no proven counteragent to reverse the effects
of DB-related genetic damage. Scientists have suggested some theories, but
none have been demonstrated. Researchers have been unable to recreate
                                                                                115

these conditions in animals, and legislature enacted to protect DB infants
prohibits human experimentation. Other leading medical groups--the American
Academy of Pediatrics, the World Health Organization, and British health
authorities--have no conclusive treatment schedule.

Though the DB question might appear to be far from resolved, science is always
in a state of advancement; a conclusion is only as good as the methods of the
analysis. The epidemiological studies, traditional public health tools used to
examine the risk factors for a disease on a population level, were at a
disadvantage here because there is little variation in exposure to PIC Syndrome
since the mothers of other DB children in other developed countries were
vaccinated similarly. Furthermore, the difficulties in diagnosing and determining
the exact onset of DB symptoms in children make it difficult to design appropriate
studies and compare the results from those studies.

The committee acknowledges they could not rule out another possibility--that the
children afflicted with DB are themselves concealing their symptoms, due to the
nature of the tri-spectrum disorders and because existing epidemiological tools
may not have enough precision to detect the occurrence of the disorder’s effects.

The significance of this set of issues transcends the science alone. Infectious
bioengineered diseases like retro-Polio, left unchecked, could cause
considerable sickness and death. Public-health officials fear a repetition of the
Lebonese Anthax-vaccine history of 2004, when the combination of low numbers
of anthrax cases and public concerns about the vaccine's safety caused
immunization rates around the world to plummet, with sobering results. In Japan,
for instance, vaccine coverage dropped from 80% to 10% in mid-12004 resulting
in epidemic involving 1, 213,000 reported cases and over 410,000 deaths.
"Similar disease outbreaks could easily occur, with devastating effects," says the
committee, "were immunization rates to decline as a result of fears regarding rP-
18 vaccine."

Still, "the responsibility of all governments to ensure the safety of the rP-18
vaccine is high, and to continue the cooperative efforts to control the global birth
rate," the committee notes. The seriousness of tri-spectrum DB disorders
requires rigorous consideration of all possible etiologies. And in any case, it
adds, the level of concern in regard to the threat of DB children to general public
safety is high and must be meaningfully addressed. This is especially important
in that DB registration is now required by law in all 50 states for entry into school
and day care, in part, to protect the health of others. These factors, the
committee concludes, suggest the need for continued attention to this issue.

For More Information…

Copies of the National Institutes of Health Report (PIC Syndrome Causes
Tri-Spectrum ABF in DB Infants) are available for sale from the National
                                                                          116

Academy Press; call (800) 624-2426 or (202) 334-3133 (in the Washington
metropolitan area), or visit the NIH home page at www.nih.edu.
                                                    117

                                    Andra Grace Talan
                                          Third Grade
                                  Mr. Hallsey’s Class
My Daddy

By Andra Talan

My Daddy is a dockworker on the river.    Every day
he loads and unloads things from big boats.   He
doesn’t like it because he says it’s a shit job but
he can’t get anything else.   He lives with me and
my Grandma in a trailer park.    My Daddy’s car was
possessed last month because he didn’t pay the bill
so now we have to walk to the store.   It hurts my
Grandma’s hip but she says not to fuss.
My Daddy comes home late at night.   When he comes
home he is always sad and angry and drunk.    He hits
me if I talk to him and one time he made my nose
bleed.    My Grandma says that’s because my Mommy
died when I was born and because I sometimes do bad
things.    My Grandma says I have to stay out of
Daddy’s way.
Sometimes my Daddy thinks about killing me because
I killed my Mommy being born.    Grandma filled out
papers to make me go away to a new school.    She
says that there are special doctors at the school
who will help me stop doing bad things and become a
good girl.   I don’t want to be a good girl but I
want to go away from my Daddy.   So it’s okay.
                                                                                                                 118

A m e ric a n M e d ic a l A s s o c ia tio n
D B C la s s ific a tio n s


T h e fo llo w in g c la s s ific a tio n s h a v e b e e n d e fin e d a n d a p p ro v e d b y th e
A m e ric a n M e d ic a l A s s o c ia tio n fo r u s e b y a ll h e a lth c a re p ro v id e rs fo r th e ir
D B - e n a b le d p a tie n ts :


P s y p h e r [D B T y p e A ] – D B w h o d e m o n s tra te s c o n tro l o v e r o n e o r m o re o f
th e fo llo w in g b ra in a lte rfu n c tio n s : C la ira u d ie n c e , C la irv o y a n c e ,
D iv in a tio n [v a rio u s fo rm s ], P re c o g n itio n , T e le k in e s is , T e le p a th y .


R a z e r [D B T y p e B ] – D B w h o d e m o n s tra te s o n e o r m o re p s y p h e r
a lte rfu n c tio n s a s w e ll a s T A C [T e le p a th ic a tta c k / c o n tro l; s e e m in d b u rn ]
a b ility ; o fte n n o t in c o n tro l o f a b ilitie s , s o c io p a th ic , a n d / o r p s y c h o tic ,
c o n s id e re d h ig h ly u n s ta b le a n d e x tre m e ly d a n g e ro u s .


S h ifte r [D B T y p e C ] – D B w h o d e m o n s tra te s o n e o r m o re p s y p h e r a n d o r
ra z e r a lte rfu n c tio n s , a s w e ll a s u n d e te rm in e d p h y s ic a l a n d m e n ta l
a b ilit ie s ; s till u n d e r in v e s tig a tio n b y A M A , re p u te d to b e o f A s ia n o r
E u ro p e a n o rig in s .


A d d itio n a l W a rn in g fro m th e S u rg e o n G e n e ra l:
A ll h e a lth c a re p ro v id e rs a re a d v is e d to a le rt lo c a l la w e n fo rc e m e n t w h e n
e n c o u n te rin g a n y u n re g is te re d D B p a tie n t . F o r m o re in fo rm a tio n , c o n ta c t
y o u r lo c a l o r re g io n a l D B R e g is tra tio n O ffic e .
                                                                               119




          Prepared Remarks of Attorney General Jose Cabrerra
                  Senate Judiciary Committee Hearing:
   "PCD and Traditional Law Enforcement: Working Together to Protect
                               America"
                          September 28, 2045




Good morning Chairman Tuttle, Senator Kennedy, and members of the Judiciary
Committee. The United States of America is prepared to enter into the twenty-
second century with unrelenting focus and unprecedented cooperation between
traditional law enforcement and the newly-formed PCD or Psypher Control
Division.

The resources of the United States government are dedicated to righting the
wrongs against thousands of American victims of a new class of DB-enabled
criminals. Over the last ten years, these so-called “Razers” have organized to
spread havoc and domestic terrorism from the inner city to small towns across
our great nation, and it is time we put an end to their activities and determination
to destroy more innocent American lives.

As I testified eight months ago, America's defense - the defense of life and liberty
- requires a new culture of prevention, nurtured by cooperation, built on
coordination between traditional law enforcement and DB-enabled agents. The
ignorance that has erected barriers to cooperation between government
agencies, segregated law enforcement and intelligence gathering, and prohibited
information sharing must be replaced systematically.

Our survival and success in this war on DB crime and domestic terrorism
demands that we continuously adapt and improve our capabilities to protect
Americans from a deranged and ruthless enemy. I will continue to seek the
assistance of Congress as we build a culture of prevention and ensure the
resources of our government can be dedicated to defending Americans.

Let me share three reasons why the United States will win this war and illustrate
those points with some examples.

First, the Psypher Control Division and the Federal Bureau of Investigation have
set new standards for cooperation and coordination. The FBI's domestic
                                                                              120

intelligence operations have already been substantially strengthened by the
support of Psypher liaison agents.

Today, the world's premier intelligence agencies, the CIA and FBI, are moving
rapidly to exploit the intelligence opportunity provided by Psypher agents. The
FBI and CIA are cooperating thoroughly to share information from PCD
"mindsweeps", analyze that intelligence, and coordinate follow-up operations.
Their respective case success rates, ladies and gentlemen, are now approaching
100%.

Second, the new PCD integrates intelligence and law enforcement capabilities to
protect American lives. Agents are extensive trained to provide:

              DB intelligence sources;
          ï‚·

              Covert mindsweep and mindscan surveillance;
          ï‚·

              Deep undercover operations;
          ï‚·

              Tracking and neutralization of Razer operatives; and
          ï‚·

              Criminal subpoenas and search warrants
          ï‚·

. . . with seamless law enforcement and intelligence cooperation.

The breadth and talent of the PCD team literally spans the globe – DB agents in
forty countries are now actively employed to prevent domestic and international
terrorism, integrate intelligence and law enforcement, and deliver results. Director
Carter and FBI agents around the world have transformed their intelligence and
counter-terrorism operations to integrate PCD and achieve this prevention
mission. Their results make Americans safer and bring justice to the full network
of DB criminal operatives, often in many ways the public does not see and we
cannot disclose.

Third, the Justice Department is prosecuting DB criminals by integrating our law
enforcement and intelligence capabilities as authorized under the Children of PIC
Act. The Department recently indicted Lucian Jaegot and seven co-conspirators,
several of whom were leaders of the New York City Razer Elite. The indictment
details that Jaegot served as a liaison to an international coalition of Razer
operatives called "Mindstorm." He was also identified as the senior conspirator in
plot to smuggle European and Asian Razer terrorists into North America on
behalf of Mindstorm. PCD agents were responsible not only for identifying and
tracking Jaegot and his co-conspirators, but also for successfully apprehending
and neutralizing them.

As I said, these are just a few examples. Today, Director Carter will be providing
you with details regarding the fundamental reforms that will enable a swift and
                                                                                 121

successful integration of PCD agents into traditional law enforcement entities
throughout our country.

Finally, I would like to point out that throughout this process, the Department of
Justice has acted thoughtfully, carefully and within the framework of American
freedom - the Constitution of the United States. Time and again, the actions in
the war on DB crime and domestic terrorism have been subjected to thorough
judicial review. And time and again, the Department has successfully defended
legal challenges including:

              Detaining private citizens -- SUSTAINED
          ï‚·

              Mental search and seizure of intelligence -- SUSTAINED
          ï‚·

              Freezing assets of purported charities that fund DB criminals --
          ï‚·
              SUSTAINED

The President's powers to protect the American people are rooted in the
Constitution and sustained in Court. The actions we take against the DB threat
will always be rooted in the Constitution while accounting for the adapting and
changing methods of our enemies.

As the President stated in a recent visit to the FBI, "There is no such thing as
perfect security against a hidden network of undetectable, cold-blooded killers.
Yet we're not going to wait until the worst dangers are upon us to fight back."

Our strategy and tactics are working: we are gathering and cultivating detailed
intelligence on DB criminal activities in the U.S.; we are arresting and detaining
potential DB threats; we are dismantling the DB criminal financial network; and
we are building our long-term capacity to competently control these extremely
dangerous individuals. With the help of PCD agents, we will win this war.

Thank you and I will be happy to take your questions.
                                                  122

                       DataMemo

  From:       Thomas Isivitch, PCD New Orleans
        To:   Andra Talan, PCD New Orleans
                 RE:   (no subject)
Andy,

I told Bayless to send you on remote
assignment to get you out of the city.
We’re moving in on Malak’s outfit Friday
night.   Yeah, I know, you’ll be pissed, but
it’s the way it has to work.      One of Malak’s
burners flipped for me and from what he
said, bad shit is coming down.        Shit like
what we had at the academy.       I did a little
future peek and I come out of this alive, so
don’t worry, babe.      Will take more than this
sick bastard to do me.
When you get back, you can kick my ass all
over town.      Promise.
Ice
                                                                            123

27 Jan 51
Kelly’s Pub
French Quarter
New Orleans



      I went to Kelly’s because they had real Irish whiskey, a bartender

from Dublin named Sean and nobody fool enough to hit on me.

      I sat in my favorite dark corner, drank whiskey steadily, and ignored

the long row of faces at the bar. I’d already tagged the ten other patrons,

one by one: tourist—unemployed—lunch hour drunk—petty thief—

depressed—career drunk—hustler—bad news—family man—crysrok addict.

      If I’d been on duty, I could have busted the petty thief. He was still

carrying from the last job he pulled. Or the junkie, who was planning to

jump the tourist as soon as the oblivious dolt went to the men’s room.

      I wasn’t on duty anymore. I dropped my head against my palms.

Someone else would have to deal with them. Sean.

      The bartender came from behind the bar and thumped down a full

glass of Bushmill’s in front of me. “You needn’t shout.”

      I glanced at his pale face. “Wimp.”

      “Bitch.” Sean was small, scrawny and mean, but he kept the whiskey

coming. Not without comment, though. That was part of the tab. “Half a

fifth you’ve downed, Talan, and it’s not even noon yet.”

      “Really.” I sipped from the glass. “I’ll have to pick up the pace.”
                                                                        124

      “I watched your Da drink himself to death.” He swiped at the table

with the damp rag he carried. “I’m not wanting to see his only child do the

same.”

      “Then get away from me.”

      Sean went back to the bar, and I went back to my whiskey.

                                     #

      A text-only message came over my terminal: SHE’S AT KELLY’S.

      The memories had already told me that was where she would

likely be, but it was good to have confirmation. Kelly’s had become her

second home. Tom had always worried she would go the way her old

man had, so he kept her from drinking.

      He thought he was protecting her, but he didn’t understand her

needs. I did. Now that he was dead, I’d take care of them.

                                     #

      “Lieutenant.”

      I lifted my face, saw it was Gibson, the personnel coordinator from

my unit. Some taller guy with a ponytail and an earring – maybe his

boyfriend – flanked him.

      I always hated Gibson, the little prick. “Go away.” I reached for my

glass and missed. Goddamn thing had grown feet or something.
                                                                               125

        “Is she drunk?” the Earring asked in a cold voice. Went right along

with his stony face.

        “Probably.” A soft, manicured hand grabbed my glass, kept it from

spilling. “But she’s entitled.”

        I always liked Gibson, the little prick. “You wanna drink?” Sean could

bring a bottle; I could share. We could all have a drink, and I could tell

them about Ice – my partner, my best friend, and the only guy I’d ever

trusted with my secrets or let in my head. I could tell them how much I’d

loved the stupid reckless son of a bitch.

        I’d never told him. Might as well tell somebody.

        He took the glass from my hand and held it out of reach.

“Lieutenant, it’s time to go.”

        “No, it’s not.” I checked my wrist unit, but the digital display was

dancing. “Sean doesn’t close until midnight. We got plenty of time.” I

waved at the chairs. “Sit down, boys.”

        “Your leave ran out a week ago.” The coordinator handed my

whiskey to Earring and pulled me off the bar stool. “It’s time to report in

now.”

        “Time to find another pub.” I tried to find my feet, but someone had

amputated my legs. Nope, apparently I was falling down drunk. Or about

to fall down drunk. Hard to say, from the way the room was spinning.

“Didn’t that brain wipe Paulson put my papers in?”
                                                                             126

      “Your resignation bounced.” He steadied me and checked my eyes.

“You need to puke?”

      “I did already.” I pushed off his hands. “Twice.” Something bugged

me, and I looked at Earring again. He was dark, dark, dark – black hair,

black eyes, black clothes. He took a cigarette from a crumpled pack and

lit it, not even caring that anyone saw, like tobacco was still legal. The

flame made me think of the morgue, and how they’d tried to haul me away

from the gurney when they’d brought him in.

      Shit, Talan, don’t look . . . there was a pipe bomb . . . all they

recovered were a few bone fragments . . .

      I’d looked. I’d looked and I’d wept over the blackened bits of bones.

It was the only time I had ever cried in my life.

      Gibson cleared his throat. “Uh, this is Boone. He just transferred to

our department.”

      There was only one reason the coordinator had hauled a new

transfer here to see me. “You gotta be kidding.”

      He shrugged. “Chief’s orders.” He hesitated before he added, “He

was under with Malak’s crew for awhile, before the last op.”

      That sobered me up. I should have been on the last op. If I had

been, Ice would be sitting next to me now, helping me empty the bottle.

Instead, for the first time in eight years, my partner had ditched me. Told
                                                                           127

our boss it was too dangerous and that numbskull data pusher Ball-less

had believed him.

      And now Ice was dead and I was alone again. Or would be, soon as I

found someplace else to drink. I concentrated for a moment, clearing the

effects of the alcohol from my brain, and then I headed for the exit.

      “Talan,” Gibson called after me.

      I stopped by the tourist and leaned in. “Get out of here before you

get rolled, dimwit.” When the petty thief heard me, he got up in a hurry

and threw some bills down by his half-finished beer. I grabbed him by the

collar before he could rabbit, slammed him into the bar and cuffed him to

the railing. “Sean, call the precinct and have them send a unit for this

trash.” I let go of the thief and kept walking.

      “Wait.” Boone caught up and made the tragic mistake of grabbing

my arm. “I need to talk to you.”

      “I don’t.” I turned around and took a shot at him. It wasn’t much; I

was still somewhat inebriated. He didn’t go down, but he staggered back a

few steps. Then his black eyes narrowed and he pretended to rub his jaw

as the coordinator caught up with us.

      I hadn’t hit him in the face, but I was too pissed off to stand around

and wonder why he was putting on the act for Gibson. I kicked open the

door and strode out into the cold rain.

                                        #
                                                                        128

      I didn’t know how I’d feel, seeing her.

      Most female DB-As were small, pudgy and timid, but Andra Talan

was tall, blond, and had a body that would make a sex drone short-

circuit. She tried hiding it by wearing tailored leathers and shearing

her hair close to her scalp, but that only added to the mix.

      She may look like a goddess, one of the guys at the academy had

told me, but I’ve been around condensers with more warmth. Try

anything with her and she’ll rip you to shreds – if you’re fortunate.

      She’d ripped me to shreds anyway, without even trying.

      I didn’t like seeing her drunk. Someone should have been with

her, stayed with her. On her good days, Andy had never been much of a

co-worker magnet, so she’d probably scared off the few who’d tried.

Evidently the rest had thought she’d drink it out of her system. They

never bothered to find out about her dad, or what he’d done to her.

      I knew. I wanted to tell her, to make her understand – only I

couldn’t. Not yet. Not when she was like this.

      “She’s always had the tendency,” Gibson told me. “Isivitch kept

her straight; but now that he’s gone . . .” he shook his head as he

frisked the man cuffed to the bar and pulled some jewelry out of his

pockets. “Sorry the reception wasn’t better.”
                                                                         129

      “Not a problem.” Even drunk she packed a hell of a punch, but at

least she hadn’t picked up on me – and drunk or sober, I needed her.

“We should go after her.”

      “Yeah.” Gibson looked at the thief and sighed. “Guess we

should.”

                                      #

      On the way to Central, I bought some BAN from the in-cab vending

unit and dry-swallowed them. Blood-alcohol neutralizers tasted only slightly

better than dirt, but they cleaned out my veins fast, and were better than

Insta-Detox gels, which always gave me nosebleeds.

      The drone driver was rattling out the usual pre-programmed tourist

crap. “On your left,” it told me, “you can see the ruins of the old Garden

District, which was burned to the ground during the ’17 riots. On your

right is the city’s main tour depot, which offers scenic cruises down the

Mississippi —“

      “—which is where I’m going to dump your junker ass if you don’t kill

the audio.” BAN not only tasted like crap, but it gave me the mother of all

headaches. Still, if I took any of the legal narcs to counteract that, Sean’s

tox scanner would pick them up and he wouldn’t sell me so much as a

glass of water for the next forty-eight hours. Soon as this was over, I was

going back and kill me another bottle of whiskey.
                                                                         130

      Whiskey was all I had left now, and I planned to be faithful.

      “Passenger request acknowledged,” the driver said politely. “Mute

mode enabled.”

      PCD was located in downtown New Orleans, in an ancient building

someone had missed when they started building skyrisers. The hovering

structures cast perpetual shadows as they floated between the sun and

the surface. Everyone in the department hated the gloomy view, but that

was the price you paid for keeping your feet on the ground.

      Someday, babe, Ice had promised me. We’ll snag us an assignment

to Acapulco PCD.

      I’d laughed. And do what? Chase guys who swipe sun tan oil from

the hotel guest shop?

      That or bust the thong-snappers. He’d waggled his blond brows at

me. I sunburn too easy, so you can be the bait.

      I popped a credit chip in the back of the drone driver’s cranial slot to

pay for my ride, and then hauled myself out of the cab. Gibson and Boone

followed me to the entry scanner, where the autodoor demanded I hand

over my knife and stunner before it would grant me building access.

      Which meant I’d been classified an internal hazard, and Gibson or

someone up in ranks had been busy.

      “Nice touch,” I said as I strode in. “How am I listed on the IH

report?”
                                                                        131

      “Depressed and a threat to yourself.” Boone, who unlike Gibson had

long legs, didn’t have to trot to keep up with me. “Soon as you clear level

with the unit doc, they’ll reinstate you.”

      I didn’t need this garbage, or him. At all. “Don’t bother. I’m done.”

                                        #

      My boys talked about Andra Talan. Not like they talked about all

the bitches who hung on them, but like she was another street soldier,

an equal. She had that kind of rep. She had the juice, too – some of

them said she might be a dub.

      My girl Jazz had been a dub. Not much of one, but she rated high

enough to take touching me. She’d loved me, too, despite being used as

a mindwhore most of her life, and in the end I’d almost killed her for it.

      I didn’t know what Andra Talan was, but she wasn’t a dub. She

was something else , something that had scared Tom more than the

booze. He’d loved her in spite of it, but it had kept him from telling her.

      Not knowing what it was, and seeing Jazz the way she was now,

only made me want Andy more.

                                        #

      I checked the locator panel to find my boss, saw he was in the

Chief’s office, and made a beeline for him. Gibson and Boone followed. I
                                                                            132

ignored Gibson’s sputter as I dodged the reception drone and used a

maintenance code to open the door panel.

      “Talan.” My boss was already on his feet.

      “I told Paulson, Ball-less. I even had him read it back to me.” I

yanked my badge chain from my neck and threw it at him. “So what part

of I-fucking-quit don’t you understand?”

      Behind me, Gibson babbled something about job-related stress.

Boone just watched me from the door.

      My boss focused his usual pissant guard around his mind before he

took a step toward me. “You’re the best investigator we have. You can’t

resign.”

      “Ice was the best,” I snarled at him. “And you fed him to the Razers.”

      “We don’t know that they were responsible.” Bayless straightened

his jacket. “Anyone could have planted that bomb. If you really want to do

something about Tom–”

      “Shove it.” I headed for the door.

      “It’s all right, Richard.” The Chief’s calm voice cut off my boss’s

blustering. “Before you leave, Lieutenant Talan, there’s something you

should know.”

      Like I couldn’t read everything they were thinking, even with their

guards. Bayless was steaming with his she’s drunk and crazy – smell it
                                                                       133

over here – Tom rated better while the Chief was has to be tonight – with

Malak identified and in custody –

      I whirled around, my eyes wide, my heart pounding. “You’re moving

on Malak? Tonight?”

      “Yes. We’re sending in two officers.”

      Malak had run the Razers in New Orleans for the last three years.

He’d been tagged for three dozen murders, including five cops and my

partner. He’d never been seen or photoscanned, and every witness who

had ever seen him had ended up brain-fried before the case could go to

trial. And here the Chief had someone who not only knew what he looked

like but knew where he was cribbing, and was ready to go in.

      And he had enough guard up to keep me from getting anything else.

“What do you want?”

      My boss made a rude sound, but the Chief ignored him. “You, back

on the job. In on the take-down tonight.”

      “Fine.” I came at the desk. “Who rolled on him?”

      “Your new partner.” The Chief nodded at the door. “Officer Boone

ran an undercover op on Malak and his boys for the last six months. He

got close to the inner circle.”

      I turned on the new guy. I’d never done a mindsearch on another

cop; we reserved that kind of thing for serious felons. But this was Malak,
                                                                           134

and Malak had killed Ice. New Guy would just have to deal with it. “Brace

yourself, this is going to hurt.”

      “I wouldn’t.” He tapped the side of his head. “You won’t like the

taste.”

      By then I’d already gotten in, and saw what had been done to him.

Boone had been razeburned, worse than anything I’d ever felt. Whoever

had done him had not only destroyed most of his memory center but had

wiped out whatever talent he’d once had. Touching his mind was like

walking through an empty building after it had been torched.

      “Jesus.” I recoiled. “So tell me where he is.”

      “Boone will be going in with you,” the Chief said.

      I blinked for a minute, not sure I’d registered the right words.

“You’re telling me to take down Malak with this brain-fry?”

      “He can’t be read, and no one can hit him again.” A little red flared

up under the Chief’s skin. “He’s been cleared by medical.”

      “He should be in diapers and eating pureed squash.” I eyed my new

partner. “So how come you’re not? You a plant, or gonzo?”

      The insult made Gibson hiss in a breath. “Talan, please!”

      “Before the burn, I rated a four-five,” Boone told me, not looking

offended at all. “I can show you my performance reports, if you want.”

      All psyphers were tested annually for talent, and graded by ability on

a scale of one to twenty-five. I’d scored a 19/20 last year, but only
                                                                               135

because I’d held myself back. Ice had rated a 22/23, probably just to

annoy me.

      With his low rating, the only way Boone could have been survived the

kind of razing he’d endured was if someone had transplanted part of a new

brain in his head – still illegal in the U.S. – or if he had been completely

insane before the burn.

      He wasn’t giving off those vibes, though. He wasn’t giving off any at

all. “How come you’re not crispy and drooling?”

      “I don’t know.” He lifted his shoulders. “The docs are still working on

the why part.”

      I wasn’t hanging him around my neck just because he was special.

“Your talent and memories are gone. You’ve got so much residual burn I

can’t even tag you. I don’t need the grief.”

      “Unlike you, I can’t be detected. I can still use a weapon.” He cocked

his head. “Malak will never see me coming.”

      Since I couldn’t search his head, I studied his face. He wasn’t much

to look at – too dark, too edgy, too much damn hair – but he had spine.

Plus he’d taken the worst hit a psypher could get and somehow still

escaped becoming a veg for life. “All right.”

      Ball-less tossed my badge back to me. “Review the case files with

him, then report to my office for briefing.”

                                       #
                                                                         136

      I didn’t think Andy would give in, or maybe I was hoping she

wouldn’t. I didn’t want her near Malak. But I needed her mind to get

me back in, and close. All I had to do was keep her from seeing him.

      If she did, she’d kill me.

                                      #

      “How’d you manage to get in with Malak and his crew?” I asked as I

led Boone past my desk, past my boss’s office and toward the back exit.

Everyone in the department was wise and cleared a path.

      “Being a 4/5 made it easy; I didn’t attract much notice. I just kept

my mouth shut and my head down.” He glanced back at the herd

gathering in our wake. “I take it we’re not reviewing case files or reporting

for the briefing.”

      “I memorized the case files. Bayless just wants to hear himself

sound like a Captain.” I signaled the motor pool to send up an unmarked

unit, but my request was denied. “Oh, right, I’m depressed and a threat to

myself.” I glanced at him. “So what’s your code?”

      “718961ZWB.”

       I punched it in. “What’s the Z stand for?”

      “Zachariah.”

      A biblical name – they’d been frowned on since religions had been

regulated, so someone hadn’t liked him. “Your old man raise you?” He
                                                                              137

nodded. “My condolences.” His code worked, and an unmarked glidecar

pulled up outside. “I’m calling you Boone.”

         “Everyone does. What do I call you?”

         Grandma had called me Andra, Daddy preferred You Little Bitch,

and Ice had stuck to Andy. Everyone else used Talan or ma’am.

“Lieutenant’ll work.” I took the driver’s seat and enabled the manual

controls. Once Boone was inside, I secured the doors. “Why’d you fake

the jaw punch at Kelly’s?”

         “I didn’t think you’d want Gibson to find out you’re a . . .” he shrugged.

         “What do you think I am? A dub?” I laughed. A dub was a DB with

psypher and razer abilities – about as rare as a two-headed rabid dog, and

just as sweet. “For the record, I’m not.”

         What I was, and what Ice had been, were much worse. We’d taught

each other how to deal with it, all the way back in the academy.

         “You do a great imitation, then.” He took out a cigarette and lit it.

“Felt pretty hard, even through the burn.”

         I had given him a good mental blast, back at the bar. Had he picked

it up, Gibson would have had me suspended from the force for mind-

assault on a fellow officer. But the coordinator was a 1/2, which equaled

pretty dense. No one knew about the tricks Ice and I had taught each

other.

         It had been a minor miracle, just finding each other the way we had.
                                                                           138

      Now I was stuck with an empty-headed cripple who couldn’t back me

up except with his Roscoe. I snatched the cigarette from his mouth,

opened the window and pitched it outside. “Commit misdemeanors on

your own time.”

      “You’re no fun.”

      “Exactly.” I nodded as I pulled out into traffic. “Remember that.”

      I drove through the city, back to the French Quarter, but I skipped

Kelly’s and went to my place. I needed my gear, a shower, and food – and

time to decide what to do with New Guy.

                                     #

      With her spending all day drinking at Kelly’s it was simple to gain

access. She was careless and untidy; like me, she had better things to

do than clean and polish. Her shampoo was unscented and her lingerie

smelled of her skin.

      I found the stash of illegal sleepers she took when the whiskey

wouldn’t shut off her brain. I liked that; it proved that she wasn’t 100%

cop, and that she was more her father’s daughter than she wanted to

admit.

      In a few hours, I was going to own her.

                                     #
                                                                        139

      Andy took me to her apartment and told me to wait while she got

cleaned up. “I’ll just be a minute.” She nodded toward the tiny kitchen.

“You can have whatever isn’t growing mold.”

      Her place was still a dump, clothes everywhere, dirty dishes piled

up in the sterilizer, old mail and newspapers spilled in a pile on a dusty

side table. Sometime over the last couple of weeks she’d kicked in her

viddisplay. I went into the kitchen, dialed up a pot of coffee, then

restacked the sterilizer. As soon as her cleanser rattled off, I initiated

the wash cycle.

      There was a photoscan of Andy in her graduate uniform nailed to

the kitchen wall. She had a sour look on her face and her diploma

crumpled in one fist. I didn’t look at the face of the man standing next

to her.

      Still, seeing the photo was like a punch in the belly. I have to tell

her. I tried to get from behind the burn, but it wouldn’t budge. I didn’t

have enough juice yet. I could tell her, but without a seek, she’d never

believe me.

      She came out wearing a clean tshirt and jeans in her favorite

color, dark green. “I don’t need a maid, Boone.”

      “Don’t get one.” I picked up one of her bras and dangled it from

my finger. “Would ruin the titillation factor.”
                                                                       140

      A ghost of her old smile curved her mouth as she grabbed it from

me.   “Wouldn’t want to do that.” She went to the cabinet and took out

a half-filled bottle. “Want a belt?”

      “No, and neither do you.” I took the bottle from her and replaced

it. “I made coffee.”

      “I already killed my mother, Boone. Don’t try to replace her.”

      “You didn’t kill your mother.”

      “Shit, we all . . .” She paused and stared into my eyes. “When

were you at the academy?”

      “’39 to ‘43,” I lied.

      She didn’t let up. “Have we crossed paths before?” I shook my

head. “For a minute there, I thought . . .” She exhaled hard. “Never

mind. Tell me about how I get to Malak.”

      “He’s moved everything uptown,” I poured her a cup of coffee and

handed it to her. “They’re using the cemeteries now.”

      She sipped and made a face. “We’ve never spotted any of them

operating around there. Jumping tourists now and then, but nothing

major.”

      “That’s because they use the old drainage tunnels under the

crypts.” I poured my own cup and added two sugars. “They’ve been

moving a lot of people in and out, too.”
                                                                            141

         “Why?”

         “I don’t know. I was peripheral; mainly a courier. I listened in

when I could, but Malak has trained his people to stay shielded 24/7.”

I watched her drag a comb through her short hair and felt my fingers

itch. I’d always regretted not making a move on her when I’d had the

mind and opportunity. Now I was glad I hadn’t. “We need backup on

this.”

         “I know.” She dumped the coffee into the disposal and grabbed

her jacket. “Let’s go for a ride.”

                                        #

         Boone was quiet, which I was starting to like. Most pysphers liked to

chatter. The shrinks figured it was compensation, trying to fit in with the

rest of society. I’d never been big on small talk. Ice and I had barely said a

word to each other – at least, not verbally.

         That was something else I missed – not hearing Ice inside my head.

Other than the annual med seeks the unit docs had to perform, he’d been

the only guy I’d let in. His thoughts had been low and soothing, like a gentle

hand – nothing like his crisp, snappy voice and hyper personality. He’d said

the same about me.

         You may talk and look like a biker chick, Andy, he told me once, but

inside, you sound and feel like a fuzzy little pink-nosed kitten.
                                                                            142

       Yeah? I’d given his shoulder a friendly punch. Ever been clawed by

one?

       I parked outside the old junk shop and checked my gear. Since

ballistic firearms had been outlawed in ’46, law enforcement carried pain

inductors, while PCD agents were issued temporary brain wave

disruptors. I carried both, plus a couple of street knives. I was all for

humanitarian treatment of suspects, but a little good, old-fashioned

infliction of bodily harm came in handy sometimes.

       “Are you armed?” I asked Boone.

       “Yeah.” He showed me his disruptor, parked in a shoulder holster,

then produced a wicked-looking switchpick which could be concealed in his

palm. The latter was used to puncture a lung, skewer a spine, or stop a

heart in mid-beat. Convicts and low-rated Razers always carried them.

       But Boone wasn’t playing Razer anymore. “Why the shiv?”

       “It grew on me. I like efficiency.” He pocketed it and glanced at the

front of the shop. “Why are we stopping here?”

       “Roman Solange, aka The Rhymer. Small time fence, pushes hot

chips and some light tech. He owes me.” I climbed out of the car and did

a proximity sweep. “He’s got one man inside. Watch him, he’s twitchy.”

       The counterman was an old, grizzly Cajun with weathered skin and

thinning hair. He was clicking bets on ponies from his handheld, and didn’t

look up when we went in. “Wadda ya want?”
                                                                          143

       “Some poetry.”

       His head snapped up. “He ain’t here.”

       “Oh please.” I went down the hall. Behind me, I heard Boone

murmur something and the counterman bluster.

       Solange’s office was as clean and tidy as a professional

accountant’s. The big black man dressed legit, too, with a pressed suit

and pretty tie, but his convict tattos and overbuilt body spoiled the effect.

“Lieutenant Talan.” Casually he blanked out his terminal screen. “What a

nice surprise. Haven’t seen you in ages, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

       “Your nose is getting longer, Rhymer.” I sat on the edge of his desk.

“Biz running smooth?”

       “I take what I’m given.” He lifted his roofbeam shoulders. “It’s not

much, but it’s a living.”

       “Uh-huh.” He brought in more in a week than I made in a year.

Which reminded me of what I needed. “Got a technofitter on your

payroll?”

       “That I do, but what’s it to you?”

       “Can he boost and disable?”

       His gold-etched front teeth flashed. “I wouldn’t know, never asked

the man. Illegal technofits’ll get me thrown in the can.”

       “Of course.” I leaned over and tapped a couple keys on his board.

The screen he’d blanked out popped back into view – he was transferring
                                                                             144

funds received from a local candy shop to an offshore account. “Nice

chunk of change. Looks very laundered. Have you reported it to Income

Regulation?”

       “You sure know how to hurt a guy.” He sighed. “What you want, and

when, and why?”

       I told him everything but the why.

       “Razer-tuned, safeties off?” He chuffed out some air. “You’re

dreaming, little girl. That’s lethal stuff.”

       “A fifteen-year audit would cost more.”

       He considered that. “You know the kind of juice something like that

takes? We’re not talking a bulb for Easy-Bake.”

       I smiled. “Add it to your list of reasons not to mess with me.”

       Solange made a face and lumbered to his feet. “Just don’t tell

anyone where you got it. I don’t need them Razers in my shit.” He stopped

and met my gaze. “Holy Hell, that’s something new. I just got me a flash

on you.”

       Romy had a rep as a bargain basement precog, but I’d thought it

was hype. I lifted my brows. “And?”

       “It’s not much, but it’s not nice.” He looked a little shaken. “You

caught in the middle of fire and ice.”

                                         #
                                                                         145

        Rhymer’s text appeared on my terminal: DID MY PART. Now it

was all downhill from there. I made a note to thank the poet personally.

                                     #

        Andy came out carrying a backpack and tossed it to me. I had to

let go of the counterman to catch it, but by then he was pretty docile.

        She eyed the trickle of blood running out of his swollen nose.

“Anything we should drop off at the station?”

        “Not worth the fuel.” I shouldered the pack strap. Whatever

she’d gotten from Solange wasn’t that heavy.

        “Bastid punched me,” the counterman whined, feeling his nose

with tentative fingers. “For nothing.” Then he went still and stared at

Andy.

        She stared back. “Better settle your tab with the bookie by

Tuesday, or he’ll put you in limb supports. Jersey Girl in the ninth is a

sucker bet.” She hesitated. “And quit belting your old lady around.”

        As the counterman sagged and held the sides of his head, I

followed her out to the unit. “What’s in the pack?”

        “Insurance.” She got in, then sat and rubbed the heels of her

palms against her eyes. “Three months from now that old Cajun’s

woman is going to stick him while he sleeps. He’ll choke to death on his

own blood. She’ll have enough bruises to sway the DA, though. They’ll
                                                                         146

give her five years for manslaughter, but she’ll behave and be out in

two.”

        “Why didn’t you tell him that?”

        She turned and looked at me. “Because if I had, he’d go home,

get drunk and kill her, then take off into the swamp. He’ll smuggle and

drink and beat other women for another twenty-seven years.”

        “You can parallel.” I’d never realized that.

        “Not always.” She started the engine. “Just with low-watts like

him.”

        I should have asked her about me, about what my options might

have been, back when I’d had some.

        All my options were gone. I couldn’t parallel, but I knew hers

would either save me, or get me killed.

                                      #

        Boone said it would be better to wait until dark, when most of the

Razers would leave the tunnels to work the streets. He also insisted I pick

up some sandwiches and park outside the crypts where the glidecar

wouldn’t be noticed.

        “No thanks,” I said when he offered me one of the po’boys. “I do

better on an empty stomach.” Though I wished I’d taken a hit from the

bottle before we’d left my place. “Who burned you?”
                                                                          147

      He looked out the window at the setting sun. “Malak, maybe.”

      “You blow your cover?”

      “I don’t know. Most of the details are gone.” He eyed the

transmitter. “Are you going to check in with Bayless?”

      “So he can bitch? I’ll pass.” I switched on the unit terminal and

punched up the schematic for the city’s sewer system. “All right, tell me

about his setup.”

      He tapped some keys and zoomed in on the drainage tunnels

directly beneath us. “Malak uses these two as main entries,” he said as he

highlighted the corresponding spots, “His crew stays mainly in the old

pumping station, here. That’s also where they sleep and keep all their

hardware and food stores.”

      “Where’s Malak bunking?”

      “I never got to see the room, but I saw him and his girl go into this

control room” – he made a small circle on the screen with his finger—“and

when I went in behind him, they were gone.” He traced the line of retaining

wall. “If he’s got a private crib, it’s probably behind here.”

      “Girlfriend?”

      “Mid-rater named Jazz.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “She’s

domesticated, won’t put up any fight.”

      “What about security and bodyguards?”
                                                                         148

      “Two in each tunnel, 7/8 raters or better. Minimum four in the

pumping station. He doesn’t have any bodyguards and no one but the

girlfriend gets within ten feet of him.”

      I frowned. “Why not?”

      “His temper.” Boone shut off the terminal. “I saw him lose it once

and wipe two of his best guys in a blink. He’s not stable.” He glanced at

me. “All I need you to do is get me in past his men. He won’t know I’m

coming.”

      “He could shoot you in the head this time.” As the sky turned purple,

I took out my stunner and checked the charge. “It might be better for

everyone if you stayed in the car.”

      “You need someone to watch your back, Andy.”

      “Don’t call me that.” I put my stunner in my shoulder holster and

grabbed the pack from the backseat. “Look, don’t get yourself shot, okay?

I’ve lost enough partners this month.”

      Boone led me to an old tomb. The statuette of a depressed angel

sat on top of the square marble box, and in her hands was a little slab of

stone chiseled with the name “Gervase.” The tomb appeared to be sealed,

until he pressed the “e” on the name slab and something clicked. The

front panel swung out like a door.
                                                                        149

      I peered inside, then shouldered the pack and unzipped one side

pocket, where Rhymer had stuck the head band. Just in case. “How far in

are the sentries?” I asked as I stepped inside.

      “About halfway to the pumping station. Maybe two hundred yards.”

He led me past two dusty old coffins to a small, narrow set of stairs. He

handed me a little hand emitter. “Sound carries in here, so be as quiet as

you can.”

      “Yeah.” I looked down into the darkness and felt something like a

tickle in the back of my head. “Let’s go.”

                                      #

      I felt her from the moment she came into the tunnels. She had

Rhymer’s little surprise with her, and was planning to use it.

      Andra would be mine the moment she did.

      “Our guests have arrived.” I said into the intercom to the

planning room. “Go and get them.”

                                      #

      As we went down into the dark, the light from our emitters solidified

into bright beams. I kept mine down so it wouldn’t act like headlights. The

smell of rot and sewage filled my head as we made our way into the tunnel.

      Rhymer’s precog echoed in my head. Won’t be nice . . . fire and ice.
                                                                            150

      I felt the minds of the two men ahead of us before I saw them, and

stopped. “Boone, give me a hand.” I tugged the band out of the pack and

strapped it across my brow.

      He shone his emitter on the pack. “What is that?”

      “A wave amplifier. I can use it to generate a blanket field around us.”

And boost my own waves to knock out a whole roomful of minds, if need

be.

      He reacted like I’d just offered him a dose of flesh-eating herpes.

“You can’t use that in here.”

      “I’m not taking any chances with these freaks.” I turned my back to

him. “Switch the transmitter on for me.”

      He ripped open the pack instead and jerked the unit out. “This isn’t

a brain scrambler.” He thrust it in front of my face. “Look at it.”

      “I saw him take it off the shelf, and . . .” I studied the unit, which was

not what Solange had showed me, and then I yanked the band from my

head. “Okay, so I didn’t watch him pack it up, I don’t know what it is, and

when we’re done here, Rhymer’s a dead man.”

      “Someone tipped him off. Malak knows we’re coming.” Boone

looked from one side of the tunnel to the other. “We have to get out of

here, right now.”

      He’d distracted me, so I didn’t feel them until a split second before

they appeared. “Company.”
                                                                       151

                                    #

      Being helpless pissed me off, but all I could do was stand and

watch as Andy slammed up her guards and projected at Malak’s pair of

goons. The biggest one reeled back, startled, while his buddy jumped at

Andy. I lunged and knocked him to the tunnel floor before he could

touch her. I figured she’d need a few seconds to disable the big one,

but in a blink the one under me went limp and wide-eyed. Behind us, a

heavy body fell with a thud.

      “He’s done.” She helped me to my feet. “But he’ll send more

when they don’t show up with us.”

      God, she’d gotten so strong. Or maybe I’d never known just how

strong she was. “How many can you take on at the same time?”

      “Four. Maybe five.” She glanced at the small one, who was still

staring at us. “I can’t hold them for forever, Boone.”

      I took out my stunner and switchpick. “All I need is a minute

alone with Malak.”

      “You’re going to kill him.” She wasn’t asking, but I nodded to

make it official. “You make sure you do, because wounded, he will take

us both out.”

      Something inside me relaxed, another part of me tensed. “Don’t

worry. I’ll get the job done.”
                                                                            152

                                        #

      Killing Malak would get both our asses dismissed, if not thrown in

jail. I didn’t care, and evidently, neither did Boone.

      But I needed a reason from him, so as we trotted toward the

pumping station, I asked for one. “Is it because you were burned?”

      Boone glanced at me, surprised. “No.”

      “Then why do you want Malak dead?”

      “He’s killed enough people.” He stopped, lifted a hand, and listened.

“It’s right around the corner,” he said in a lower tone. “If you take point, I

can slip around the back, get at him while you keep them busy.”

      I could sense at least five minds in close proximity, and two of them

were almost as strong as I was. I did a quick precog and saw myself

taking them down, but not without some trouble. “Make it quick.”

      I checked the perimeter before I went to the door and eased it open

a crack. With my guards up, none of the six men in the room could sense

me. I hoped. I tugged open the front of my jacket and tucked my weapons

in my pockets before I sauntered in.

      “Hey boys.” I assumed an appropriate, vapid expression and glanced

around. “Somebody order some company?”

      “She’s the cop.” One of the Razers jumped to his feet and pulled a

knife. “Where are Slice and Joey?”
                                                                       153

      “Taking a nap.” He was one of the strong ones, so I hit him as hard

as I could. “Like you should.”

      He fell over like a chopped tree, and the sound of his jaw smashing

into the concrete made the others pause, long enough for me to tag the

other highrate. Holding him would take too much of my focus, so I shut

down his lungs until he passed out. By then the other four were on me.

                                    #

      He was sitting in front of a computer terminal inside the

concealed room, which was soundproof – he couldn’t hear the

commotion Andy was causing outside. He didn’t even look around when

I came in. “What is it?”

      I was staring at Jazz, who was slouched in a chair next to his

desk. Her eyes weren’t blinking and saliva dribbled from the corner of

her lips. “Why did you keep her body?”

      “She’s still good in bed. Better, actually, now that I don’t have to

listen to her mouth.” He turned around slowly, and his blond brows

lifted. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

      “That’s what they keep telling me.” I tightened my grip around

      the pick.

                                    #
                                                                        154

      Knowing Malak was only a few feet away gave me the extra juice I

needed to deal with the last four thugs. That and a well-placed stun to the

ribs of one and the groin of another.

      I wiped the blood from my mouth as the last one went down holding

his crotch and writhing. “Bet that hurts.”

      I went into the control room and found the door in the wall. I

couldn’t hear anything from the inside, so I slipped in with my guards up

and reinforced.

      A brain-fried girl sat propped up in a chair. Boone was on the floor,

wrestling with another man. They had his weapon wedged between them

and were fighting to stab each other in the neck with it.

      I took aim, then saw the other man’s face and froze. “Huh?”

      Boone wrenched his head to the side. “Andy, get out of here.”

      A spontaneous precog hit me: Me standing in front of Ice, my hands

on his face, holding him. Boone, stabbing him from behind with his pick.

      I’d never been wrong about the future or Ice. I changed my target

and fired, blasting Boone in the shoulder.

      “Andy, thank God.” Ice shoved Boone’s partially-paralyzed body away

from him and rolled to his feet. “They’ve been holding me hostage here for

weeks.”

      I walked up to him slowly. It was Ice, the same short, stocky blond-

haired man I’d been having nightmares about for weeks. Still I reached
                                                                          155

out, my hand shaking, until my fingertips skimmed his gaunt cheek. He

looked like shit but he felt real and warm and alive. Ice was alive.

         I laughed, bit my lip, then threw myself into his arms. “Jesus. How?

Jesus.”

         His cold, dry lips pressed against my forehead, then my nose, then

my right eyelid. “I don’t know, baby, but I am so glad to see you.”

         “No.” Boone’s voice croaked on the word. I looked over Ice’s

shoulder to see him crawling toward us. “Not him.”

         I stepped back. “They brought in some burnt up bones and said it

was you. They said that someone bombed your car.”

         “You can see it wasn’t me.” He turned and kicked Boone hard in the

side, making him curl up. “This cop, he works for Malak. Did you know

that?”

         “No, he never mentioned it.” I glanced at the girl. “And her?”

         “Jazz, Malak’s bitch.” He kicked Boone again. “This asshole is the

one who razed her.”

         I crouched down next to him. “And here I thought he was harmless.”

         Ice snorted. “He’s a shifter, Andy. He can make you think whatever

he wants. We have to kill him, now, and get out of here.”

         Boone’s hand touched mine. “Parallel it.”

         I shouldn’t have listened to him, but there was no way Boone had

razed Jazz. A 4/5 just didn’t have the juice. So I precogged, and saw
                                                                         156

myself going out with Ice. Men jumped us, tore me away from him. Ice

strapped Rhymer’s toy to my head, and it boxed me inside my skull. He

brought the drooling girl out. Ice reached into my mind . . .

      I shifted away from that and precog into another timeline. In this

one, I was standing with Ice in my mind, only he wasn’t Ice, he was

something horrible and old and Boone was coming up behind him . . .

      “Oh, no.” Ice sounded disgusted. “Andra, you bad girl – you weren’t

supposed to peek.” Hard hands jerked me away from Boone and onto my

feet. Whatever mind was behind his eyes was open to me, and completely

alien. “Now you’ve gone and ruined it.”

      “You’re not Tom Isivitch.”

      “Aren’t you a bright girl?” He shoved me up against the nearest wall

and pinned me there. “That’s right, I’m not your partner. I just borrowed

his body after I burned his brains out of it.”

      “You’re Malak.” In Ice’s body. It wasn’t possible. But he was in

there, like a cancer.

      He smiled with Ice’s mouth. “You cops have always wanted to know

what shifters can do.” He was gathering himself and focusing, and the

power rippled off him in cold waves. “Let me demonstrate.”

      I saw Boone getting to his feet, and clamped my hands on Ice’s face.

“Show me.”
                                                                        157

      Malak’s mind smashed into my head, through every one of my

guards and into places no one had ever been. I didn’t try to keep him out;

I’d have had more luck sprouting wings and flying around the room. I

invited him in, the way I would have Ice.

      So here we are, baby. His presence was malignant and vile, as if

something had poured pure filth into my brain. His mother hadn’t just

gotten PIC, she’d done chems and narcs while she’d carried him. It had

crafted him into a monster before he’d taken his first breath. You owe me

a mind.

      I didn’t hurt your girlfriend.

      I’m going to take you anyway. I’ll put you inside her, and you’ll be

my little plaything until we wear out these bodies. He had shifted so

many times that he couldn’t remember the body he’d been born in.

Shifting was what had driven him over the edge. Then we’ll just go get us

some new ones.

      Malak, did you do that to Ice?

      He was too much trouble to bother with. All I needed were some

of his memories and body.

      You must have skipped our academy years. I locked my hands

around his head. Because you missed one really important thing.

      What?
                                                                            158

       Ice was a shifter. I sank myself into his head as Boone lifted the

switch pick over Malak’s neck. And so am I.

       I held him for as long as it took Boone to stab him, then boxed his

mind in with mine. For a second I wasn’t sure if I could hold him, but

something came around me and enveloped me, reinforcing me.

       We could have ruled the world, baby. Lived and ruled it forever.

       Thanks, but I’ll hold out for my pension plan. I wrenched my mind

away from his.

       Malak clapped a hand to the back of his neck, coughed, and then

grinned. “Got to taste you anyway. You’re . . .” He crumpled to the floor

and went still.

       He wasn’t Ice, but I still bent and checked for a pulse.

       Boone dropped the bloody pick and met my gaze. “If you’ll hold off on

kicking my ass, I’ll tell you everything.”

       I caught him before he fell, and supported his weight against me.

“You should have said something before now, Tommy.”

       “You knew.”

       “Well, yeah. I can feel you now, and besides, who else would pull this

kind of shit on me?” I wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Come on.

Let’s get out of here.”

                                         #
                                                                      159

        We couldn’t go to the local hospital, so Andy took me back to her

place and bandaged my shoulder there.

        “You want to tell me what really happened to you?” she asked

after she made me a cup of her lousy coffee. She took out a bottle of

whiskey and a glass for herself.

        “The operation was a set-up. Zach Boone tried to get me out at

the last minute, but Malak was waiting.” Before she could pour it, I held

out my hand. “Don’t, Andy.”

        “Guess I got into some bad habits while you were gone.” She

handed me the bottle, then sat down beside me. “So Boone was a real

cop.”

        “Yeah.” I looked down at my body – Boone’s body – and

wondered if I’d ever get used to it. “Good man, too.”

        I told her how I had tried to keep Malak away from Boone, and

how Jazz had gotten between us and taken a bad proximity burn. How

Malak had gone crazy then and razed Boone out before turning on me.

She kept eyeing the whiskey, but didn’t try to take the bottle.

        “I stabbed him three times in the chest, but that wasn’t enough.”

I adjusted the old scarf she’d used to make a sling for my arm. “Malak

forced me out of my body and took it over. Somehow, I don’t know how,
                                                                      160

exactly, I shifted into Boone. I woke up a couple weeks later in Boone’s

body.”

      “How could you shift into a razed mind?”

      “I don’t know. Maybe because whatever was left of Boone

wanted me to.”

         She rested her cheek against her hand. “So he left Boone for

dead, not knowing you were in there.”

      I nodded.

      “And Malak wanted me to reanimate his girlfriend, or whatever.

God.” She sighed. “I am not typing up the report on this one.”

      “There won’t be a report.” Gibson stepped into the kitchen, his

weapon drawn. “You two are going back to the tunnels, where you’re

going to fix things the way they should be. Then I think you’ll both be

razed in the line of duty.” When Andy focused, he pressed the gun

against my head. “You so much as nudge my brain, Talan, and I’ll blow a

hole in his.”

      “I always thought Malak was a little too dumb to be running the

show by himself.” I looked at Andy and laced my fingers together. “But

you got a lot smarter while I was out of commission, Gibson.”

      The coordinator smiled down at me. “Call me Jazz.”

                                    #
                                                                           161

        I’d just gotten Ice back, I wasn’t giving him up a third time. Not to

Malak’s girlfriend. When I saw him twine his fingers together, I knew what

he wanted me to do.

        Ice and I hadn’t merged minds since the one time we’d tried it at the

academy, and that had been accidental. Even attacking Malak we’d be

careful to keep ourselves on separate sides. But I was tired, and he was

still recovering from the shift to Boone’s body. The only way we could

immobilize her was to merge into each other’s heads, then attack as one

cojoined mind. It also had to been timed perfectly, or the backlash would

raze one of us.

        I tapped out the count with my fingernail on the table. Three . . . two

. . . one . . . now.

        My partner’s mind and mine met and entwined, like his fingers.

Then we merged.

        —Go for her central nervous down through the stem into the spine

shut down the nerves watch her she’s still got some juice—

        Human minds – even DB minds – were never meant to do this, and

the instinct to push Tom out was so strong I couldn’t breathe. He not only

saw and felt but became part of my mind, as much as if he’d been born

inside me. I wasn’t myself any longer, I was Andra/Tom.

        The only reason we could do it was because we trusted each other

without reservation. Or maybe it was the love we felt for each other, the
                                                                           162

love we’d starved and neglected while we’d tried so hard to be good

friends.

      —we can control her body now lower the arm put the gun on the

table she’s fighting back slow her heartrate that’s it not too much just

make her lightheaded there she goes—

      As soon as she started to sag, we separated. We caught her arms

and lowered her to the floor.

      “Okay.” I sat down, my whole body trembling and covered in sweat.

“I really never want to do that again with you for as long as I live.”

      “Amen.” Ice was white-faced and his hands shook as he removed

the power cell from Jazz’s weapon and tossed it on the table. “So if you

love me, you’re just going to have to tell me with your mouth.”

      “There are other ways to do that, you know.” I took the bottle and

went over to the disposal unit, and started emptying it down the drain. No

regrets this time. “All kinds of ways.”
                                                                           163

                                  Abbadon

                                 by S.L. Viehl



      “There’s a cobweb up there,” Father Carlo murmured as he passed

by me. I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing the old mosaic tile. “Be

sure to take care of that before you leave today.”

      Like one little cobweb was going to make the old place collapse.

      I looked up at the saint statues carved in the low arch overhead and

spotted the thin, dusty strand hanging from St. Paul’s receding chin. St.

Luke’s church had been built to look just the ones my grandparents had

left behind in Ireland, but the inside was pure Italian. Mama had said that

was because the Vatican had paid to rebuild the church after the Chicago

Fire of 1871. It was a heavy, gloomy place, with looming vaulted ceilings

and walls of load-bearing brick covered with stucco and tons of gilded

plaster. The fussy baroque Italian stuff collected a lot of dust but did

nothing to cheer the place up. The two-story rectory behind the sanctuary

had the same unyielding, grim atmosphere.

      Maybe it was the scorched brick you could still see near the

foundations, or the smell from the prayer candles, but the only warmth St.

Luke’s seemed to offer was the promise of eternal hellfire for all of us

sinners.
                                                                         164

      City tours often brought tourists by to walk through the sanctuary,

which the guides said was a bastion of late-19th architecture. St. Paul and

the thirteen other martyrs had been installed above the huge altar, one

said, right after the flu epidemic that had killed so many people after World

War I.

      “Saints ward off evil,” my mother had told me, “and Lord knows in

this neighborhood, that’s a full-time job.”

      All I knew was, they were ugly and a bitch to keep clean. But then,

who was I to judge things for their beauty? “I will, Father.” I’d need the

dust mop with the long handle, which meant another trip into the

basement.

      I really didn’t like the basement.

      I’d sort of inherited my job at St. Luke’s from my mother, who had

spent years on her knees there praying for my affliction or my Father’s

soul, and scouring away the heel marks of the faithful. Usually she

assumed the position to scrub the floors — my problem was permanent

and Mama felt certain that Dad had gone straight to hell. Still, sometimes

she scraped up enough spare change to light a candle.

      “Dear Lord, forgive my dear departed husband Francis Patrick

Murphy for his sins and try not to let him aggravate you as much as he did

me,” she’d say as she lit the wick and bowed her head. Or, more seriously,

“My Nia’s a sweet girl, please take His mark away.”
                                                                             165

      The doctor at the free clinic had assured Mama that His mark was

just a birth defect, and not because my Dad had been a good-for-nothing

drunk and gambler. Mama never argued with the doctor; she said he was

a Jew and of course those people were all screwed up about religion.

      Before I found out otherwise, I didn’t know how to feel about my

affliction. I felt like I was a good person, and I hadn’t killed anyone. I

absolutely adored my little brother, so it couldn’t be like a Caine thing. I’d

never been as big on God as Mama was, though, so maybe He wanted to

point that out to the rest of the world. Naturally I’d always assumed His

mark meant God’s mark.

      The Jews weren’t the only ones who were screwed up.

      Mama cleaned the sanctuary at St. Luke’s on Wednesday and

Saturday mornings, and she took me and my brother with her on the

weekends. It was only five blocks from our apartment, so we’d walk. As

long as we were quiet, we were invisible; the priests only spoke to Mama if

we made noise or if she missed something: “The children should not laugh

so loudly, Mrs. Murphy” or “Remove that dripped wax from the candle

stand by the Holy Mother’s statue if you would.”

      Teag and I never liked St. Luke’s. Aside from the dismal feel of the

place, sometimes there were strange noises that came out of nowhere;

bangs, rattling, and what sounded like whispering voices. Mama always

said it was just the old pipes or the wind, but they gave my little brother
                                                                             166

nightmares. Teag would wake up screaming about monsters under his

bed – and always on the nights when we’d been at the church.

        Mama told him his imagination was running wild, but I borrowed a

pocket flashlight from our landlord Mr. Cipella and slipped it to Teag on the

sly. “When you wake up, shine it under the bed,” I told him. “Monsters are

allergic to light and they’ll run.”

        “What if the light doesn’t work?” he asked me, his eyes wide.

        “Call me, and I’ll give them a great big kiss.” I made a hideous face –

not a hard thing for me – and he giggled, bless him.

        We were allowed to go anywhere we wanted at the church, except

into the rectory, on the altar or down into the basement. The rectory was

where the priests lived, the altar was sacred, and the basement was

simply off-limits. Mama always went by herself with her to get the mops

and buckets from downstairs, and she scolded us if we even got near the

door.

        “It’s dark and dirty and no place for you to play,” she’d always tell us.

Mama herself never stayed down there more than a minute. When she

went there, I could hear her footsteps pounding on the stairs, like she was

running up and down them.

        We also went to St. Luke’s on Sundays, but that was different. That

was church going. I had to wear a dress and a long lace veil, and a pair of

Mama’s shiny black shoes that always pinched my toes. Teag had to wear
                                                                          167

a little suit and tie and have his hair wet-combed. We sat all the way in the

back with the other poor people, and stand and kneel and listen to the

priests pray and talk about God and sinners and salvation. Most of it was

pretty boring, but the choir sounded nice. I never got to be around many

people, either, so I liked watching them through the lace of my veil.

      I got caught once, when I was about ten.

      An old lady came up to our pew after mass. “Your girl was staring

at me, Fiona Murphy,” she said, her voice all dried up and cranky. “You tell

her to stop.”

      My mother put an arm around me. “She can look where she wants,

Mrs. Reilly.”

      She pointed a bony finger at my face. “Marked her for his own,

Abbadon has. I don’t want her evil eye cast on me.”

      Mama stood up and folded her arms. “Then maybe you should be

moving on.”

      Later at home I asked my mother who Abbadon was, but she

wouldn’t say. When I pestered her, she told me there were plenty of

crotchety old ladies in the world who had nothing good to say to anyone,

and to stop harping or she’d make me stay in my room for the day.

      The old lady wasn’t the only one who said things. The kids in our

neighborhood would too, whenever I walked with Mama to church or the

store. We lived on the other side of Washington Square in the row
                                                                       168

houses behind the Newberry Library. The library and St. Luke’s faced each

other on opposite sides of open park everyone called "Bughouse Square."

Mama said it was because in the old days people would gather there to

here soapbox prophets and libertarians, but now it was the exclusive

territory of high school dropouts, hookers and drug dealers.

      The O’Brien brothers – Ian and Avery – were the worst, and always

did their very best to bug me.

      “That’s a pretty dress, Two-Tone.” Ian was a scrawny red-headed boy

with liver-colored freckles and beady brown eyes. “Why don’t you give it to

someone who’ll look good in it?” He snatched at my skirt.

      “Little snot.” Mama smacked him in the head with her purse. “Keep

your hands to yourself.”

      Ian’s brother yanked him away, but looked back to yell, “Freak! Look

at the freak! Free freak show!”

      “You’re such a prize, Avery O’Brien?” my mother shouted in return.

“Go back to school; you’ll get a bigger vocabulary!”

      The most important priest at St. Luke’s was Father Augustus Tower,

who gave mass only on high holy days. He was going to be our next

bishop, Mama said, and sure enough by the time I started taking my high

school home courses, he went off to Italy. He came back a year later

wearing a different dress (Mama said they were called cassocks but Teag

called them dresses, which tickled me.) People started calling him “Bishop
                                                                         169

Tower” and "Your Eminence” instead of Father Augustus. He brought back

a couple of new Italian priests, though I don’t know why. Neither of them

would have anything to do with the parishioners.

       “They’re mean, too,” Teag told me once after Sunday school.

“Tommy Harliss gave Roy Kelly the finger in class and Father Carlo was

walking by and saw and came in and beat Tommy’s hand with a ruler. Until

it bled and everything.”

       I told Mama that, and she said Teag could stay home from Sunday

school with me from then on. Which was fine with my brother; he’d never

thought it was fair that he had to go when I didn’t.

       That was about the same time when Mama stopped bringing us

with her on her cleaning jobs. She said I was old enough to stay home and

watch Teag by myself. She started feeling bad soon after that, would

come home at the end of the day so pale and exhausted she could barely

eat.

       “That cut on your arm isn’t healing, Mama,” I said one night. She’d

said she’d gotten it cleaning up some broken beer bottles after a party at

one of the office buildings she worked. “Why don’t I call the doctor?”

       She covered the raw gash with her hand. “Don’t fuss, Nia. I’m just

getting older, takes me longer to heal.”

       Mama collapsed one morning, right in front of the stove, and threw

up blood all over the floor. I rolled her on her side and made Teag call 911
                                                                       170

while I kept her from choking on it. The paramedics let us ride with her in

the ambulance to the hospital, but even after she stopped puking in the ER

they said she had to stay. I had to take Teag home by myself. We went

every night to see her, and on the third night a doctor came and said my

mother had stomach cancer, the bad kind.

      Mama never came home again.

      Days stretched into weeks. Father George came every day, but he

mostly stayed with Teag and watched cartoons with him in the waiting

room. Bishop Tower came to see Mama twice, and both times she asked

me to leave the room. When I came back the second time, she was

crying. I wanted to yell at the bishop for upsetting Mama, but she smiled

through her tears and said he’d given her absolution, and she was going to

heaven.

      “His Eminence says you can take my place, Nia,” she added as she

was drifting off. “You’ll always have work.”

      I’d already taken over her cleaning jobs, working at night so people

wouldn’t have to see me. I didn’t want to spend my life scrubbing floors at

places like St. Luke’s, but with my face no one else would hire me and we

needed the money. “That’s great, Mama, but you’re not going anywhere.”

      “You’ll be safe.” She closed her eyes. “Just do the work, look after

your brother, and say your prayers.”
                                                                          171

      I’d said three rosaries on my knees every night since she’d gotten

sick, but God hadn’t paid any attention to me. Maybe I disgusted him too,

or maybe he wasn’t such a great God. My mother had worked all her life,

had gone to church all her life, and had never hurt another person. And

He was letting her die. “What’s the use in praying, Mama?”

      Her eyes opened wide, and her bony hand grabbed my wrist. “You’ll

pray and you’ll be a good girl.” Spit flew from her lips and her whole face

turned red. “Swear to me you will, or the he’ll have you. He won’t just

mark you this time – Abbadon will take your soul.”

      “Who is Abbadon?”

      Her eyes went glassy. “Those whops will see to him. You just do as I

say.” A wet cough seized her, making her choke.

      I didn’t understand but I didn’t want her throwing up blood again. “I’ll

pray, Mama. Every night. I promise.” I felt like crying. “He won’t get me.”

      “I know he won’t.” She stopped coughing and subsided, her fingers

limp on my wrist. “You’re my good girl.”

      Mama died three days later.

      St. Luke’s had a mass for her, conducted by the bishop himself, and

that afternoon Father George presided over the funeral. He called Mama

a good Catholic woman who had gone to her reward. We didn’t have any

family, but the other people who worked at St. Luke’s came to pay their
                                                                        172

last respects. Hardly anyone stared at me. Bishop Tower met me and

Teag as we were walking from the cemetery.

      “Your Eminence.”

      “Fiona was a good woman, Niamh Murphy.” He said my name the

old Irish way, Nee-uv, instead of Nia like Mama and Teag called me. He

held out his hand. “Will you serve St. Luke’s as well as your mother did?”

      Teag was only twelve; I’d just turned seventeen. I’d nearly finished

my high school equivalency but people wouldn’t look at my GED when I

went to job interviews. They’d look at my face. The only way the Family

Services people would let me keep Teag was if I had steady work. I’d fry in

hell with Daddy before I let them put him in some foster home.

      “Yes, Your Eminence.” I bent over when he held out his hand, and

pressed my lips to his ring. “Thank you.”

                                     #

      I went to St. Luke’s the following Wednesday evening. Our neighbor

Mrs. Harris had agreed to baby sit on nights while I worked; our television

was better than hers and she had no kids of her own so she liked fussing

over my brother.

      Even with Mrs. Harris bringing over popcorn balls and her

homemade snicker doodles, Teag didn’t like me leaving him behind. “What

if something bad happens to you? What if someone tries to jump you?”
                                                                           173

      I thought of Ian O’Brien and his brother, who were still hanging out

with their thug friends at Bughouse Square. “I’m too poor to rob, little

brother, and too ugly for anything else.”

      “Aw, Nia.” Teag put his hand on my left cheek. “It’s not so bad.” He

ran his finger down the uneven border of my affliction, which started on my

forehead, went down the side of nose, over the middle of my mouth and

chin and disappeared into the collar of my t-shirt. “You’re pretty to me.”

      “Don’t say that, I can’t afford eyeglasses for you just yet.” I kissed

the end of his nose. “Be good and go to bed when Mrs. Harris says,

okay?”

      I left my hair in a ponytail when I rode my bike down to St. Luke’s.

Mama always had me wear my hair loose whenever we went out, but I was

tired of hiding behind it. Like Teag said, it wasn’t so bad – maybe if I

stopped hiding people would get used to it.

      When I passed Bughouse Square the O’Briens were at the corner,

as usual.

      Ian grabbed his crotch and grin at me. “Wanna pump on this?” he

shouted.

      “Why? Is your hand sore?” I yelled back.

      I locked my bike at the rack in the parking lot of St. Luke’s and met

Father George in the church office. Father Rocca and Father Carlo were
                                                                          174

there, too, although they just eyed me before going back to talking to each

other in Italian.

       Father George was a big teddy-bear kind of priest with lots of bushy

white hair and a big nose that was always drinker-pink. I always went to

Father George for confession because he gave the easiest penance. He

waved me into the chair in front of his desk. “How are you and your

brother getting along, Miss Murphy?”

       “We’re doing well, Father, thank you for asking.” Teag was still

having nightmares, this time about Mama, and I was tired from all the

extra work, but I didn’t want to burden him. He’d done enough, keeping

watch with us at the hospital and taking care of the funeral.

       “That’s good. Things will get better in time, my dear.” He sat back in

his chair. “As you know it was Fiona’s wish that you take over cleaning the

sanctuary for us, and we’re happy to offer you the job.” He named a fairly

decent weekly wage, enough to let me drop two of my other night jobs. “I

don’t think I have to go over the particulars; you’ve seen what your

mother’s done over the years.”

       Father Carlo came over and put something on the desk in front of

me. “She has to wear this.”

       I picked up the material and unfolded it. It was a long black cotton

scarf, the kind old ladies wore. “But Mama never–“ I stopped and looked

at Father George.
                                                                           175

      “The bishop receives visitors here sometimes.” Father George

looked terribly embarrassed. “Likely he doesn’t want you to . . .startle

anyone.”

      “It won’t cover everything. For that I’ll need a grocery bag.”

      “Don’t be fresh, girl.” Father Carlo looked like he wanted to beat me

with a ruler. “Be glad you have the work.”

      “That’s enough, Carlo.” Father George’s whole face was pink now. “I

could speak to the bishop, Nia.”

      “No, that’s okay.” Slowly I draped the scarf on my head and tied the

ends under my chin. “I need to see the supply closet downstairs. Mama

never let us go down there with her.”

      Father George cleared his throat. “Of course. I’ll take you down and

show you everything.”

      The stairway to the basement was to the right of the altar, partially

concealed by the life-sized statue of Blessed Mother. Automatically I

genuflected in front of the altar before following Father George to the

door. There was a new deadbolt on it, and he noticed my surprise as he

took out a set of keys.

      “The bishop has been storing some research in the basement,” he

said as he unlocked the door and opened it, then took a key off his ring and

handed it to me. “He’s asked us to keep it locked at all times.”
                                                                            176

      He turned on a light switch before we went down the stairs. The

basement was dingy and cold, and the one bulb in the ceiling didn’t push

back the shadows much. It was also kind of empty, except for some old

beat-up chairs, a big old wooden cabinet against one wall, and a metal tub

in one corner. It smelled dank and a little moldy, like all basements did.

There were three doors to the side, all of which were also locked with

padlocks, and he opened the left, smallest one with the same key that he’d

used on the door.

      “The supplies you need are here.” He tugged on a chain to light up

the inside. “All we ask is that you keep it neat and remember to lock the

door when you’re finished for the day.”

      I took out the bucket, mop, scrub brush and cleaner that I needed,

and then heard something bump. It sounded like it was coming from

inside the wall. “What was that?”

      “Mice, I’m afraid.” He chuckled. “Even in the house of the Lord, we

have our fair share.”

      I carried everything upstairs and remembered to lock the door

behind me and Father George. He told me to let him know if I needed

anything else, then went back to the office. All I had to do was fill the

bucket at the big sink in the church kitchen before I got to work.

      Cleaning the sanctuary took Mama at least three hours, but I was

younger, stronger and faster, and finished it in two. After I squeezed out
                                                                         177

the mop and emptied the bucket, I gathered up everything to take it back

downstairs.

      The padlocks kind of bothered me. The priests had never locked

anything before, except the outside doors at night to keep the homeless

drunks from sleeping in the pews. I’d never seen any sign of vandalism at

the church either, but I had been spending a lot of time lately at the

hospital.

      I carried my stuff down to the cleaning closet and put it away. What

is there to steal, anyway? The cheap pine cleaner? The old bucket?

      Maybe there was something inside the big cabinet. It wasn’t locked,

so I before I went upstairs I gave into the urge to have a peek inside. It had

four shelves at the top packed with dusty old books and three long

drawers at the bottom – the bishop’s research, maybe? I couldn’t see any

droppings. Cleaning it out might uncover the nest, but Father George had

said not to bother with it.

      I peered at the book spines, but they were written in another

language – Le Voyage d'Hiver -- Quand Je Dors -- Amour Immortel.

Evidently the bishop was studying something like French.

      Mrs. Harris wanted to be home by midnight, so I didn’t have time to

poke around much. I closed the door and then jumped as something

bumped inside the cleaning closet behind me. I backed away and hurried
                                                                             178

up the stairs. Maybe I’d ask Father George if we could put down some

traps.

                                        #

         Things got better over the next couple of weeks. Mrs. Harris said

Teag was sleeping through the night instead of waking up crying for Mama

three and four times, and I adjusted to the late hours and the heavy work.

The bills were still pretty bad, but the doctor wrote off the money we owed

him and the hospital let me pay what I could without sticking me with late

charges. A social worker came once to check on me and my brother,

looked at my face and muttered something about Medicare, then left.

Family Services seemed to forget about us after that.

         “Mama’s an angel now, and she’s watching over us,” I promised my

little brother. “Between her and me, everything will be fine.”

         Cleaning places at night wasn’t a hard job. The only one I really

hated was going to St. Luke’s. I always had to pass by Bughouse Square

and the O’Briens to get there, and even when I rode on the other side of

the street Ian or his brother would yell something lewd at me. I hated the

scarf and the way it made me feel – like I was a leper or something – plus

the sounds in the basement never went away, and sometimes they were

really loud. Father George had someone put out some traps in the

cleaning closet but they stayed empty.
                                                                         179

      Father George was always nice to me, but the Italian priests

watched me like I was going to steal the communion chalice. I don’t know

why. I’d never taken so much as a penny from the poor box, so they had

no reason to suspect me. Maybe they just didn’t like me.

      Priests I’d never seen before started coming to the church at night.

One of the Italians would meet them in front, and sometimes they’d walk

through the church to go to the rectory. A few stared at me – the scarf

really didn’t cover a lot – and whispered things to whoever they were with.

      Usually they spoke in Italian – Quel bambino non dovrebbe essere

qui. La ragazza è nessuno. Once I heard one with a British accent say,

You’re not thinking of trying again, are you?

      Mostly they ignored me. I wished other people would. One Saturday

night Ian O’Brien actually ran into the street and chased after my bike, but

I could pedal faster than he could run, so he didn’t catch me.

      “I’ll get you next time!” he yelled out.

      I was out of breath by the time I got to church and locked up my

bike. Maybe I’d have a word with our landlord about the O’Briens; Mr.

Cipella was big and mean enough to put a little scare into them. As I

walked up to the sanctuary I saw a well-dressed woman standing outside

the entrance, as if she was waiting for someone. I turned my face away as

I went past her, but she spoke to me.

      “Excuse me?”
                                                                         180

      I stopped and kept my head down. “Yes, ma’am?”

      “Sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for a friend of mine.” She

stepped closer, and I got a glimpse of her face. She was a very light-

skinned black woman with long, curly dark hair and beautiful eyes. “His

name is Gage Seran, and he was in this area around four months ago.”

      “I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone by that name.”

      “Have you noticed, um, a lot of bugs inside the church?”

      “No. I’m the cleaning lady, and I do my job. There aren’t any bugs.”

A little offended, I tried to go around her.

      “I’m sorry – wait.” She handed me a photo with a little card paper

clipped to it. The photo was of a smiling blond man with light eyes. He was

even prettier than she was – so gorgeous, in fact, that it almost hurt to

look at the photo. “That’s a picture of Gage. If you see him around here,

tell him Vanessa Whitman is looking for him. He can reach me at that

number after seven p.m. any day of the week.”

      “All right.” I tucked them into my pocket and then dared another

look at her, but she was gone.

                                       #

      I found the hole in the closet about two months after I’d been

working at the church, and only then because I knocked down a bottle of

wood polish getting some rags. When I bent down to pick it up, I saw a line
                                                                        181

of ants crawling past my foot. They were coming from a fist-sized hole in

the old baseboard.

       Yuck, where’s the bug spray. We didn’t have any, so I balled up one

of my cleaning rags and went to stuff it in the hole.

       Light was shining through the hole from the other side.

       Why would there be a light fixture behind a solid wall? I watched,

and the light flickered, the way a candle did. I dropped the rag and saw a

glimmer on the edge of the hole, and reached in. The floor on the other

side was wet and cold and crawling with ants.

       “Ugh.” I jerked my hand away. “Ow!” The edge of the hole cut into

the back of my hand. I stood up, saw I was bleeding, and muttered as I

pressed a clean rag against the scratches.

       easy

       I didn’t know where the whisper had come from, or even if it was

real. Maybe I had imagined it – but it sounded like it was on the other side

of the wall.

       “Niamh Murphy?”

       I shrieked when I saw Bishop Tower standing in the doorway, then

sagged. “Father Augustus – I mean, Your Eminence.” Automatically I hid

my hurt hand behind my back. “You startled me.”

       “Are you through here?”
                                                                           182

      “Yes, Your Eminence.” I gathered up my supplies and walked out of

the closet. Father George and the two Italian priests were waiting outside,

and the two Italians had small black leather bags that looked like what

doctors in old movies used to carry for house calls. Father Rocca’s face

was shiny and unhappy, but Father Carlo only stared back at me with his

usual glower.

      The bishop gestured toward the stairs. “Please escort Miss Murphy

back up to the sanctuary, George.”

      The Italians stayed down in the basement, so it surprised me when

Father George asked me to lock the door by the altar. “Shouldn’t I leave it

open, so they can come back out?”

      “No, they go out. . . some other door.” He gave me a wry look. “I’m

dying to know what they’re doing down there, too, but the bishop hasn’t

confided in me. Sometimes he can be a very private person.” When I

went to fill the bucket, he caught my arm. “What have you done to your

hand, child?”

      “Oh, I scratched it on the edge of the bucket.” I didn’t know why I lied,

exactly. “We’ve got an ant problem down there, Father – they’re in the

supply closet.”

      “I’ll have to call an exterminator. There’s a first aid kit in the church

kitchen; be sure to bandage that hand before you start working.” He

paused. “Nia, you haven’t noticed anything unusual lately, have you?”
                                                                           183

      I thought of the light coming through the mouse hole. “Like what,

Father?”

      “You know, any sounds or voices? Anyone calling to you in a strange

language?”

      I was going to tell him the truth, but something knotted inside me,

and I heard myself lying again. “I’ve only heard pipes rattling whenever

someone flushes upstairs.” I glanced at the door. “Why?”

      “No, but I hear the strangest things sometimes.” He rubbed the

back of his neck. “I need to have my ears checked, I think.”

      “Could there be some homeless people sneaking in down there to

sleep? Through the other door?” That might explain the voice. Winos

and bums would sleep anywhere dry.

      Father George seemed to relax. “That could be it; the poor

wretches are certainly resourceful. You be careful down there. Let me

know if you see anyone sneaking in or out.”

      He left me to scrub the floors, and for awhile, I did. Then I heard a

sound I hadn’t heard before coming from the basement.

      I got up and walked over. It was definitely coming from downstairs,

and it sounded like chanting. I eased the door open wider and listened.

      “. . . aurem tuam ad preces nostras, quibus misericordiam tuam

supplices deprecamur, ut animam famuli tui Abbadon . . . “
                                                                            184

      Abbadon? I took a step onto the stairs, but the chanting stopped

and there was a muffled cry.

      Father Carlo appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He rushed up as

I backed out. “Get out of here!” He slammed the door in my face.

                                      #

      I was mad, so I left my supplies outside the basement door and left.

I felt more tired than usual when I got home, and went to bed as soon as I

saw Mrs. Harris out. I couldn’t sleep, though. I kept seeing the basement

in my mind, hearing the strange chanting, then that single, stifled cry.

      Light behind a wall. The sounds. The metal clanking. That voice. It

didn’t make sense to me. Could there be someone living down there?

Why would the bishop go down there with those Italians?

      My hand hurt. I’d doused it with peroxide and covered the scratches

with some band-aids, but it still throbbed like a bad tooth. Finally near

dawn I drifted off, but I didn’t sleep well. I had a strange dream or a series

of dreams that ran together, not like any I’d ever had before.

      The first part was kind of silly – I dreamt I was locked in the supply

closet. Bishop Tower was on the outside, banging on the door and

shouting something. I was afraid to let him in . . . but he had the keys – he

had locked me in, hadn’t he? So why was he wanting me out of there?

      Get out get out get out get out get out –
                                                                             185

      Then I wasn’t in the closet anymore, but in some kind of museum.

There were beautiful paintings in heavy frames on the wall, and gorgeous

flowery carpet on the floor. The windows were ceiling to floor sized, with

little square panes that had funny ripples in the glass. On the other side of

one stood a man, his hands pressed to the glass. He wanted me to let

him in, I could see that, so I went and tried to open the window. Instead,

his hands came through the glass like a ghost’s, and he pulled me through

to the other side, like I was one, too.

      You can feel me now.

      I nodded – he wasn’t speaking English but somehow I understood

every word. I looked up into his beautiful face, but I couldn’t see it too

clearly – his eyes were covered by a shadow, like a blindfold. I got the

sense that he needed me to do something. What must I do?

      Find me. His hands framed my face. And I will save us. Blood

trickled down his cheeks like tears.

      Where are you?

      I found myself back in the closet, alone, and terribly afraid. I looked

down and saw the mouse hole I’d found growing larger. In a panic I bent

and tried to stuff it with rags but something sucked them through. The

hole stretched up and out until I could have walked through it.

      I couldn’t see what was on the other side, because of the light – light

that now poured out over my face.
                                                                             186

      Like the sun . . . I never got outside much during the day, because of

my face. Feels so warm . . .

      The light was gold and red and lovely, and I could feel it, like the

touch of a gentle hand. Like his hands on my face.

      So nice. Nobody had ever touched me like that. I wanted to close

my eyes and wallow in the sensation.

      The light drew me, pulling me toward the hole, and even though I

couldn’t see there was nothing I wanted more than to step through it to

the other side.

      What does he want? He couldn’t want me – I was ugly. And who

was he? I could feel his presence growing stronger. What do you want

from me?

      True ben wall

      It was his voice, low and soft, barely a whisper. His voice was sad

and needy, like someone in terrible pain. I had to go to him, but . . .

      Niamh a day wall

      The light grew brighter and hotter, and it wasn’t so nice anymore.

      NIAMH May a pell dee sang ah voh tray sang.

      It was going to suck me in and burn me up, like the fires of hell, and

it was filling the room and my head until I was sure it would scorch the

eyes out of my sockets –

      NIAMH
                                                                               187

      I stumbled back, away from the light, and screamed.

      “Nia?” Small hands were shaking me. “Nia, wake up!”

      I opened my eyes and saw my little brother standing over me. I was

sitting huddled in the corner of my bedroom, with my arms over my head.

My nightgown was soaked with sweat and I was shaking so hard that my

teeth chattered. “Teag?”

      “Are you okay? You were yelling.” He crouched down and touched

my face, which was wet. “You’re crying, what happened?”

      “It was just . . . a nightmare.” I felt like I was going to fall to pieces,

right there, but I couldn’t. I held out my arms and hugged my brother.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

      “You didn’t.” He buried his face in my hair. “Was it Mama?”

      “I don’t remember.” Yes, I did, and it scared the wits out of me. I’d

never had a dream like that.

      Teag insisted on making me breakfast, which included singed toast,

runny eggs and tea so strong it was black. He hovered and looked so

anxious that I ate every bit and emptied the tea pot.

      “Do you want more? I can make more.”

      God, I loved him so much. “I’ll be fine.”

      “I almost forgot.” He ran out of the kitchen to his bedroom, and

came back with the little pocket flashlight I’d given him. “You said
                                                                           188

whenever I woke up from bad dreams I could turn this on and look under

the bed, remember?”

      I nodded.

      He gave it to me. “You can use it now, Nia.” Then he made a scared

sound. “What happened to your hand?”

      “Oh, I just scratched it.” I glanced down.

      No wonder he was scared. All of my band-aids were soaked through

with fresh blood, which was now dripping onto the floor.

                                      #

      I would have quit St. Luke’s after that nightmare, but Mr. Cipella

came up the same day to tell me our rent was being raised.

      “I held off while your Ma was sick,” he said, looking at the rug instead

of me, “but I can’t no more. All the other tenants got the same increase,

you understand.”

      As it was we’d have just scraped by. Now if I quit St. Luke’s, we’d

have to find another, cheaper place to live. That meant moving into the

projects; and as bad as the neighborhood around Bughouse Square was,

the projects were worse.

      “Thanks for letting me know.” I hesitated. Our landlord was a devout

Catholic, so maybe he would know. “Mr. Cipella, do you know what the

name Abbadon means?”

      He peered at me. “Where did you hear that?”
                                                                        189

      “An old lady cursed me and said it once.” I lifted my shoulders. “I

was just wondering . . . who is he?”

      “He’s mentioned in Revelations.” He thought for a minute. “He lives

in a bottomless pit that will be opened during the End Times.”

      And Bishop Tower was praying to him? “So Abbadon is Satan?”

      “No, he’s an angel, I think.” He went over to the little bookcase next

to Mama’s armchair, took down our big family Bible, and began flipping

through it. “Here it is.” He handed me the book.

      And the shapes of the locusts were like unto horses prepared

unto battle; and on their heads were as it were crowns like gold, and

their faces were as the faces of men. And they had hair as the hair of

women, and their teeth were as the teeth of lions. And they had

breastplates, as it were breastplates of iron; and the sound of their

wings was as the sound of chariots of many horses running to battle.

And they had tails like unto scorpions, and there were stings in their

tails: and their power was to hurt men five months. And they had a king

over them, which is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the

Hebrew tongue is Abaddon . . .

      It sounded scary, all right. “What does it mean?”
                                                                           190

      “I don’t know, Nia. I never liked reading Revelations much myself.”

Mr. Cipella patted my shoulder awkwardly. “Maybe you should ask one of

the priests at St. Luke’s.”

      “Yeah.” I closed the bible. “Maybe I should.”

      Before I went to St. Luke’s on Saturday night, I went through a box of

my father’s things in the back of Mama’s closet and found the jack knife he

used to carry. It only had a four inch blade, but it was sharp and small

enough to fit in my pocket, and I could open it with my thumb. If there was

some homeless bum living behind the wall, or if Ian O’Brien tried to grab

me again, I could scare them with it. At the last moment I put Teag’s little

flashlight in my pocket, too.

      Ian and his gang were waiting at the corner of the square, and I had

to stop my bike because the light was red and traffic was unusually heavy.

Avery came over this time, but halted a foot away and held up his hands

like he was surrendering.

      “What do you want?”

      “What happened?” He nodded toward the gauze I had wrapped

around the scratches, which were still raw.

      “I hurt it.” I kept my good hand on Daddy’s knife.

      “Somebody bothering you?” When I lifted my brows, he turned a

little red. “Besides us, I mean?”

      “No.”
                                                                            191

       “You let me and Ian know, huh? If anyone bothers you. We’ll kick his

ass.” He ducked his head and shuffled his feet. “Sorry about your Ma.”

       I looked over his shoulder at Ian, who didn’t give me the usual leer

but simply nodded. Evidently I was still a freak, but I was their freak. In a

weird way, it made me feel nice.

       “Thanks.” The light turned green, and I rode off.

       I expected everything to be shadowy and scary but St. Luke’s was

just the same. Nothing happened when I went downstairs – well, ran

downstairs – to get my supplies. For once it was really quiet, too. I didn’t

hear any bumps or clanks or anything. Father George didn’t even come

out of the rectory until I was done dusting the old wooden pews.

       “I thought I smelled the lovely scent of pine.” He inspected me.

“You’re a little late tonight; is everything all right?”

       “My bike had a flat tire.” Good thing I didn’t go to confession

anymore, I’d have to say a ton of Our Fathers and Hail Marys for all the lies

I’d told. “I’ll be finished soon.”

       “Do you want me to drive you home, child? I can wait up for you.”

       “No, I have my bike.” I could tell he was worried. “I’ll be fine, Father.

Go to bed.”

       “If you’re sure.” He gave me one last troubled look before he went

over to blow out the blessings candles. “And if you would, remember to

lock up before you leave.”
                                                                           192

      “Father?” I tried to think of how to ask. “Bishop Tower and the

priests, the other night, were they praying down there?”

      “I don’t know.” He frowned. “Perhaps they were. Why?”

      “I thought I heard them say Abbadon – what does that mean?”

      “It’s the name of a fallen angel. The destroyer from the pit, who

comes to bring about the end of the world.”

      “And they were praying to him?”

      “Praying he’d skip Chicago, I imagine. These Italians priests.” He

rolled his eyes. “Everything with them is such a drama. Do you know they

insisted on blessing the church inside and out when they arrived? It was

practically raining holy water around here for a solid week.” He smiled.

“Ah, well. The ways we worship our Lord are many and mysterious. I’ll let

you get back to work. Good night, Nia.”

      I chuckled. “Good night, Father.”

      I though about it as I finished the floor, but nothing made sense.

When I was through I emptied the bucket and carried everything

downstairs. Now the absence of sounds bothered me; the silence seemed

to crawl over my skin – like ants.

      “I’m not afraid,” I muttered under my breath as I opened the closet

and turned on the light. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
                                                                          193

      I checked the mouse hole, but it was the same size it had been the

other day, and there was no light or bugs coming out of it. Surely I’d

imagined the light, just like the voice. I had to stop spooking myself.

      I took the mop and crouched down by the small dark hole. “Okay,

you ants.” I stuck the end of the mop handle into the hole and banged it

from side to side. “Go find somewhere else to – ”

      Something grabbed the handle and yanked it. I shrieked and let go,

and fell back on my butt. The hole sucked in the handle until the mop end

slammed into the wall.

      EASY.

      I crawled backward, scraping my palms on the concrete floor.

“Who’s in there? Who are you?”

      The mop jerked, then went still.

      “Go hifreann leat!” I yelled. Mama would have slapped me good for

using the old curses, but I was scared. “Go dtachta an diabhal thú!”

      Chan eil moran Gàidhlig agam.

      I don’t speak much Gaelic.

      It wasn’t a demon or an angel, it was a man. An ordinary man,

talking on the other side of the wall. I sagged with relief.

      Tá tú mall.
                                                                           194

        He was complaining because I was late tonight? I scrambled to my

feet. “This is private property, mister. You come on out of there, right

now.”

        He didn’t say anything.

        Mama had said there were still places in Ireland where people

refused to speak anything but Gaelic. Maybe he’d come over on a boat.

“Do you speak any English?”

        Tha, beagan. A little. You can . . . help me?

        “Are you stuck in there?”

        Ba mhaith liom. Yes.

        “I have to go get help. You stay there, all right?” That was a stupid

thing to say. “I mean, just wait, I’ll get Father George.”

        NON!

        The mop head slammed into the hole again, and this time it went

through, taking a square foot of wall with it.

        Help me.

        He sounded awful, like he was terrified. That scared me more than

seeing the mop disappear.

        “I can’t get to you.” And still I went to the wall, and crouched down to

peer in. There seemed to be a room on the other side, but it was dark. “I

can’t even see you.” I moved a piece of wall, and something dripped onto

my hurt hand. It was dark, and wet, and it burned a little.
                                                                           195

      I stared at my hand as one of my scratches disappeared.

      Help me now.

      The dry wall was old, and thin enough that I could pull pieces away

with my hands – and I found myself doing that, wrenching at the edges of

the hole, trying to make them bigger. A strange urgency hammered inside

my head. I suddenly knew I had to get him out, quickly and quietly, before

they found me doing this.

      Somehow our lives depended on it.

      The hole was finally large enough for me to squeeze through. “Okay.”

I got down on my hands and knees and poked my head through. The smell

on the other side of the wall was awful – like someone had emptied a

dumpster in the hidden room – but I worked my way in. My hands slipped

on the wet floor and I went down. Something hard in my pocket bruised

my thigh.

      Teag’s flashlight. I pulled it out and switched it on.

      The room was bigger than the entire basement on the other side. It

looked like it had been walled off a long time ago, with all the cobwebs

hanging from the ceiling and old mouse droppings everywhere. I stood up

and swept the flashlight slowly around me. There was a rickety-looking

table and two scarred up old chairs in front of a fireplace, which was

overflowing with dead ash. On the table was a glass filled with red wine.
                                                                         196

There was also, of all things, a brand new refrigerator sitting in one

corner.

      No sign of the man, though. “Where are you?”

      Chains rattled behind me.

      I turned around and pointed the flashlight toward the sound, and

saw him. The flashlight nearly fell out of my fingers. “Oh dear God.”

      Gage Seran wasn’t beautiful anymore.

      They’d taken his clothes and stretched him out against one wall. At

first I thought he was tied to the life-size cross – there were chains

wrapped around his neck, waist and knees – until I saw the ends of the

huge black nails piercing his wrists and one foot. He’d worked the other

foot free, apparently, and had that right next to the hole. His thin body was

spattered with dark paint.

      No, not paint – old, dried blood.

      Sometimes he can be a very private person.

      The Italians and Bishop Tower had done this to him. There could be

no other explanation, no one else came down here. But why? What

possible reason could they have had to do this?

      Help me.

      When my light reached his face, he turned his head away, but not

before I saw the heavy leather gag. How had he called to me through that
                                                                           197

thing? I lowered the light as I walked to him. “How do I . . .” I was afraid to

touch him, afraid I was going to be sick. “How do I get you off this?”

      His looked at me again, and his eyes were two black holes in the

shadows covering his face. Take chains away.

      He wasn’t speaking with his mouth. He couldn’t. I was hearing him

inside my head. But that wasn’t possible. How could that be possible?

Numb with shock, I looked at the bolts they had driven through his body.

“Your hands and feet – “

      Chains. Please.

      I didn’t want to touch them — they were caked with blood, too — but I

had to help him. In fact, getting those chains off him was all I could think

about. I started looking and found the ends of one hanging on hooks

driven into the wall behind him. I unhooked it and began unwinding it from

his waist. The links were cold and sticky, and so heavy I had to let the

weight of the chain fall to the floor.

      This close I could smell him; and his body had an odor like dead

flowers. How long had he been kept in this room? Weeks? Months?

      “Why didn’t you yell out to me before?” Then I remembered the

muffled cry – maybe he had. “Why did they do this to you?”

      He didn’t answer me. He had his head turned toward the hole I’d

crawled through. Quick chains please.
                                                                              198

       I left the chain around his neck for last. Why it hadn’t strangled him

was beyond me, but at last I had it off him, and I flung it to the floor in

disgust. “I’ll find something to pry the nails out.” I swung the flashlight

around, hoping to see a hammer or tool. On the other side of the hole, a

door slammed into a wall.

       “Who’s in there?”

       It was Father Carlo’s voice. Father Carlo, who must have known this

man was down here and had kept it from Father George. Maybe he’d

even nailed him to the cross. “We have to hide.”

       There was a jerking, tearing sound. Ce n'est pas nécessaire. One

of the chairs flew across the room and lodged itself under a door I hadn’t

seen before.

       When I turned back to the cross he was standing on the floor in

front of it, and there were huge bloody holes in his wrists. The nails were

still stuck in the cross.

       I paid no attention to Father Carlo’s shouting or the way the blocked

door was shaking. I was staring at Gage. No man on earth could have

withstood that kind of pain. “Who are you? What are you?”

       He lifted his bloody hands and untied the gag. The smell of dead

flowers changed and become lush and enticing, like walking through a

florist’s.

       Gardenias. He smells like gardenias.
                                                                          199

      “Open this door at once!”

      I could have stood there for the rest of my life, just to breathe in that

beautiful smell. “Are you . . .Abbadon?”

      Don’t fear me.

      I was moving to him then, and I couldn’t stop my feet or make myself

turn away.

      Wood splintered. “No!” Father Carlo’s voice seemed so far away.

“Don’t give him the blood! Don’t let him touch you!”

      Blood? Touch me? Why would he want to? I was ugly and he was

so beautiful. I couldn’t breathe; the smell of flowers was so strong I felt

smothered by them. And the light, the light was attracting bugs from

somewhere, because they were whizzing around my head, their wings

making a low droning sound.

      The flashlight dropped from my fingers and hit the floor.

      Gage moved, his steps slow and hesitant, until he reached the table.

He took the glass of wine and drained it. Then he went to the refrigerator,

took something out, and drank from that before coming back to me.

Absently I noticed he was moving a little better, a little faster.

      Vous m'avez sauvé. His teeth flashed as he pulled off my scarf and

touched his cold fingertips to my left cheek. He had a wonderful smile, but

his teeth were odd. Maintenant je vous sauverai.
                                                                         200

        The light became gold and red and warm, and so intense that I had

to close my eyes. Tears streaked down my face, and I felt the swarm of

insects grow thicker. A door slammed open, and a man screamed. “NO!”

        I couldn’t see or breathe anymore but it didn’t matter. His hands

were cold on either side of my head but that didn’t matter.

        Nothing mattered.

                                      #

        There were dreams after that. Strange, terrifying dreams, where

locust filled the air and an angel spread his black wings to block out the

light that was burning my eyes. Father Carlo was there, and he hit me

with something, so hard it knocked me away from the angel. I saw my own

blood pouring down the front of my shirt and fell. I knew I was going to die

there, on that filthy floor, but the angel was free, and would suffer no more

pain.

        Then there was darkness, and voices.

        Seran—

        Take her.

        Mon Dieu, what have they done?

        I do not know.

        Vanessa –

        I know I know I know. Shit.
                                                                           201

        A woman’s hands ripped open my shirt, and I tried to push them

away. Leave me alone . . . l’m dying . . .

        My ass you are, babe.

        And then there was only darkness.

                                        #

        My little brother’s voice brought me out of the dark. Teag was

talking to someone, and he sounded frightened.

        “—going to be okay?”

        “I think so, honey.”

        I was floating; I felt warm and comfortable and safe. Hearing the

lady’s voice didn’t bother me. She had a nice voice. She would be nice to

Teag.

        Another male voice, deeper and accented, spoke. “She is waking.”

        “About time.” Something touched my cheek. “Open your eyes, Nia, I

need to check them.”

        I obeyed her, but the light shining in my face hurt, and I squeezed my

eyelids shut again. “Sleep some more,” I mumbled.

        “You’ve been doing that for three days, don’t you want to take a

break?”

        Three days? I tried to sit up but the lady held me down. “My brother

–”
                                                                                202

          “I’m right here, Nia.” He was sitting at the side of my hospital bed,

grinning at me.

          I took a moment to get my bearings. I was in a hospital room,

hooked up to a bunch of equipment, and Vanessa Whitman stood right

next to Teag. At the end of the bed was a tall, handsome man with white-

streaked black hair. Automatically I turned the left side of my face into the

pillow.

          “Hey.” She put one of her pretty slim hands on my unmarked cheek.

“We’ve already seen everything. Well, I’ve seen everything -- I made Jack

leave the room when I examined you.”

          The thought of the man seeing me at all made me cringe. “It’s ugly.”

          “What, your face?”

          “My affliction.”

          She nudged my chin up. “You don’t have an affliction, sweetheart.

You have congenital, progressive ectasia of the superficial cutaneous

vascular plexus.” She smiled. “Or in simpler terms, a great big port-wine

stain birthmark.”

          “Mrs. Reilly said it was the devil’s mark,” Teag said, trying to be

helpful.

          “Well, Mrs. Reilly was wrong, big guy.” Vanessa lightly skimmed her

fingers over the purple and red half of my face. “I don’t see many of these,
                                                                        203

and I’ve never seen one as extensive as your sister’s, but they are

treatable in some cases.”

       “The laser treatments were too expensive.” I peeked over her

shoulder at the man, but he didn’t seem disgusted. That was a first.

       “Your birthmark isn’t disgusting, kiddo,” she said, reading my mind.

“It’s kind of exotic, actually.”

       She was beautiful, she had no idea. “Exotic. Sure.” I felt something

around my neck and touched a big bandage. “What happened to me?”

       Vanessa glanced at the man before she asked, “You don’t

remember?”

       “No, I – “I thought of Gage Seran. “I found your friend. They had him

in the basement, and he was . . .”

       “I know. He’s okay.” She leaned over and patted my hand. “You got

to him in time.”

       “In time for what? What were they doing to him?”

       “Our friend was in trouble,” the man told me, sounding very matter-

of-fact about it. “You saved his life.”

       Again the doctor looked at him, and this time she seemed upset.

“By the way, Nia, this is my boyfriend, Jack.”

       “Hi, Jack.”

       Vanessa chuckled. “He’s good at that, too.”
                                                                          204

      “Jacques-Sebastien Cyprien.” He gave me a small bow. “A pleasure

to meet you, mademoiselle.”

      I recalled the crucifix and his wounds. “Did you call the police?

Father Carlo – Bishop Tower, did they do that to him?” It still didn’t seem

possible.

      Vanessa brought over a tray table with a jug of juice and a plate of

toast and fruit. “You’re still very weak, and you need to eat and drink now.

We’ll talk about this later.” Her gaze went to Teag, who was obviously

hanging on every word.

      “I can’t stay here.” I looked around. Mama hadn’t had a room as

nice. “I don’t have any medical insurance and I can’t afford to pay for this.”

      She smiled at me. “This is my private clinic. There won’t be any bills

for you to pay. And while you’re recovering, Teagan will be staying at our

home.”

      “It’s really cool, Nia,” my brother said, his eyes bright with

excitement. “Dr. Whitman has a pool and a big screen TV and she gave

me my own room and there are oranges and grapes growing in her

hothouse and you can just go in there and pick them whenever you want!”

      “That’s really great, Teag, but we don’t know Dr. Whitman.” Or what

she expected as repayment. “We can’t impose like this.”

      “Your brother is a great kid,” she told me, “and he’s completely safe

with us. My clinic is built on to our house; his room is right down the hall
                                                                           205

from here. Any time you want to see him, you just let me or one of my

staff know and we’ll bring him to you.”

      I suddenly felt too tired to argue. “All right.” As I relaxed back

against the pillows, I saw the bag of red fluid attached to the pole next to

my bed. “Blood?”

      “We’re giving you a refill; you lost quite a bit.” Before I could ask how,

she rested a finger against my lips. “Later you can ask me all the

questions you want. Rest now and eat something if you can.”

      Teag went with the man, and Dr. Whitman checked my heart and

blood pressure before excusing herself to make rounds. I couldn’t eat

much but I drank like I’d been in the desert for forty days and nights. By

the time I emptied the jug, a nice black woman in a nurse’s uniform came

in.

      “You want to try the bathroom, or a bed pan?” she asked me.

      I wrinkled my nose. “Bathroom, please.”

      “Can’t blame you, honey. I never could pee laying down myself.” She

chuckled as she helped me out of bed and showed me how to push the IV

pole as I walked. Then she waited outside the little private bathroom while

I emptied my bladder and washed at the sink.

      I didn’t like looking in the mirror but I wanted to see what was wrong

with my neck. A huge gauze dressing covered the left side, and when I

lifted up one taped edge I didn’t see what I expected to. “Oh my God.”
                                                                           206

         “You okay in there?” the nurse called through the door.

         “Yes.” I pulled off the rest of the bandage, then I opened the door.

“Who did this?”

         The nurse tried to take my arm. “Dr. Whitman will talk to you about

that.”

         “No, you talk to me.” I yanked aside the collar to show her the

dinner-plate sized spot of white, unmarked skin. “Where did it go? How

did she remove it?”

         “She did not,” a man said from behind the door. “I did.”

                                        #

         Gage Seran was in a wheelchair, and he was wearing wrap-around

sunglasses, but he looked much better than the last time I’d seen him.

         “Hey.” I forgot about my neck and went to him. “Are you all right?

Should you be up?”

         The nurse murmured something about leaving us alone and slipped

out of the room.

         “I am well, thanks to you. And I am quite recovered.”

         He was in a wheelchair, which didn’t make me feel better, but the

rest of him look great. Better than great – perfect. “But you don’t have

any bandages, or – “ I looked at his hands but there were no holes, no

stitches, and no scars. “Or anything.” I backed away until my legs hit the
                                                                          207

edge of the chair, then I sat down, fast. “I think I’m going to freak out a

little now.”

       “Please, do not. I heal quickly.” He wheeled over to me. “I need to

talk to you. Cyprien has been teaching me more English, and from knowing

you – I am speaking better?” I nodded. “Niamh, I was prisoner there for

long time. I nearly died, but you, you saved me.”

       “I don’t remember what happened.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to. “How

did we get out of there? What happened to my neck?”

       He reached out and touched my hand. It is easier if we speak this

way, yes?

       I can’t -- then I heard myself in my own head. I’m not psychic. I’ve

never been psychic. How can this be happening? I tried to take my hand

away. Is it you?

       We have shared something; it connects us now. He urged me

closer to him, until we were nearly bumping noses. Then he pressed his

hand against my left breast, so that my hand was caught between my

heart and his palm. Your mind is as beautiful as your soul.

       I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Unlike my face.

       Non, cherie, you are wondrous . . . He closed the small gap between

our faces and brushed his mouth against mine. I’d never been kissed by

anyone except Mama and Teag, so I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to

know, though – I wanted to kiss him back in the worst way.
                                                                        208

      He drew back. I must go soon. Gently he drew his fingertips down

the ugly side of my face. When Vanessa explains what they did, do not

hate me.

      Hate you? How could I?

      His mouth touched mine again. Do not hate me for what I am. I

would never have hurt her --

      “I leave you alone for a few minutes and look, you’ve already lured my

cutest patient into your room.” Vanessa came in and smiled at me as I

jerked back from Gage. “I’m seriously jealous.”

      For once I knew what to say. “But you already have Jack.”

      She grinned. “That I do, and he’s a handful.” She looked at Gage.

“You, however, should not be pushing yourself around here just yet, pal.”

      ”I will return to my room. Thank you again, Niamh.” He smiled at me

before he wheeled himself out.

      “He kissed me.”

      “So he is feeling better.” Vanessa seemed amused.

      I stared at the door, still dumbfounded. “And he can talk inside my

head.”

      “That’s not all he can do, honey. You’d better get horizontal yourself

now, you’re looking very pale.” She pulled back the covers for me, then sat

down on the edge of the bed. “Why don’t you take a nap?”

      “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on here?”
                                                                           209

      “I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

      I tilted my head. “After finding your friend nailed to a cross? It’ll be a

walk in the park.”

      “Jack and Gage have been friends for a long time. Gage came over

from Europe to visit us about four months ago, but there were some men

following him. These men . . . hurt people who they think are evil. They

grabbed Gage before he could get to us, took him to St. Luke’s and

interrogated him.”

      “They had him nailed to a cross, like Christ. I found him like that.”

      “I know.”

      I blinked. “But he should have bled to death – and now he doesn’t

have any wounds. Or scars.”

      “Gage has an extremely rare blood disease. He spontaneously

heals. When they hammered those nails into him, his body immediately

healed around them.”

      A laugh burst out of me. “Oh, right.”

      “It’s true.”

      I wanted to slap her. “I’m not a doctor, but I’m not idiot, either. How

did you do this? How did you heal him so fast?”

      Vanessa sighed. “Look, Nia, you got caught in the middle of a

horrendously bad situation. I can’t give you all the details, but we’re very
                                                                            210

grateful to you for helping our friend. We would like to do the same for you

and your brother.”

      That hit my pride. “Teag and I are fine.”

      “The men who tortured Gage will be looking for you. We have to get

you and the boy someplace safe, you can’t stay in Chicago. Jack and I have

a house on the beach in California; we thought you might like to stay there

with us until you get back on your feet.”

      “I can’t leave. Everyone we know, everything we have is here, and

unless you live next to a circus, nobody will give me a job.” Which

reminded me. ”Gage said he took the mark from my neck – how is that

possible?”

      “You had a bad laceration there, and Gage got some of his blood on

it carrying you out of the basement. The unique properties of his immune

system removed part of your birthmark and helped the wound heal.”

      I touched my neck and remembered the part in the dream when

Father Carlo had hit me. “So do I have AIDs now or something?”

      “No, honey, you’re fine. It didn’t affect you the same way it did . . .

other people. And just for the record, he doesn’t have AIDs.”

      “What kind of blood disease does he have?”

      “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, and you look like you’re ready to

pass out.” She patted the bed. “Come on, hop in.”
                                                                            211

      I felt very tired all of a sudden, and climbed into bed like an old

woman. I curled up on my side. “I don’t understand any of this.”

      “I’m sorry, Nia, I wish I could tell you more.” Vanessa stroked my

hair with a gentle hand. “But you’ve put yourself in great danger already,

and we need to protect you and your brother. It’s one of those `what you

don’t know won’t hurt you’ situations. Just trust me a little longer, okay?

We’re the good guys.”

      “Okay.” I closed my eyes.

                                       #

      Gage woke me up a few hours later – or at least, his thoughts did.

      Cyprien and his woman are gone. Wait until the nurse finishes

rounds, then slip down the stairs.

      Darkness surrounded his thoughts like an angry fist, and each word

seemed to slam into my head. He could have been standing next to me,

yelling in my ear.

      Gage?

      I am well, Niamh. He sent something along with the thought,

something wordless that was like being covered with a warm, soft blanket.

He wanted me to sleep, or thought he could put me to sleep.

      So I played along and closed my eyes. See you tomorrow?

      Yes. Goodnight.
                                                                            212

         I kept my mind blank until I felt him leave, then I sat up. Gage was

lying to me. He wasn’t well, he wasn’t going to see me tomorrow. He was

going back to St. Luke’s. He was ignoring Vanessa’s orders; I flashed on

his memory of her telling him he could not go after the Italians by himself.

         He was going to get his silly French ass killed, was what he was

doing.

         I could feel Gage was outside the clinic now, but I couldn’t see

anything. He was doing weird stuff, smelling the air, kneeling on the

ground, pressing his hands into the dirt.

         Come to me.

         He was calling something, something that would help him get in and

get to them; something only he could control. The same way he had called

me. I couldn’t see what it was; he was still blocking that. I couldn’t see

anything through his eyes. But then, I’d been blind for a long time to a lot

of things.

         That cut on your arm isn’t healing, Mama.

         The band aids on my hand, all soaked through with blood.

         You’re not thinking of trying again, are you?

         The glass of red wine on the table in the basement. The new

refrigerator.

         Don’t give him the blood!

         Gage, not bleeding, even with nails through his hands and feet.
                                                                         213

      When Vanessa explains what they did, do not hate me.

      Gage, drinking the wine, drinking from that plastic bag in the fridge.

A bag filled with dark red blood. Gage smiling at me, his teeth white and

strong . . . and wrong.

      I would never have hurt her.

      The wine that wasn’t wine.

      Gage has an extremely rare blood disease.

      A disease that healed.

      It didn’t affect you the same way it did . . . other people.

      Other people like my mother.

      And they had a king over them, which is the angel of the

bottomless pit, whose name in the Hebrew tongue is Abaddon . . .

      I got up and jerked the IV needle out of my arm, and winced at the

sting. The soft cotton pajamas they’d given me were the only clothes I had

only had to wear, and I’d have to go barefoot. Didn’t matter, I thought as I

edged past the nurse’s station and into the stairwell.

      The devil and all the demons in hell couldn’t keep me away from St.

Luke’s tonight.

                                       #

      It took over an hour to walk from the private clinic to my old

neighborhood, but it was after midnight, and there were hardly any people

on the street. I didn’t get lost, either; Gage’s thoughts acted like a
                                                                          214

compass so I simply followed them. Nobody stopped or spoke to me until I

reached Bughouse Square.

      “Hey, you sleepwalking, Two-Tone?” Ian O’Brien called out from the

corner.

      I looked over at the gang of boys, thought about it, and then crossed

the street. A couple of them whistled when they saw how I was dressed

but Avery used his elbow and told them to shut the hell up.

      Ian took off his leather jacket – something I’d never seen him do –

and draped it around me as he gave me the once-over. “Where have you

been?”

      “In the hospital.” I looked down the street. “One of the Italian priests

over at St. Luke’s put me there. They had a man nailed to a cross in the

basement, and I think they killed my mother.”

      They should have laughed at me, but none of them did. They just

gave each other these weird looks. Finally Ian said, “What are you gonna

do about it, Nia?”

      “I’m going to make them pay.” I scanned their faces. They were just

boys, really, but they’d grown up on the streets. Nobody messed with

them. “Feel like helping?”

      Avery smiled. “Oh, yeah.”

      I told them about Gage, and what I wanted them to do. When I was

finished, they scattered. Only Ian lingered, waiting until the last boy had
                                                                              215

gone before he touched my shoulder. “You should maybe wait here. We

can get your friend out.”

      I pushed my arms through the sleeves of his jacket and zipped the

front of it. “He doesn’t know anyone but me. Got a blade I can borrow?”

He pulled a jack knife from his pocket and handed it to me. I tucked it in

the front pocket. “Thanks, Ian.”

      “No problem, Two-Tone. You can keep the knife” –he tugged at the

zipper pull– “but I want the jacket back.”

      Walking up to the front entrance of the sanctuary took every ounce

of courage I had. I’d put on a brave front for the boys, but inside I was

terrified – if the priests could nail a man to a cross, they could do a lot

worse to me.

      They already did, I reminded myself. They took my mother away

from me.

      I felt Gage, who was waiting somewhere close by but not inside the

church yet. He was focused on the men inside, the men he’d somehow

summoned there.

      Tower. Rocca. Carlo.

      I slipped into the sanctuary, and saw all three men standing in front

of the altar. I knew every nook and cranny of the church, so it was easy to

stay in the shadows, unnoticed as I moved forward.
                                                                           216

      “We need the Chief Investigator from Rome to come at once,”

Bishop Tower was saying. “If you explain things to His Holiness–”

      “Abba Patre is not involved,” Father Carlo said. “Nor can he be,

Augustus.”

      “You don’t understand, they are organized now!” The bishop blotted

his face with his sleeve. “They have created places of asylum; they have

many allies – that female doctor is helping them–” he faltered as

someone came in from the rectory.

      It was Father George. “Your Eminence, I went down to the

basement this afternoon. I’d like an explanation.”

      “That is none of your concern, George.”

      “It looks and smelling like you’ve been slaughtering animals. Then I

find fifteen pints of blood in the refrigerator, and a used, man-sized crucifix.

I’d say that concerns the police.” He gestured toward the basement.

“What in God’s name have you been doing down there, Augustus?”

      The Bishop folded his arms. “I am ridding the world of demons.”

      “Nous ne sommes pas des démons.” It was Gage, wearing Jack’s

black trench coat. It was covered with locust. Their wings were fluttering,

but they weren’t flying. They were . . . guiding him? “We have never been

demons.”
                                                                              217

        Father Rocca’s eyes rolled back in his head as he keeled over and

hit the floor. Father Carlo grabbed his cross and held it out as he began

babbling in Italian.

        The bishop ran up behind the altar. “Leave this house of God!”

        “I tried to leave before, but you said I had to stay. That I had to tell

you our secrets.” Gage sat down in the third pew and all of the locust

jumped off him onto the floor. “I’m back. Don’t you want to question me

now?”

        Something chirped by my foot, and I looked down to see thousands

more locust covering the old tile floor. They went neatly around me as

they hopped steadily toward the front of the church.

        “We will kill you,” Bishop Tower said, his voice shaking. “And the rest

of them. We will purge this earth of your evil disease.”

        “My friend Dr. Whitman tells me my disease is not good or evil. It is

simply a disease. She is a student of science.” When one of the Italians

made a move toward him, Gage lifted a hand, and the locust left the floor

and began whizzing around in the air. “Regrettably, I am not.”

        Father Rocca came to, screamed, and jumped up, tearing at his

black jacket as he tried to brush off the locust crawling on him. “Get them

off! Get them off!” He pulled out a revolver and pointed it at Gage. “Call

them back or I’ll shoot – ”
                                                                           218

      “You will not.” Father George plucked the gun from his hand, opened

the chamber, and shook out the bullets. They pinged as they hit the tile

floor. “Not in my church. I’m calling the police.”

      “You fool.” Father Carlo tried to punch Father George in the face,

but the old priest dodged his fist. Gage murmured something, and the

locust started swarming all over Father Carlo again. He danced around in

circles, trying to slap them away. None of the bugs touched Father

George as he strode out of the church.

      I saw the other Italian follow Father George, but Avery and another

boy appeared at the door of the rectory. They let Father George pass, but

blocked Father Carlo from leaving. The Italian cursed them and ran to the

other side of the church, but Ian and another boy stepped out and blocked

that exit. Behind me, four boys now stood guarding the front entrance.

      None of the locust, I noted, went near Ian or any of the other boys,

either.

      Ian came to stand next to the pew where Gage sat and regarded

the cowering bishop with visible disgust. “Did they really nail you to a

cross?”

      “Oui.”

      “Man, that’s cold. Here.” He offered Gage his knife.

      “Non, merci, mon ami.” Gage turned his head as Father Carlo ran

into the pew from the other side. Before the Italian could tough him, he
                                                                        219

grabbed his arms, jerked him down, and snapped the priest’s neck with a

quick jerk. “I have no need of weapons.” He pushed Father Carlo’s body

aside.

         “No, you don’t.” Ian grinned and sauntered back to guard the side

door.

         Instead of attacking, Father Rocca came back and got down on his

knees in the aisle by Gage’s pew. “Perdonilo, Abbadon.” He was covered

in bugs. “Non ho desiderato danneggiarlo. Perdonilo per favore!”

         “What did you say, when I begged you to stop?” Gage reached down

and plucked a locust from the end of Father Rocca’s nose. “Vaffanculo.”

         “Stop this.” Tower came down from the altar. He had his hands

behind his back, but from my angle I could see he was holding the

communion chalice. “I am the one you want. That’s why you’re here, isn’t

it? I’m a Roman Catholic bishop, you think you can kill me?”

         “I know I can.” Gage didn’t seem concerned – in fact, he wasn’t even

looking at Tower.

         Suddenly I knew why he had been in the wheelchair.

         “No.” I started running toward the altar.

         The door to the rectory opened, and Father George came in with

Vanessa and Jack.

         “Stop it!” Vanessa shouted as she ran toward the bishop. “Leave

him alone!”
                                                                          220

      That diverted Gage’s attention. “Vanessa?”

      At the same time, Bishop Tower brought out the chalice and lifted it,

as if preparing to smash Gage in the face with it.

      I got there first, and threw myself in front of him – just in time to get

a face full of something wet as the bishop threw the contents of the

chalice at Gage.

      I sputtered and choked, then realized what it was and regarded His

Eminence. “Water? You were hoping to drown him?”

      “More than that, cherie.” Jack gently removed the empty chalice

out of the bishop’s hand and then threw it so hard it sailed clear across

the sanctuary and smashed through one of the big stained glass windows.

      “Niamh?” Gage reached out, and I caught his hand in mine. “What

are you doing here? I put you to sleep.”

      “Getting a bath, and no, you didn’t.” He flinched as the water running

down my arm touched his skin, and I let go of him as soon as I saw the

blister form. “Water burns you?”

      “The copper in holy water does. Gage, these bugs are grossing me

out.” Vanessa pushed the bishop back. “Have you had enough fun for one

night?”

      “No.” Gage made a funny gesture, and the locust stopped swarming

and settled back down to the floor. “But I suppose it will have to do.”
                                                                           221

      The Bishop grabbed me and hauled me against him. “If you kill me,

Rome will never stop hunting you.”

      “Rome will never stop hunting us anyway.” Jack sighed. “We are

finished here. Let go of the girl and we will all retreat to our neutral

corners.”

      Father Rocca began shouting incoherently and throwing prayer

candles at Vanessa and Jack.

      “Augustus!” Father George shouted. “Release that child at once!”

      “I swore to her mother that she would be safe.” Tower pinned his

arm against my neck, and when Jack stepped forward, tightened his choke

hold. “She’ll be completely safe if she’s dead.”

      The candles Father Rocca threw were starting little fires all around

the interior of the church. The Italian priest laughed like a maniac.

      “You killed her mother by making her drink my blood,” Gage said,

rising to his feet. “Why?”

      “We made a bargain.” He dragged me back with him toward the

altar. “She wanted laser treatments for her daughter. We had to

discover how you spread your filth. The legends said—” he stiffened, then

his arm went limp and he fell to the floor with me. I looked up to see

Father George putting the big cross back on the altar.

      “Fiona Murphy was worth ten of him.” He helped me up before he

turned to Vanessa. “We have to get out of here.”
                                                                          222

         The little fires had grown into large ones, and the church was

starting to fill with smoke.

         “That would be for the best. We’ll take Nia with us.”

         He looked at me. “Is that you want, child?” I nodded, and he kissed

my brow. “I’ll keep you in my prayers, then. God bless you and keep you

safe.”

         He lifted Bishop Tower onto his shoulder and carried him out.

Through the smoke I saw Ian and Avery grab Father Rocca and push him

through the side door. The locust had mysteriously vanished.

         So had Gage.

                                        #

         California was warm and sunny, and Vanessa and Jack had a huge

house right by the ocean. The first week we were there all Teag and I did

was play on the beach. It was nice to pretend to be a carefree child again

and not think about that night at St. Luke’s, or Gage, or why any of it had

happened.

         I wasn’t a child anymore, though.

         I called Father George to let him know that we were safe, and he

told me that St. Luke’s had burned to the ground, and that the fire had

destroyed all of the evidence of what the bishop and the Italians had been

doing in the secret basement room. Father Carlo’s death had been ruled

as accidental.
                                                                          223

       “What will you do now, Father?”

      “I’ve a church to rebuild, and a parish to watch over.” He sounded

tired. “I’ve also reported what I know to the Cardinal. He’s had Bishop

Tower and Father Rocca recalled to Rome.”

      “So they got away with it.” It didn’t seem fair, that the other two men

wouldn’t be punished for what they’d done to Gage.

      “The Cardinal promised me there’d be an investigation, especially

after I mentioned how inclined I’d be to tell the press about the incident if

there wasn’t.” Father George sighed. “It’s not much but it’s the best I can

do, Nia.”

      “Thanks, Father.”

      Vanessa came to my room with a pot of tea that night, as if she

knew what I’d been thinking. She told me what I’d already suspected –

that she and Jack were vrykolakas, victims of a disease that dated back to

the Middle Ages. Like vampires, they lived off human blood, but they

weren’t evil and they didn’t kill people anymore. Vanessa made the whole

thing sound almost normal, like being a diabetic, until she got to the part

about the special investigators who hunted, tortured, and killed the

vrykolakas. Then, finally, she told me about Gage.

      “The mutation gives all vrykolakas certain abilities, like spontaneous

healing, telepathy, and increased physical strength. But there are a few

cases where there have been other mutations, like Gage. Gage is special.”
                                                                                224

      “He can summon and control locusts with his mind.”

      “Locusts or any insect, really.”

      “Why didn’t he call them to help him get out of there?”

      “They’d starved him for months; I think he was too weak. We’re not

even sure how or why he can do it, but I’m working on it.” Vanessa

grimaced. “Was working on it, I should say. He took off. He probably went

back to France, not that I blame him after what he’s been through.

There’s something else I should tell you.”

      “He can tell me.” I went to the window. “He’s not in France, he’s

close by.”

      “How do you know that?”

      “I can feel him. Maybe it’s another weird mutation.” I faced her. “If I

tried to take his blood, it would kill me, right?” She made a see-saw

gesture with her hand. “Why didn’t it kill you?”

      “I had to go overseas for some volunteer work with refugees and

they gave me some unusual inoculations. When Jack infected me, I had

antibodies present in my blood that most people don’t.”

      “And if I got the same shots, and developed the same antibodies?”



      “I’d have to run a whole slew of tests, but theoretically . . .yeah, it

might work. “ She gave me a slow grin. “You interested in studying

medicine, kid?”
                                                                               225

      “Maybe, when I’m a little older.” I slipped on my shoes. “Okay if I take

a walk on the beach? I won’t be long.”

      “Sure.” She got up and gave me a hug. “See if you can talk him into

staying.”

                                        #

      Gage was waiting for me on the seawall about a quarter mile from

Vanessa and Jack’s house. Moonlight glinted off his dark glasses as he

turned in my direction. “I came to say au revoir.”

      “No, you didn’t.” I stopped in front of him. “You came to apologize

for using me and killing my mother.”

      “That, too.” One side of his mouth curled. “I see our connection

remains strong.”

      Ever since the night of the fire, I could feel what he felt, hear his

thoughts from a mile away. He’d put himself through hell over me. “You

didn’t kill my mother, Gage, and what you did to me wasn’t so bad. Parts

of it I really liked. Like the kissing.” I glanced out at the Pacific ocean,

which was beautiful but too damn cold to swim in at night. “I like being

human, by the way.”

      “So did I.”

      “You should also know that I’m only seventeen.”

      “I’m five hundred and two.”
                                                                           226

         Talk about falling for an older man. “Then there’s the whole issue of

us both being permanently disfigured. I’m not getting involved with

someone just out of pity, and neither should you.”

         “I think you are . . . “ he halted. “What did you say?”

         “We’re both pretty hideous. I’ve got this face, and you’ve got” – I

reached up and took off his sunglasses – “no eyes.” The sockets had

healed cleanly, but it hurt to see those two dark holes where his eyes

should have been. “Who did it to you? Tower?”

         “Carlo.”

         “Good thing he’s dead, then. How are you getting around if you’re

blind?”

         “I have friends.” He lifted a hand, and hundreds of monarch

butterflies fluttered up from the ground. They landed on his shoulders and

sleeves. “They guide me.”

         Like the locust had brought him to the church. I reached out and

one of the butterflies fluttered over and landed on my finger. “You didn’t

have to hide the fact that you’re blind now.”

         “I did not want your pity.”

         “Likewise.” The butterfly flew away from my hand as I slid his

glasses back on for him. “So I think we should take this very slow.”

         “Slow.” The butterflies fluttered away from him and flew off into the

night.
                                                                       227

      “As in the opposite of fast.” I put my arms around his waist. “Don’t

go back to France. Stay here and let Vanessa run her tests. You can

meet my little brother, and take me out on a few dates, and kiss me some

more. If you want to.”

      “I want to.” He rested his hands on either side of my throat. “In the

order you said?”

      “No.” I lifted my chin. “Mix them up.” Just before he kissed me, I

moved my head back. “And one more thing.”

      “Mmmm?”

      “No calling any cockroaches. Ever.”

      “Very well.”
                                                                           228

                                   Red Branch

                                    by S.L. Viehl



        I didn’t like waking up with a three hundred pound merc sitting on

me and holding a knife to my throat. Even if I had foreseen it the night

before.

        “Got yer tension now, do we?” The weighty, smelly human tucked

the edge of his blade a little higher up under my chin, scraping off some

skin in the process. “Be gibbin us ‘at web we bin wannin, eh?”

        One of Ferboil Danu’s men -- they never bathed, and wore badly-

cured skins of animals over their tunicas. This one appeared uniformly

coated with dirt and sported the furs from a dozen snow rabbits. The

poor things had probably smelled him approaching and expired on the

spot.

        Still, he had captured my attention, and I was in the mood to be

charitable. “Get off, rot breath, and I’ll let you live.”

        Blood ran down the sides of my neck as the blade bit deeper. “I gots

the steel here, spinner.”

        He was too dumb to be a messenger, really, but Ferboil must have

figured on me killing whoever he sent. “You have five seconds.” I yawned.

“Four.”
                                                                         229

      He lifted up, angling the knife so that the point rested against my

pulse vein. “Marsta Danu wans a web.”

      “Three.” I glanced at the window. It was barely dawn. I might have

to hunt down Ferboil just for waking me up before noon. “Two.”

      “I said – ”

      “Time’s up.” I spit in his eyes and slammed my cupped palms

against his ears. At the same time, I hit his hand with my chin and drove

my knee up into his groin. He screamed, fell back, and the knife slipped

onto the bed.

      The root I’d chewed before going to sleep lent a temporary acidity to

my saliva, which had no effect on me but was quite corrosive to the merc’s

human eyes. It also saved me from wasting my poisons on a moron. I

kicked him to the floor, stretched, and then retrieved the knife. It was as

filthy as my attacker, so I’d have to remember to clean my neck wound

well. I tucked it in my armband and went to the fireplace to start brewing

my morning tea.

      “Whaddaya done?” the behemoth shrieked, clawing at his eyes with

both hands. “Blinded me! Yer blinded me!”

      Someone pounded at the door. “Spinner?”

      It was Kerdup, the innkeeper. I sighed as I went over and saw that

my latest victim had practically hacked the door latch to pieces getting in.

      Humans. I tugged at the remnants. “Yes?”
                                                                         230

      Kerdup looked a bit like a nest weasel, minus the handsome parts.

“What’s all this noise about, then?” He was about as shrill, too.

      I drew the dirty knife, swiveled, and threw it. The shrieking became a

thick, brief gurgle. I turned back to Kerdup. “What noise?”

      He shook his head. “I run a clean place here. You’ll have to go.” He

eyed the door. “And pay for the damages and the burial.”

      “Fair enough.” I tossed him a kinspiece. “Have my ride saddled and

ready in an hour.”

      He bit the coin, then grinned at the taste of pure silver. “On second

thought, missus, maybe we could work something out.” He looked at my

hands. “I heard about your kind – ”

      “Not interested. And I’ll take care of the body.” I slammed the

ruined door in Kerdup’s face.

      The merc’s blood had been sprayed over the bed and the floor, so I

skirted around him and the mess and had my tea. It gave me time to clear

my thoughts and focus on the job the Orb had given me.

      Find the son of Tal, she’d said, when I’d returned from my last hunt.

The jagged mark of her lineage glowed crimson against her black skin.

Find him and bring him to me.

      I had never tracked or taken a human before – but then, I didn’t

really like them. Kerdup was right, they made too much noise. Alive?

      The Orb had smiled. Oh, yes.
                                                                         231

                                      #

      As I prepared for the final leg of my journey, I wondered again why I

had been given this task. It seemed a case of severe overkill, to send me

after a human, even if his father had offended the Orb. An offense that

had sat unanswered for nigh on twenty years, in fact.

      Tal Bronif was a legend among humans, for the usual ridiculous

reasons. As part of some idiot warrior-test, his people had sent him into

our territory to capture a spinner and bring her back alive. According to

the humans’ bards, Tal had lured three of my sisters from the Garnet

itself, then had crippled and captured them. Stories circulated for years

after that among the outer settlements. Some humans said the three

died of their injuries, others said they were tortured to death. There were

whispers that they were still alive, and were being forced to spin at Tal’s

will. The thought of a human prevailing over a spinner was what created

all the excitement. That had never happened before.

      None of it was true, which helped.

      In reality three of my sisters had found Tal, bloodied and dying, and

had dragged his body out of the Garne. Human blood made the ground

stink for months. Along the way they were attacked by something

genuinely dangerous – a pack of feral wasp cats – and repelled them only

to succumb to the numbing venom. Tal’s men had evidently come upon
                                                                           232

the four of them on the edge of the forest and transported their

unconscious bodies back to Bronif Keepe.

      Two of the sisters had found their way back to the Garne within a

few days, as soon as they had purged themselves of the venom. The pair

had nearly died of the monotony, if anything, but they recalled enough

threads on the wasp pack for my mother to use for tracking. She’d hunted

and slaughtered the cats the following day. Only the third, Gesa, did not

return. For two seasons we assumed her dead, until she walked in to the

Garnet one morning and prostrated herself before the Orb.

      Our Queen summoned Gesa into council with the eldest of the

Branches. At the time I was too young to attend, but my mother spoke of

it later, along with a promise to gut me herself if I ever did such a thing.

      Gesa admitted that shame had kept her long separated from us.

She had nearly died from the venom, but that wasn’t the shameful part.

During her recovery among the humans, she had gotten so bored that she

had mated with Tal. If that wasn’t disgusting enough, she had conceived

and delivered a halfling. As it was mostly human and male, she left it

behind with Tal.

      It was a pink, and it squalled, she had told the council. It could not

hold its head still, or walk, or control its bladder or bowels. Then they told

me it was a male. She threw up her hands. They wouldn’t let me eat it.

What else could I do?
                                                                           233

      It was a delicious scandal – we spinners naturally use our stock

males when we wish to reproduce – and there was some discussion of

the state of Gesa’s mind balance. For the sisters, the thought of voluntary

coitus with a human was, well, revolting.

      My mother had warned me from the day I left the nesting caverns

never to trifle with humans. Kill them, eat them if you must, Akela, but

never play with those diseased, mindless things.

      Gesa cleansed herself, made contrition and was forgiven by all of us.

Any spinner can fall victim to bizarre impulses, particularly when

surrounded by nothing but blank-brained humans. My own mother had

slaughtered two or three villages one winter when early snow in the

mountain passes had cut her off from the Garne. Butchering humans, she

claimed, had been the only available form of exercise.

      It was Gesa’s halfling that now seemed to concern the Orb, but she

had not explained why. Since our Queen was pure Red Branch – the

largest and deadliest of our kind, with enough strength and poisons to

wipe out most of the sisterhood by herself – she didn’t have to. I was the

first Black Branch tracker, sworn to obey and defend the Orb to the death.

Even so, it wasn’t my place to question anything.

      I wouldn’t have, had I been among my sisters. We all knew each

other’s minds within the Garnet, and the Orb kept the threads in order.

Only out here, away from the enclave of my kind, did my thoughts wander.
                                                                         234

      Why send me after a male?

      Before I left the inn for Bronif Keepe, I took care of the merc’s body.

One of the advantages of being Black Branch was the variety of poisons

my mouth and body glands produced. I coated the corpse with raze fluid

from my abdominal glands, which quickly broke down the tissues and

bones and reduced it to ash. All the innkeeper would have to do was

sweep up the floor.

      My ride was waiting for me when I stepped outside, and the humans

passing by the inn gave her a wide berth. Like all darkmares, Neleh was

lean, powerful, and had a vicious temper, so we got along perfectly. I

mounted up and touched her sides with my boot heels, and she took off.

                                      #

      Summer heat rolled over the day, and Neleh needed watering, so I

stopped at a pitiful-looking creek halfway to Bronif. I dismounted and

checked the stream (Goddess knew humans dumped all manner of waste

into their aquifers) before I clipped on her hobble, removed my saddle and

let her drink. I crouched under the shade of a scraggly witheroak and

used the interval to tighten my stirrup straps, which had stretched, and

check my weapons.

      I wore forty-two daggers of various sizes on four blade straps, two

across my chest and one on each thigh. I had fashioned each myself, from
                                                                          235

bloodwood resin and my own binding fluid. More than most trackers

carried, but I like being prepared.

      My poisons were lethal to anything that breathed, but I was still

young, and my sacs emptied quickly. One reason I had been considering

reproducing was that pregnancy would enlarge my glands; that and I

wouldn’t fully mature until I did. But breeding was such a dreary business

– an entire year stuck in the nesting caverns, nursing and teaching my

daughter to spin and hunt. I wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment or

drudgery.

      You were an obnoxious youngling, my mother had told me often,

always with a certain amount of annoyed pride. Goddess knows I nearly

devoured you a dozen times.

      The other reason was too many of our young were born with

deformed minds, and had to be destroyed. I did not want to give birth only

to be ordered to destroy my own daughter.

      As I sharpened my palm blades, something intruded on my proximity

sense. Neleh lifted her muzzle out of the water and sniffed the air. Her

stubby ears flared, and she bared pointed teeth as she released a low,

warning hiss.

      I could smell them now, too. Humans. Many humans. Oh, good.

Something to kill.
                                                                            236

      “Finish, you lazy nag, the road waits.” I made no sign of my discovery

as I fastened my chest straps and went to her. Under her short-haired

hide her muscles were tensed, her limbs trembling. They were moving in

those idiot lines they affected – I smelled at least three dozen, strung out

like half-baked kebabs – but the humans had brought something with them

that terrified my darkmare.

      Which meant it could probably kill her – and me. Something that will

give me a fight. Even better.

      I stepped on her hobble clip to release it while I pretended to stroke

her muscular neck. She gave me a hard nip. “I've never ridden such an

unpleasant bitch,” I murmured as I caught her jaw and slipped the halter

from her head. “I will miss you.” I swatted her rump, and Neleh jumped the

creek before galloping off toward Bronif.

      They emerged from the trees as I watched her, but I kept my back

to them a few more seconds so I could draw the daggers I wanted. Then I

turned, and skimmed the hungry, dirty faces of the mercs until I reached

the oldest and ugliest.

      “Ferboil Danu.” I flicked a bit of leaf rot from my sleeve. “What a

surprise.”

      “Spinner.” He tugged at the edge of his tunica, evidently to draw

attention to how purple it was and how many glittery gemstone bobbles

hung from it. Human leaders coveted colored stones; wearing them made
                                                                           237

them feel important or something. I liked them because the weight slowed

them down. “Ain’t yer gettin’ our message?”

       “A message? Let me think.” I pretended to while I looked for what

had spooked Neleh. “I slit the throat of the first little skink you sent before

he could speak. The second annoyed my ride and got himself trampled

before he could provide any details. The third muttered something about a

web before I reduced him to a pile of ash.” I regarded the three columns of

mercs he’d brought with him. Child's play. “Do you have anyone who can

talk a little faster?”

       When a couple of the brave ones surged forward, cursing and

waggling their little swords at me, Ferboil lifted a pudgy hand. “We

respects and fears the spinners.”

       “Then why are you stinking up my air?”

       “We be needin’ yer talent, spinner.” He tossed a little drawstring

bag at me, but I stepped back and let it hit the ground. Golden weyrpieces

spilled out of one end. Not many, but enough to make a couple of his own

men lick their lips. “We be payin’ handsomely for it.”

       “I don’t work for humans.” I couldn’t see anything to concern me,

but I smelled something odd now. Something like a spinner’s sweat under

extreme stress. A sister who was wounded? “Have you something else

with which to bargain?” My neck sacs swelled, and my cribellum bulged

under the laces of my vest.
                                                                         238

       Ferboil nodded toward the gold. “Tha’s it. What else yer want?”

       My chelicerae extruded down over my lips. “Bring forth the

sssissster.” It was hard to speak human with my fangs out and dripping

poison. “Now.”

       “We gots none.” He looked confused. “Tha’s why we came to yer.”

       I opened my mind, seeking the thread of hers as I filled my lungs with

the scent. No one, nothing in site. Was she already dead? I’d build her

burial mound out of their bones if Ferboil had harmed one of mine.

       I am not dead. I am here.

       The voice was not that of a sister, nor did the glittering mind-thread

lead me to one of my kind. It had come from something bigger and darker

and not female at all. My mind rejected that at once – if it was not female,

it could not spin.

       You are like my mother. The thread grew rich with amusement.

Don’t kill too many of them.

       For a moment I was so shocked to experience mindshare with one

not my own but my own – that was the only way to put it – that wonder

and fear nearly strangled me. The thread was so alien and yet so strong

that it physically tugged me toward him, yet gave me nothing of the one

who spun it – except that it

was . . .
                                                                         239

        The thread snapped as one of Ferboil’s oversized oafs blocked me

path. “Yer can’t – ”

        I seized him, sank my fangs into his face and let him drop. He was

dead before he landed. Two more got in my way, and went down gargling

around my blades.

        Stop killing them or they will all attack you.

        I whipped around, trying to snatch up the elusive thread. SHOW

YOURSELF.

        “She’s smelling one o’ her own,” I heard Ferboil shout. “Hold her and

find it!”

        As battles went, it was unnecessary and messy. The unwise ones

who tried to stop me all died, faster than they should have, but I was in a

hurry. What summoned me was outside anything I had ever mindshared,

and I had to get to it. Finally the humans maddened me to the point of

recklessness.

        I gathered my energy and tore open my vest. My cribellum splayed

in half, shooting out multiple dark strands that I quickly wove into a wide

oval in front and behind me.

        Spinners rarely used killing webs against humans. Spinning them

rendered us vulnerable until our bodies could produce more silk fluid,

which took a day or two. Still, they knew what it was. Most of them backed

away at once, but three couldn’t stop in time or were too stupid to know
                                                                            240

what my webs would do to them. They were caught, held, and screamed

as acid droplets coating my silk burned into their soft flesh. Absently I

repaired the holes as they fell away, smoldering and shrieking.

      “This ain’t the finish,” Ferboil shouted at me as he and what was left

of his men retreated. “Not by far, spinner!”

      I hardly heard him. I was still seeking the one who had touched my

mind, the one who was not female, who had done what was not possible.

      Anything is possible, tracker, but come and see for yourself. Take

care not to trip over the bodies.

      As a Black Branch, my foresight was limited – I was more in tune

with the physical world than those realms beyond it. Yet something inside

me wanted to curl up and hide, for there was something coming that

promised to change everything. There was no form to the vision, only a

certainty that went down to my bones.

      The spinner came into the narrowing slit of my vision, a gray-eyed,

tall creature dressed in human garments.

      The garments of a human male.

      You cannot be. A chill chased the length of my backbone. You are

not female.

      He inclined his head. I am not.

      He had their colored hair – his was black – and their pale skin. Yet

beneath the humble garments, the contours of his body were that of a fully
                                                                         241

mature spinner: four long, multi-jointed limbs, a treble-sectioned torso, the

triangular clypeus groove on his brow. He smiled, and I saw the glint of

cheliceran fangs in his mouth.

      Yet our males did not spin, or roam freely, or think. They were soft,

fat, mindless things made for mounting and eating, kept in the nesting

caverns. I dropped my webs to get a better look at him.

      Closer. I will not harm you.

      I circled him, this spinner/male thing, trying to understand. How is

it that you are?

      I am Jalon, the child of Tal and Gesa. He tugged open his tunica to

show me his human chest. In the center of it was a spinner’s cribellum,

upon which was an uneven jagged mark as red as blood. I am human and

spinner.

      The son of Tal was not just a halfling male who could spin, and

mindshare. He was a Red Branch.

      Jalon was a Queen.

                                     #

      Instinct drove me to my knees to empty my sacs onto the ground, as

I would have in the presence of the Orb. No sister swelled with poison

around our Queen unless she wanted to die an unpleasant death. Yet this

was not the Orb but a complete paradox. A male who thought. A spinner

wrapped in human flesh.
                                                                          242

       A second Red Branch.

       Purging myself so quickly was foolish; I knew I would black out from

the shock of it. But I wanted oblivion, I wanted darkness to fill my eyes and

obliterate the sight of him.

       This is why the Orb sent me, my errant curiosity whispered inside

my head just before I lost consciousness. To bring this thing back her.

       I woke in twilight to find myself comfortably arranged by a modest

fire. Neleh had returned and stood a few feet away, snuffling as she fed on

the carcass of some small dead animal she had caught and brought back.

       Worthless nag. I felt pleased that she had returned on her own;

darkmares were not know for their loyalty. You must have a death wish.

Which reminded me of him, the impossible one, and I sat up to look for

him.

       Jalon was sitting down by the water, casting stones at it, watching

them skim the surface with little hops before they sank with a final plunk.

His actions had no meaning but one did not question a Red Branch.

       I rose but I did not approach him. With a Queen, one waited until

one was invited.

       “Of course you can come over here,” he said without looking at me,

his voice mild and very human-sounding. “I have said I will not harm you.”

       I should have prostrated myself; I should have spouted honorifics in

the manner of the Green Branch preeners who cared for the needs of the
                                                                            243

Orb. But flattery was not my gift; I couldn’t recall a single aria of praise.

And how did one praise a male spinner, a male who was Queen? I vow I

will not mate with you or eat you, oh Deadliest One Who Should Not Exist?

      He threw another stone. “That would be nice – not eating me, I

mean.”

      Nice. Dear Goddess, he could read every thought in my head – just

as she could. Had I any doubt of what he was, it vanished forever. I walked

down to the water and lowered myself to sit a few feet from him.

      “You are feeling better?”

      I nodded, and then I shook my head and stared at the stunted

stream.

      “Do you still wish to kill me?”

      “No.” He should have known I could not do that. Perhaps he had

suffered some sort of brain illness – he had been around humans long

enough to drive any spinner completely insane. To cover my confusion, I

said, “I am frightened. I do not know what to do.” He was a Queen; he

would have to tell me.

      Jalon tossed another flat stone at the water. “She sent you to

capture me, to bring me to the Garne, didn’t she? Your Queen. She has

been plotting it for months.”

      “You feel the Orb?” None of the sisters could do that.
                                                                         244

      “Every day, every night.” He reached out and picked up my hand. My

black flesh was harder and shinier than his, my fingers longer and thinner.

“I felt you as soon as you entered the town. I heard your yawn when that

fool merc cut you.” His fingers tightened for a moment before he released

me. “I came down from Bronif today to meet you.”

      I eyed the faint outlines of his neck sacs under his human skin; like

the Orb he had two more than I did and the smallest was five times the

size of mine. I did not doubt their contents; he bore the mark. I might be

able to move faster, but a single nip from him would end me – and I could

not fight back.

      He had tracked me – a Queen, tracking like a common Black

Branch. Nothing stirred the Orb from the Medius unless it would provide

her some personal pleasure. “Why do I still breathe?”

      “I must risk everything to have everything, I suppose.” He rested his

forehead against his knees.

      Loneliness radiated from him, something no spinner had to endure

and no Queen would have tolerated – or revealed. I was muddled all over

again. “The Orb said to bring you alive.” Perhaps he missed his mother.

“You dam also awaits.”

      “She did not want me.”
                                                                         245

      “Gesa would not have left you behind if you had shown your color.”

At his blank look, I gestured toward his chest. “The mark of the Red

Branch.”

      “Ah.” He rubbed a hand against his tunic. “That did not appear until

the middle of my boyhood.”

       I understood now why the Orb had sent me to track him. His

awareness of her meant her awareness of him. She would never tolerate

the existence of a second Queen, even one who evidently had been hiding

away from her.

      But why had he come to me?

      “I was not hiding, and I wanted to meet you.” He rose to his feet and

offered me his hand. “Come with me.”

      “Where?”

      He nodded in the direction of Bronif Keepe. “To see the parent who

did not abandon me.”

                                      #

      Bronif Keepe appeared well tended, prosperous and largely

deserted, except for some guards walking the battlements and flanking

the great door in the wall surrounding the ugly structure. The human

predilection for houses of stone block always reminded me of snails

curling up in their shells. Surely protection for their flimsy bodies was the

only reason they dwelled in the cold, ugly things.
                                                                          246

      “There is my father,” Jalon said as we entered the great hall,

nodding toward an old man sitting close to a fire.

      Tal Bronif was nothing like the stuff of his legends. He was little and

wrinkled, and barely able to rise from his divan. Still, he did so as soon as

he saw me.

      “My son.” He had a weak, whiny voice. “You should have slain her.”

      “There was no reason to do so, Father.” Jalon actually bowed to the

dried up elderly man. “Akela, may I present my sire, Tal Bronif, leader of

the western territories. Father, this is Akela, spinner and tracker of the

Black Branch.”

      I would not bow to a human, particularly one who wanted me dead.

“Greetings, Queen’s sire.”

      Filmy eyes widened. “What did you call me?”

      Before I could respond Jalon said, “It is a long story, father.”

      “I cannot believe you brought her here.” Tal sat back down and

rested his face against his gnarled hands. “She will return and tell them of

you. She will bring back an army.”

      “An army, to take this tiny little place?” He was as conceited and

stupid as Gesa had said, and yet he had sired a Queen on her – or had

he? I glanced at Jalon. “Exalted One, are you sure this is your sire?”

      “I’m quite certain.” Jalon went over and pressed his mouth to the

top of the old man’s bald head, but for some reason didn’t bite him. “You
                                                                          247

must allow me to handle this, Father.” He turned to me. “Akela, we must

speak privately. Will you come with me?”

      He was asking? “Of course.”

      The chamber he took me to was sparsely furnished but clean. “A

pleasant room. You treat your servants well.”

      “This is my chamber.” He removed his cloak and hung it on a hook.

      The Orb would have slaughtered anyone who presumed to give her

such humble accommodations, but Jalon seemed quite unconcerned. I

hovered just inside the door, waiting for orders.

      He pushed a metal hook with a pot attached to it over the hearth

fire. “I am not going to tell you what to do, Akela.”

      “I am Black Branch.” When he said nothing, I realized he had no

declaration of my loyalty, and went down on one knee and offered my finest

blade. “I am yours to command, The Jalon. You speak, I obey. You do not

speak, I wait to obey. My life is yours.” I had pledged as much to her,

which put me squarely in the center of this wretched mess.

      He took the blade. “The Jalon?”

      “It is proper address for a Queen.” Who should never have been

permitted to draw air, and yet he seemed completely unconcerned by his

dilemma. Why? I would have to go carefully; perhaps my declaration was

not enough. I rose to my feet. What would a Green say? “Oh Exalted One,

have these humans prevented you from taking your place among us?”
                                                                          248

         “No, and stop calling me Exalted One.” He set aside my knife, and

then used a cloth to remove the pot from the hook and began preparing

some sort of beverage in a pottery cup. Like a servant. Automatically I

went to take the pot from him, then went still as he handed me the cup.

         I took it and held it. “Forgive me, but I do not understand.”

         “I am well-acquainted with the feeling myself.” He gestured toward

the cup. “Drink.”

         I looked down into the cup and surreptitiously sniffed. No poison,

only herbs. “I wish to understand, Oh – I mean, if The Jalon would be so

gracious as to bestow understanding upon me” –I remembered the drink

and quickly sipped from it– “I would better be able to serve – “

         “My name is Jalon. Just Jalon.” He picked up my knife and went to

sit on a little bench next to the fire. “And you don’t serve me.”

         “But I do.” I did not mean to contradict him, but did he doubt me?

“The – Jalon, I am sworn to protect and defend the Red Branch with my

life.”

         “Ballocks.” He made a chopping gesture, and I braced myself for a

blow. “Stop that, I’m not going to strike you. I order you to stop treating

me like her. Treat me as you would any other human.”

         “I cannot.” I grimaced. “You’ve seen what I do to them.”

         “True.” He thought for a moment. “Very well – then I order you to

speak to me and treat me as you would another of your kind.”
                                                                           249

      That I could do. “Have you brain fever, to be inviting me to regard

you as equal?”

      He uttered a short, human laugh. “We are not equals, no.”

      “Do you not recognize my thread?” Surely not, he had shared my

mind more thoroughly than the Queen ever had. “I am the first and best of

the Black Branch. The Orb only sends me when she wants no mistakes

made.”

      His smile faded. “So you are accomplished at what you do.”

      My jaw sagged a little. “I am Death, Jalon. Had you not shown me

your thread or your mark, I would have gutted you, then come here and

wiped the life from this fortress.” And in regard to the latter, perhaps I still

would. I set the cup aside. “Why do you not know these things?”

      “I only know what she thinks and now, what you think.” Before that

shock sank in, he added another. “Until last summer I couldn’t feel any of

you. I have always lived here, with my father and his people. They are the

only family I know.”

      A Red Branch who had no knowledge of our kind. The strength went

out of my legs, and I sat down on the floor. “Jalon, you are not human, nor

are you merely a spinner. You are a Queen.”

      “Queens are female.”

      “I know, I mean, I don’t know. There has never been a male Red

Branch, or more than one Queen at a time.” I was tempted to draw a
                                                                           250

dagger and stab myself now, to save myself from being torn between the

Orb and this odd sibling of hers. Yet my instinct to protect spoke for me

instead. “Do you even know how to fight as a spinner?”

       He shook his head. “I have only trained in the human ways of battle.”

       “Oh Bitch Goddess, that you would do this to me.” I thunked my head

back against the stone wall a couple of times.

       “What will she do, when you take me to her?”

       I stopped trying to crack my skull open. “The Orb will challenge you

in front of the sisterhood. She will fight you, not in human ways. And she

will win.”

       He nodded. “What happens if I lose?”

       “If? When, Jalon. When. She will hang you to be bled.” Everything

inside me wanted to come up through my mouth. “It takes a spinner days

to die that way.”

       “I bleed faster than that, I think.” He tested the edge of my blade

with his fingertip and watched blood well in the small cut. “So you think I

would be spared much suffering if I ended it now?”

       He was worse than a youngling; full grown, utterly lethal and yet

wholly unaware of his power – and proposing to take his own life in front of

me, when I had been bred to keep him alive.

       “I could strangle your dam for not teaching you.” I might just do that

when I returned to the Garne.
                                                                         251

      He licked the blood from his finger. “Teach me what?”

      “How to fight in spinner ways.” I gestured toward his neck sacs.

“How to use your poisons and your webs. Had she fulfilled her duties, you

would at least have a chance.”

      “You could teach me.”

      My eyes bulged for a moment. “Me? I could, but . . .” The Orb had

told me to bring him back, not train him in our ways. She had not

forbidden me to train him, either.

      “Never mind. It would serve no purpose anyway.”

      “There is no never mind, Jalon. You command. I obey.” I rose and

went to him, and seized the hand in which he held my blade. I guided the

tip to my throat and stared down the edge, down into his strange gray

eyes. “If you do not believe me, open my veins now and spare me this, I

beg you.”

      “Which of us will you serve, Akela, when we reach the Garne?”

      I had to speak honestly. “Whoever survives.”

      “Very well.” He slowly drew back the blade. “Teach me.”

                                     #

      Jalon did not know how to fight a spinner, but he knew how to purge.

I watched as he filled a wooden bucket with a nearly continuous stream of

poison from his hollow chelicerae. A manservant appeared to take away

the deadly stuff, yet did not seemed perturbed by it.
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      “Does he not know one drop can finish him?”

      “Yes. It is a daily task for me,” he told me as he carefully rinsed and

wiped his mouth. “Our soldiers use it to tip their arrows.”

      “No wonder your sire has triumphed over the western territories.

He has been cheating.” I inspected his garments. “You can wear the

trousers, but remove your tunica and footwear. You should shave your

head before we leave for the Garne, too.”

      “Why?” He touched the long, thick black mass. “I like my hair.”

      “She can use it to pull off your head.”

      “Hmmm. I don’t like it that much.”

      He led me down to the lists, where his father’s men practiced their

silly sword play. Several were there play fighting but retreated the

moment they saw us, and the looks they gave Jalon made me draw my

daggers.

      “What is wrong?”

      I eyed the one closest, selecting what part of him to hack off. “They

show no respect.”

      “You can’t stab a man for disliking me.” He saw my expression and

sighed. “All right, you can, but I order you not to.”

      “Then we will need disposables.”

      “Disposables?”
                                                                        253

      “People you don’t need.” Which seemed to be everyone in this

place. “So you can practice the techniques I teach you.”

      “My people are not disposable.” He pointed to a straw-stuffed form

hanging from a rope. “We will use those.”

      “I will need to spin.” I eyed the structures around us. “I need some

ropes as anchors.”

      “For what?”

      “A web. Spinners do not fight each other on the ground.”

      Three days later, the grounds of the lists were covered with bits of

smoldering straw and sacking, and every soldier in the fortress had

gathered to watch us from beneath. Jalon and I circled each other on the

web I had spun between the guard tower and the hall. Both of us were

soaked in sweat, his torso covered in bruises and my body armor dented

by bite marks in a dozen places.

      For a full-grown youngling, he learned very fast.

      “Feel the strand,” I muttered as I doubled back from the center of

the weave. “What am I going to do?”

      “Feint right, then turn and trip me.” He avoided the move as he said

it and reversed, catching my arms from behind. “I have you, spinner.”

      I dropped and rolled between his legs, then fastened him in a rib-

cracking hold. “You had me.” I held him with some difficulty, for he had

twice my bulk and had picked up the evasive moves I had taught him on the
                                                                           254

first day. “If she gets you in such a hold, she will bite you here.” I pressed

my mouth to the side of his neck. “So how do you counter?”

      He tried to break my hold, but my hands were locked. “I do not

know.”

      “Kick back and up, drive your heel into her crotch and both of your

elbows into her cribellum. That will drives the air from the lungs and make

her close her thighs in reflex.” I felt a twinge of foresight, a single thought

thread: He will never fight the Orb – and it made my voice turn harsh.

“Why are you reluctant to counter-attack? This is your life you defend.”

      “I – “ he thought for a moment. “I can’t do that to a woman.”

      “I keep telling you, we’re not women. Now, she will not release you,

but for a few seconds she will be distracted. That is when you knock her to

the ground, like this.” I deliberately pulled both of us from the web and fell

to the ground. Even braced for the weight of him, he nearly knocked the

breath out of me. “This breaks the hold.” I showed him what to do with his

arms. “Now, you pin me.” When he did, I nodded. “Well done.”

      Instead of rising, he remained on top of me and held me there. “Do

you believe I have a chance against her?”

      I thought of the few times I had seen the Orb fight. Foreseeing it

was impossible, all I could envision was Jalon refusing to fight – and he

was no coward. “You are quick to learn, but she has much experience.

Truly, I cannot say.”
                                                                           255

         He gave me an odd look. “Perhaps I will surprise you.”

         Someone shouted something from the front gate, drawing the

attention of the guardsmen watching us. When Jalon would have turned

his head to see what it was, I caught his chin. “Use the thread, not your

eyes.”

         He concentrated, and I felt that same, odd stream of thought brush

past my mind and reach for whatever was approaching Bronif Keepe.

“Men from the south. Mercenaries. Like those at the creek – the ones

who seek you, Akela.”

         “Ah, some disposables.” I followed his strand to the perimeter

beyond the wall. Ferboil had grown tired of waiting for me to emerge,

apparently. “How many do you sense?”

         “Two hundred sixteen men.” He frowned. “And one woman.”

         Dispatching them would serve as a nice finishing exercise. “Armed

with?”

         “Swords, spears, war hammers.” He looked at me. “Nets?”

         “He thinks to catch me like a fish. What is the female for, bait?” I

prodded his arm. “Come, we will deal with them.”

         “We will not attack them, Akela.“ He pushed himself up and dusted

off his trousers.

         “They come here to attack me. I don’t wish to send them home

disappointed.”
                                                                        256

      “There are other ways.” He motioned to a guard, who brought a

tunica and some form-fitted metal plates. Jalon pulled on the garment

and strapped the metal to the front and back of his upper torso.

      “That blocks your cribellum,” I pointed out.

      “It is customary for men of position to wear armor for protection.”

      I barely avoided making a rude sound. “You are not a man, and I

protect you.”

      “Indulge me this once.”

      We went to the front gates, where I saw Ferboil Danu and his

reinforcements, all mounted and heavily armed, lined up in siege

formation. Ferboil had done me the favor of distinguishing himself from his

hirelings by wearing new armor studded with gemstones.

      “The glittery one is the leader, Danu.”

      “I recognize his strand.” At my glance, Jalon smiled. “Yes, Akela,

even humans have their own threads.”

      “Threads, no. Lint, perhaps.” I stepped outside the gate, placing

myself in front of Jalon, and regarded the assembled troops. “Easy to

collect, hard to brush off.”

      “Spinner.” Ferboil urged his mount forward. “This be yer last

chance.”
                                                                        257

      “Or what? You’ll butcher everyone and burn this place to the

ground?” I folded my arms. “Danu, I’d be more likely to help you do that.

Choose another threat, please.”

      He straightened in his saddle. “That’s yer final answer?”

      “That was my final answer a week ago. Now I’m getting annoyed.” I

let my fangs extrude. “And hungry.”

      “Why do you persist in pursuing her?” Jalon asked. “What is it that

you want?”

      “He wants killing,” I muttered.

      “A web.” Ferboil jabbed his finger toward me. “A web only her kind

can spin.”

      “Surely there are easier weapons to obtain, Chieftain.”

      “Not for warrin’.” He gestured, and some men brought forth a litter

and set it down beside his mount. “For healin’.”

      The barest brush of a delicate thought thread made me approach

the litter. I ignored the swords the carriers drew and peered inside. A

young human female with a grossly swollen belly lay inside, her skin

leeched of color, her stick-thin limbs twitching. The linens swaddling her

lower body bore pinkish wet stains.

      None of that would have concerned me, had I not seen the scars on

her cheek. Twin marks, made by two short, curved fangs.

      She opened her sunken eyes and met mine. “Help me.”
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        If she could speak, she still had a chance. I tore back the linens, saw

another scar on her belly, and slid my hand between her thighs. One of

the guards reached in to stop me, and I used my free arm to shove him

away.

        As soon as I felt her maidenhead I drew back and turned to Danu.

“How long has she been in the throes?”

        “Sevenday now.”

        “You dolt, why did you not say before?” I pushed the curtains aside

and climbed in to straddle her shins. “Her name.”

        “Lalassa, my daughter.”

        “Lalassa, look at me.” I placed my hands on her belly and felt the

position of the mass within. “Have you shown any bright red blood?” She

shook her head as Jalon appeared at the side of the litter. “She is very

near the time. I cannot do this out here, we must take her inside.”

        One of his guards peered in. “We have a midwife here, she can

deliver her.”

        I shook my head. “She doesn’t carry a human child.”

                                       #

        I had never done this, nor had I ever expected to for anyone but

myself – we took care of our own needs. Anger made me snap out my

orders to the servants as I prepared the young female for her ordeal.

Ferboil and Jalon insisted on being in the room.
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         “How did this happen to her?” I heard Jalon ask the Chieftain.

         “She snuck out to pick berries, never came back. My men found her

cocooned to a tree threeday later.” He removed his ornamented helm.

“Never guessed more ‘til she swelled.”

         “Akela?”

         I ignored them and touched the girl’s cheek. “Open your eyes, child.

Yes, I know it hurts, but look at me.”

         “Eating me,” Lalassa whispered. “Inside.”

         “No.” Not yet, anyway. I tore open my tunic. ”I want you to keeping

look at me, look at my eyes. I have pretty eyes, do I not?” I kept my tone

soothing as I pulled back the linens to bare her belly. “Pretty and dark and

deep.”

         She fell under the gazespell almost at once. “Like the night.”

         “Yes, like the night. I want you to go there now, into the quiet, into

the night.” I braced myself and centered my mind. “It is safe there. Safe

and soft and warm, is it not?”

         “So soft . . . “ Awareness left her eyes as she stared past me at

nothing in particular.

         “Goddess keep her there.” I placed my hands against her bulging

abdomen to check the undulating mass inside before I glanced at the men

watching us. “Jalon, I need that blood and flesh, placed in a secure

chamber. Danu, you should leave.”
                                                                          260

      Jalon left to check on the servants. Ferboil shook his head. “She be

my only child.”

      “Then do not interfere, or I will bury you together with her.”

Lalassa’s body convulsed under me. “It is time.”

      I had already chewed the roots I needed to alter my sac fluid, and

their bitter taste was strong in my throat as I spun a cradle web of tiny

strands and anchored it to the canopy above the bed. Once it was secure,

I wove a tight cable, coated it with birthing fluid, and then attached it to my

palms.

      Carefully I applied it to the lower half of Lalassa’s belly, and watched

the flesh part. I went slowly, for If I misjudged the depth I might severe her

body in half. Distantly I heard Ferboil retching as my fluid cauterized the

opened flesh on either side, preventing bleeding. Finally I had penetrated

down to the inner cavity, where the swollen pink mass of her uterus rippled

and flexed.

      What was inside wanted out.

      I tossed aside the cable and spun a much shorter one, then used it

to open the uterus. A tiny blue hand reached out, blindly seeking, and as

soon as the aperture was wide enough, I cast aside the second strand and

reached it with my own hand.
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      The babe emerged intact, bright blue and physically perfect, its

fangs bared as it looked into my face. It made no sound, but battered my

mind with the intensity of its first worded thought.

      Hungry.

      I lifted it into the cradle web and spun holding strands to keep it

from escaping, and then returned my attention to the girl’s gaping

abdomen. I thinned the holding strand and stitched together Lalassa’s

uterus and abdomen before I checked her eyes. The gazespell kept her far

away from what had happened to her body, but I could not keep her there

much longer or she might never return.

      Hungry hungry hungry

      Patience, little one. I bent down, sank my fangs into Lalassa’s

shoulder, and let the paralyzing fluid from my nasal sacs flow into her body.

      “What are you doing?” Danu cried.

      “Sparing her pain. Lalassa, look at me.” I coaxed her back to the

real world with my voice and my mind. “You will not be able to move for

several hours. This will give your body time to heal.” Or die an easy death,

if her body rejected my repairs.

      The dazed girl focused on my face. “Alive?”

      “Yes.” I gathered the squirming infant’s cradle web and held it close

to my chest. “Jalon?”

      He was there, waiting. “It’s in the next room.”
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      I carried the youngling into the adjoining chamber, where two

servants stood waiting over a freshly-slaughtered carcass of a young calf.

“They have to go.”

      “Why?”

      “She may attack them first.” The little blue didn’t seem insane, but it

was so hard to tell these days.

      Jalon sent the servants away and secured the door, while I snapped

the holding strands to release my new little sister.

      The infant spinner shook off the web and regarded me with her

bright blue eyes. Hungry. She inspected me, then Jalon, then the carcass.

Mine?

      Her mental discipline impressed me – the young who were not born

insane still remained essentially mindless until a few days after birth. Yes,

child. Watching her take her first lunge and sink her tiny fangs into the

carcass nearly made me wish for one of my own again.

      “Why does she not attack us?”

      “A spinner always recognizes the mind of another.”

      “And Lalassa?”

      “She is young, and strong. She may live.” Not wishing to disturb the

youngling, I moved away. “A blue will be most welcome in the Garne; we do

not have many story tellers.”

      “How did this happen? Did a spinner rape her?”
                                                                          263

      “Lalassa was not raped. As it happens, she is still a virgin. She was

used as a vessel by a Garne spider. It does not happen often anymore.” I

leaned back against the wall. “There are so few of them left in the forest.”

      “A spider did this to her?”

      I told him of the giant Garne spiders, which had once dominated the

forests thousands of years ago, and how they used the bodies of their prey

as vessels to incubate their younglings. “No one knows when the first

human female was taken, but the results were different. Our story

spinners say that one youngling emerged from that female, having

consumed the rest in the womb, and its form was different – larger, with

only four long limbs, an altered torso, and human-like features. It had

taken some of itself from its vessel.”

      He seemed very absorbed by what I said. “So a spinner is a half-

human Garne spider. That explains much.”

      “Perhaps. No one knows for certain.” I shrugged. “When enough

were born, they gathered and formed the Sisterhood.” The little blue had

already devoured a quarter of the carcass, and she paused to digest it and

clean herself. “The human female was fortunate. Most spinners born

thusly eat their way out of the womb.”

      “It was kind of you to help Lalassa.”

      I nodded toward the youngling. “I was saving our sister. Had you not

provided adequate food, I would have allowed her to devour the girl.”
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      He gave me one of his mysterious smiles. “As you say.”

                                       #

      There was no more time to remain at Bronif Keepe and teach Jalon

spinner ways; the birth of the blue made it imperative for us to leave at

once for the Garne. I placed the little one in a sling web and carried her on

my back, which did not please Neleh but then very little did anyway. Since

Danu’s daughter was still recovering, Tal Bronif permitted him and his

troops to remain at the keepe.

      Both men were waiting for us at the gates, and Danu offered me a

packet of jewels. “For saving my daughter.”

      “I have ample reward,” I said, adjusting the sling. “Save them for

Lalassa.” I turned to the old man, and watched as Jalon dismounted and

embraced his sire. Their bewildering affection for each other prompted

me to make a farewell remark. “I will send word of the outcome, old one.”

      “Take good care, my son.” Tal kissed him, then frowned at me. “You

keep him alive, spinner, or I will hunt you down and kill you myself.”

      I nodded. “Perhaps you are his true sire.”

      The journey to the Garne would have taken me only a fortnight on

my own; having Jalon and the youngling as companions slowed my pace.

That and I was reluctant to reach our destination. The closer we came,

the larger the knot of dread in my belly swelled.
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      As was our custom, the blue chose a name for herself a few days

into the trip. I released her from the sling to hunt with us, and she brought

down small game on her own without much difficulty. After she dragged a

spotted hare back into camp on night, she dropped the carcass by the fire

and came to me. I know who I am now.

      Do you? Recalling my own moment of name pride as a youngling, I

dropped down on one knee. Tell me, sister.

      I am Kabla, the-unexpected-one.

      Jalon joined us and caught the thread. A beautiful name .

      Kabla preened for a moment before she returned to the business of

eating her kill. Jalon handed me a cup of the tea he insisted on brewing,

and I sat with him to watch her.

      He seemed to admire her greatly. “She is incredible, isn’t she? So

nimble and bright.”

      I sipped the herbal drink, which was starting to grow on me. “She is

efficient and disciplined; a worthy candidate for the Garne.”

      “Candidate?”

      “The Orb decides if she joins us or dies.” I felt the strong thread of

his disapproval. “Those are decisions you will make, if you prevail.”

      “She does not deserve to die.”

      “More and more spinners are born wrongly of late. Many are

insane; they never attain mindshare and will kill anything and anyone.” I
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thought of the younglings I had been ordered to dispatch, and projected

those memories to Jalon. “The Queen decides in order to protect all life,

not just the sisterhood.”

      “So you slaughter your own as well as humans.” He didn’t sound too

happy about it.

      I finished the tea. “It is what I do.”

      “I wonder why she did not simply order you to kill me.”

      “I can’t do that, not to a Red Branch.” I met his gaze. “Even if I could,

she would not permit it.”

      “Why?”

      “Killing a Queen is a Queen’s pleasure alone.”

                                        #

      We reached the edge of the Garne a week later, and as soon as we

touched spinner ground, I felt the Orb’s thread reaching out to us.

      “She knows we’re here.” As I told Jalon that, I kept my mind carefully

blank. “She is not pleased.”

      “By me, you, or Kabla?”

      “All three, I think.” I met the gathering, curious strands of my sisters

and accepted their greetings, while I felt Kabla grow very still against my

back. Do not be frightened, small sister.

      So many. She was more excited than scared. And only three like

me.
                                                                             267

       The Blue Branch is thin now. You will be much admired. If she was

permitted to live. I felt a surge of frustration at the thought of losing Kabla

at the Orb’s whim. She was a delightful youngling who could bring much to

the Garne.

       “A tree,” Jalon murmured.

       We were surrounded by trees. “What about them?”

       “That one.” He nodded toward the Garnet. “I did not know you lived

in a tree.”

       “It is the oldest living thing in the forest.” I regarded the giant

bloodwood that the Sisterhood had occupied for centuries. It was five

times the size of Bronif Keepe, with a massive central trunk which

supported the fourteen main branches of the sisters. Beneath its twisted

roots were the dying and nesting caverns where we brought life from

ourselves and returned our lives to the Garnet when we were done.

Through his eyes, it must have seemed intimidating, but I only saw my

home. I pointed. “I live there, at the top, with the other blacks.”

       “Now I understand why you call yourselves branches.”

       It is unexpected. Kabla peeked over my shoulder and clutched at

me, her excitement streaking through her thought-thread. Like me.

       “Yes.” The Orb’s thread wove around me, tugging, and I dismounted.

“Leave your weapons and your ride here, Jalon. One of the browns will

attend to them.” I hobbled Neleh and began removing my blade straps.
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       The Sisterhood had assembled in the Medius around the Queen’s

throne. The Orb sat waiting, every inch a Queen in her finest ceremonial

robe, a flowing river of silver and black spun by the artisans of the White

Branch. My skin siblings, the other Black Branches, flanked the Queen on

all sides.

       All minds were blank of anything save recognition of me and loyalty

to the Queen.

       “Stay here.” I placed the little blue in Jalon’s arms before I

approached the Orb. Some ten feet from the hem of her robe, I dropped

to the ground and prostrated myself. “Oh Exalted One, live forever.”

       I felt a sensation of being torn in half inside; the Orb pulling at me

from one side, and my thread still anchored to Jalon on the other. I could

not fully give myself to her or him, and that was something I had never

experienced before. My vision doubled as both of them drew harder, and

then Jalon abruptly released me.

       “You are late returning to us, Akela.” With a distinct note of

satisfaction, the Queen wrapped her thread around me and used it to urge

me to my feet. “I feared for your life.”

       “There were complications, my Queen.” I didn’t have to point out the

little blue or relate the tale of delivering Lalassa, she was already plucking

the memories from my head. “I apologize for causing you unnecessary

distress.”
                                                                          269

      “Take the youngling to the nesting cavern; I will judge her later,” the

Orb ordered one of her Green Branch attendants. She raised her dark

face and eyed Jalon. “Son of Tal, approach me.”

      Jalon did not hand Kabla to the attendant as he came to stand at

my side. He did not prostrate himself or make any sign of respect, either.

Had he forgotten everything I had told him, the ninny? “You are not what I

expected.”

      “I disappoint you?” The Orb rose from her throne, and shrugged out

of her robe. Beneath it she wore the solid red body shroud of a fighting

Queen. Her thread tightened and grew so hot I thought my flesh would

smoke.

      I placed a hand on his forearm. Jalon, do not taunt her.

      Be at ease, Black Branch. “No, but your thoughts of yourself led me

to expect differently,” he told her. “Something more . . . omnipotent.”

      The Orb’s fangs appeared for a moment before she forcibly

retracted them. “No sister would dare speak to me thus. You are indeed

of the Red Branch, brother.”

      He inclined his head.

      “You know why you are here, so I see no need for further delay.” She

gestured toward the vaulted space above us, where an intricate battle

web had been constructed. “Shall we?”
                                                                          270

       I could not bear the thought of her killing him. I did not know why,

and I could feel her outrage slamming into me, but everything inside me

told me to protect him. I jerked my mind from the Orb’s hold. Take the

little one and go. I will keep them occupied for as long as I can.

       He smiled and handed Kabla to me. “No, Akela. I’m not going to

fight her.”

       Kabla bounced against me, excited all over again for some odd

reason. I am not the only unexpected one, elder sister.

       The Orb strode to him and tore open the front of his tunica with a

single swipe of her hand. “You bear the mark of our Branch. I have felt

you in my mind. There is only one Queen.”

       “I will not fight you because I am not a Queen.” He seized her hands,

and something poured out of him, something terrifying and dangerous and

beyond anything I had ever experienced from mindshare. I am a King.

       Every sister within the Garnet cried out in pain as they were forced

down to the ground. Only Kabla and I remained untouched by whatever

Jalon was doing. In amazement, I watched the Orb slowly drop to her

knees.

       I understand now, Jalon’s powerful thoughts rayed out like strands

spun from the sun itself. I had to come here to be sure.

       How is it that you can do this? The Orb writhed under the mindhold

with which he held her.
                                                                      271

      Human vessels allowed you evolve from the Garne spiders. A

human sire created me. We need them.

      You’re insane!

      No, elder sister. I am the first of my kind. He released the Orb,

who fell flat on her face. You can go on despising humans, and killing

them, but your own inbreeding and ignorance are destroying you. He

glanced around the Garnet. If you wish to see the spinners survive, then

come with me. I will teach you how to live among humans, and how to

take human mates. It is the only chance you have.

      I did not know what to do, or think, when he came to me. Why did

you not tell me? Why did you shield the power of your mind from me?

      You thought as they did. I did not hope for more until you saved

Lalassa. He touched my cheek. It was vanity, too. I did not want you

because of some inbred loyalty.

      He wanted me?

      I have long waited to find a suitable mate. However, I can’t allow

you to kill humans for sport anymore. Nor will I ever be soft or

mindless.

      I suppose you won’t let me devour you after we mate.

      No. He laughed. But I won’t devour you, either.
                                                                        272

      That seemed fair. I saw the Orb staring at me, felt the now-familiar

weight of Kabla as she scrambled from my hands to perch on my

shoulder. I felt the reeling minds of my sisters, unwilling to accept what he

had shown them. Part of me balked against it as well – live among

humans? Mate with them? Could we spinners ever learn to do that?

      The humans are just as reluctant, but we must try.

      I studied the prostrate forms of my sisters. Most of them will not

come. They are afraid of what you say. Indeed, so was I – but there was

truth in everything he had said.

      That, and real hope.

      “I know. But in time, perhaps, they will conquer their fear.” He held

out his hand. “Come, Akela. Let us go home now.”
                                                                              273

                                      Throw

                                   by S.L. Viehl



         “They will tear you to pieces,” Ravyt told me.

         “Undoubtedly.” I finished packing the last of my garments in my

carryall and slung it over my shoulder before facing him. He had grown so

old this year, waiting for this day to come. “One less mouth for you to

feed.”

         He sniffed. “You have cared for yourself since you could walk.”

         I could do many things most of my kind could not, thanks to him. He

had found me during his last military campaign in the outlands, in a cave

where he had taken temporary shelter from a storm. I had been a

starving infant, he had told me, curled up next to my mother’s dead body.

He had raised and educated me as he would have his own daughter.

         “I’m told I had an excellent wet nurse.” I studied his expression,

which was close to tears. “There is no other way.”

         “I dislike sending you to your death.” He came to me, and hung an

amulet around my neck. It was the Ravelin symbol of protection through

faith, an odd talisman for an old soldier to carry, but one I had never seen

him without. “This, I believe, has saved my skin more times than I can

number.” Hope hung on his words with a desperate grip.
                                                                         274

      When my mark first appeared, he had summoned healers and

mages, and even an exorcist from the city. The wisest of the freeborn had

poked and prodded and read me a hundred different ways, but in the end

they had all agreed on the same thing.

      Somehow I had been Called.

      There was no hiding it, either. Marks could and did appear at any

spot on the body, but mine had emerged on my face, where it could not be

concealed from anyone.

      I did not need his talisman, and I had no faith or hope, but I would not

shame him by refusing it or howling my despair. I would go with the dignity

he had taught me. “Thank you for the gift.”

      Ravyt cradled my face between his hands as if I offered no threat. “I

will miss you.” He pressed his mouth to the mark on my brow.

      “And I you.” I stepped away from his hands and walked out of his

dwelling. No one came to watch or bid me farewell – they would hide until

I had gone, and only then come out to make the signs of protection and

breathe easier.

      They had been my friends, my coworkers, and my family. If I

returned, they would kill me.

      It took only a few minutes to run across the lawns to the edge of the

property. It had once been much bigger; Ravyt’s long absences had

caused many crops failures, which had in turn gnawed away at his family’s
                                                                        275

lands. These past ten years we had fought to hold on to the remaining

acres, and now they flourished.

      I looked at the stone wall which ringed the land. Someone, Galo

perhaps, had taken the great bar down and left the gates open for me.

      Ravyt had purchased Galo as a companion for me, but he had

proven to be a loyal and dedicated worker. Last winter we had spoken of

mating, and I had been pleased by the prospect. We decided to ask Ravyt

for permission to breed in the spring.

      Galo had not spoken to or come near me since I had showed him

the silver mark on my brow.

      I passed through the gates and became a fugitive.

                                     #

      No one knew who built the Throw, or when. It was terribly ancient.

Some said the Gods themselves had raised its massive, impenetrable

walls. Others blamed the first summoned from the primal generation of

freeborn. A few whispered idiotic heresy about demons and unnatural

forces. The place had existed from the time before memory, so no one

really knew.

      There was no means with which to find out, either. No one was

allowed inside, except for The Called, the Afflicted, or those who escorted

or guarded them. There were no exceptions, and the few who were

permitted in never spoke of what they saw within its walls.
                                                                           276

       Most did not care what happened inside the Throw. It served a

purpose.

       The Throw couldn’t be seen from the limits of town, or from most of

the lowland farm ranges, but everyone knew where it was. An ancient

forest had been leveled to build it, and while a few more had alternately

grown and burned around it, nothing alive touched its walls willingly.

       “It is not cursed,” Ravyt had explained to all of us when we were

wide-eyed, ignorant younglings. He had been only a common soldier, but

he had seen a great many things. “But you must never stray near its

walls. You have no protection against those within.”

       “Are the Called not freeborn, master?” one of the littlest asked.

       He grimaced. “They were.”

       “What do they do to those who are taken?” another, bolder child

asked. “Those who are Afflicted?”

       No one spoke of the Afflicted. It was bad luck even to say the word.

Yet Ravyt was a traveled veteran and braver than most. “The Called

release their spirits, child.”

       We were children. As we grew, everyone else said things like

butcher and mutilate and devour them.

       I had never gone deep into the forest, but my nose seemed to know

the way.
                                                                             277

      I didn’t hurry to my death, so the journey took me until twilight. I

disdained the road for the ripening tialac fields, where the cool white husks

brushed against my body like soothing fingers.

      Once I stopped to pluck a fat little geesshrew nibbling on a top-heavy

stalk, but when I raised it to my lips the feel of it squirming between my

paws turned my stomach. I dropped it on the ground and it scurried away.

      I did not want animal flesh. The crescent-shaped indentation above

my eyes burned. Had not wanted it for more than a cycle.

      A vibration rolled under my feet, and I crouched to touch the soil.

Wagon wheels, straining under a heavy burden. I was downwind of it, and

the air carried to me the smells of anger, madness, and disease.

      The Afflicted.

      None spoke of them but we all knew from where they had come.

They were the worst of Ravelin, culled from the dungeons and asylums and

sick houses within the Great City far to the west, and sent to the Throw.

Some called them the Hopeless.

      Men. Women. The mark on my brow pulsed and the thing inside

me twisted. Mine.

      I waited until the wagon had passed and was upwind of me before I

continued on. It would not do to lose control, not out here in the open. I

was a deliberate fugitive, but I was not a mindless killer.

      Not yet.
                                                                          278

      I left the fields and made my way into the forest, which was a

labyrinth of kamlan and enipak trees. Nothing alive came near me, and a

good many of the forest’s small creatures scurried out of my path. The

larger had gone some time before; like the wagon they had smelled me

coming.

      That was the worst of it – the way in which my own scent had

changed. I had always kept myself clean, but try as I might I could not

remove the new, deeper odor from my body. It had disturbed the

household to no end, especially Galo.

      As I came within sight of the soaring walls, I pulled on my black cloak

and hood. I did not care for the traditional garb of the Called, but it would

get me past the guards at the archway.

      There were two of them, armed so heavily and so alert that they

might have been viewed as paranoid, any place outside the Throw. Here

they were likely dressed down a bit.

      “Hold,” one of them called as I approached. I stopped. “State your

business.”

      I had never said it myself. The words spilled from me like a curse

and a confession. “I am Called.”

      At that, both guards drew short swords and daggers.

      “Where is your escort?” the second one demanded.
                                                                         279

      I didn’t answer. Silence generally made more of an impression than

an invented story.

      “Are you ready to Answer?” the first one asked, his voice tight.

      I nodded.

      “Open the gate.” When the second one opened his mouth to say

something, the first cuffed him with a heavy fist. “Open it!” To me he said,

“Go. Quickly.”

      They separated as I approached, drawing back and holding out their

blades. Their fear was wise, but their weapons were pitiful. That part of

me that had awoken in the spring looked upon them in interest. People of

any kind had been unbearably interesting of late.

      But they were only two, and the thing inside me wanted more. That

wagonload of Afflicted would be nice. For a beginning.

      The bailey of the Throw was very much like a small town, with

merchants and open-air stalls and stands offering food, drink and other

pleasures. A tent brothel advertised its business with portrait banners

flapping from its side poles. Yet there were no smiling faces, and everyone

wore the charmed robes of the Protected.

      When they saw me walking alone, they drew back on either side,

forming a gauntlet that led to yet another gate. Many drew daggers or

talismans. No one spoke to or looked directly at me.
                                                                          280

      I went to the second gate, which was unguarded. For a moment I

thought it would not permit me entry, and drew my own blade. If I could

not get in, I would end my life here.

      Slowly the gates swung in, revealing the dark hall behind them.

      I crossed the third and final threshold into the Throw, and the gates

closed behind me.

                                        #

      Four torches burned high above my head, casting flickering shadows

upon the deeper dark around me. The sand beneath my feet was soft and

pure, newly-strewn. There was no light ahead. I felt the weight of unseen

eyes, watching, but heard no greeting, no warning, no sound at all. There

was only lack of light and the lingering scent of death.

      I stopped a few feet inside the gate, and wrapped my paw around

Ravyt’s amulet, willing it to give me strength to endure this. “I am Called.”

      “Come forward.” The voice was male, old, devoid of emotion.

      Unlike most, once out of the light my eyes adjusted to the dark

quickly, and I could see the shapes and things it had concealed. There

were perhaps fifty of them, black robed and hooded, standing in a perfect

half-circle. In their center were three more figures, also cloaked, but they

commanded my attention. Why I could not say; my brow felt ready to split

open and everything I had suppressed for so long was finally, fully

awakened.
                                                                            281

        When I stood within a yard of the three, the circle closed around

me, and the candles they held burst into flame.

        One of the three pulled back his hood. “I am Jasar, Eldest of the

Throw.” He had the strong face, smooth skin and whitened hair of one

who had once enjoyed considerable influence. A noble at least, perhaps

one of royal blood. It was said they were Called just as frequently as

commoners. There was something in his deep-set eyes that reminded me

of Ravyt. He breathed in deeply before giving me a hard stare. “You are

not freeborn.”

        “No.” I let my cloak drop to the ground, let them see my white-and

black striped fur, my heavy claws, my feline eyes.

        All those Called were Raveloc, the one true people of our world.

Each and every one of them had been born into their freedom. Though

many tried to resist the Call, because it meant the end of whatever station

in life they enjoyed, all eventually came to the Throw.

        I was Namulcat, the child of a once feral species captured, gentled

and force bred by the Raveloc to serve them. My kind had been enslaved

by theirs for almost as long as the Throw had been standing.

        No slavebond ‘cat had been Called. Ever.

        No one spoke or moved. I understood. I had felt the same shock

when the crescent-shaped silver mark appeared on the black fur of my

brow.
                                                                           282

      Murmurs swept around the circle.

      “If your master thinks to deceive us with a false mark, it will be at the

cost of your life,” Jasar told me. His mark gleamed on the side of his jaw.

“And his.”

      “The mark is real. Ravyt is innocent of deception.” I shrugged. “I am

dead anyway.”

      “Oh, yes.” The one standing next to Jasar threw off her cloak. She

was younger, beautiful, smiling – a former courtesan, I would wager – and

vibrant with barely-leashed power. Her silver crescent was nestled at the

base of her throat. “You are, beast.”

      When she moved forward, Jasar lifted his hand and made her halt.

“No, Kallam.” He turned to the third beside him. “Haro.”

      The third pushed back his hood, revealing the unlovely hardened

face and knotted braids of a warrior. He did not look at me, and his light

eyes gave nothing away. Then I realized that they took in nothing, either.

      He did not look at me because he had been blinded.

      Despite his disability he moved forward without hesitation. When he

raised one of his huge hands – the back of the right bore his mark – I

braced myself for a killing blow, but all he did was rest his fingertips

against my mark and frown.

      He took his hand away and turned to face Jasar. “It is not false.

She speaks the truth.”
                                                                         283

      More murmurs, louder this time. The Eldest brought his hands

together, and the sharp sound silenced them.

      Haro turned back to me. “Your name?”

      “Yana.” Ravyt had told me that it meant gift in the old tongue.

      “Indeed.” The side of his mouth curled before he resumed his place

beside Jasar.

      “This cannot be so,” Kallam said. “She is a thing, an animal. She

does not even possess a soul.”

      I met her angry gaze. Courtesans often bought my kind for their

more perverse patrons’ use. Few survived long.

      “The mark is genuine.” The Elder regarded me for a moment. “It is

not our place to question the Call, no matter who – or what – Answers.”

       I gripped Ravyt’s amulet so hard that the chain snapped. There

was nothing more to be said or done. I could feel that as surely as I felt

the last of my will crumble, allowing the thing inside me to come forth. It

bunched in my muscles and rippled under my pelt, turning and reveling in

its new freedom. Then it worked its change over my form, the change I

had so long suppressed, transforming me from what I was into what I had

to become.

      Now they will kill me. I went down on all fours, digging my

lengthening claws into the sand. Or I will kill them.

      “She Answers,” I heard Haro say, his voice low and different.
                                                                       284

      More light, dazzling my changed eyes for a moment. Now I could

the faces above, where those who Ravyt said paid to watch sat behind

immense woven lattices of thorn vine. Beneath them were short

platforms manned by guards who were even more heavily armored than

the ones at the gates. And finally, between the guards, the Afflicted sent

to be released.

      Cloaks dropped, as did the bodies around me. Smooth Raveloc skin

disappeared under fur of a dozen colors. Blunt teeth elongated and

sharpened. Fingers shrank back as talons stretched out.

      The guards began tossing the Afflicted over the platform. They fell

screaming all around me, their bodies hitting the sand before they

scrambled to their feet and tried to escape the circle. When the last had

been Thrown, the guards retreated through the platform doors and

barred them shut.

      Like the other deathcats around me, I lifted my head and roared.

                                     #

      When I next came to awareness, I was being carried by Haro into a

rest chamber. I felt small wounds and bruises scattered over the entire

length of my body, and my jaw ached, but otherwise I was unharmed.

Which made no sense.

      Why did they let me live?
                                                                          285

      He halted by a large bed and lowered me onto clean linens. “How do

you feel?”

      How did he know I was awake if he could not see my eyes?

“Confused. Why do I still breathe?”

      “You Answered.” He straightened, but slowly, as if very weary. “You

are one of us now.”

      The words that came from me were not what Ravyt believed or had

taught me, but words of law. “It is as Kallam said. I am not a person. I do

not have a soul.”

      “Apparently Kallam is wrong, and you are, and you do.” He pointed

to the one window in the room. “Sleep while the sun is up. I will come for

you later, and we can talk then.” He took something from his pocket and

placed it in my hand. Ravyt’s amulet. “You dropped this.”

      I slept, but badly. To protect the household, my master had drugged

and chained me every night in the cellars since my mark had appeared.

As a result I found little comfort on the bed, and in the end I crawled

beneath it and slept on the stone floor.

      I woke to darkness, and crawled out. The other door in the room led

to a small privy. There was soap, a basin of water, towels and a waste

slew, but no vanity glass, I noted. Perhaps the Called were superstitious.

After I relieved myself, I cleaned my wounds and fur, and watched the

water in the basin turn dark red.
                                                                           286

        How many had died under my claws?

        I repaired the chain to Ravyt’s amulet and placed it around my neck.

I could not remember much of what had happened. A shrieking woman

with orange hair beneath me. Biting her throat. Flashes of more

screams, flesh, thrashing bodies, and curses, but they blurred together

and made my head throb.

        “Yana?”

        I emerged to find Haro standing on the threshold of the chamber. “I

am here.”

        “I brought you some food.” He carried in a tray with strange things

on it – green and golden vegetables, a bowl of red broth, a goblet of blue

wine.

        No meat or flesh of any kind – but I did not want that, either. “I am

not hungry.”

        “You should eat.” When I didn’t reply, he added, “We do not Answer

tonight. It will be a week or more before the next Throw.”

        “Why can’t I remember what happened last night?”

        “It was your first. In time, you will recall more.” He put the tray down

on a side table. “You must have many questions.”

        “Yes.”

        “Come with me.” He led me out of the chamber, into the corridor

and down to another room, far larger than mine. Books filled its walls and
                                                                            287

many chairs and divans offered comfort. “This is our library. Can you

read?”

      “Some.”

      “Good, then you can make use of it. I can’t.” He gave me a wry look.

“I don’t think I would even if my eyes still worked; I was never much of a

scholar. Here.” He sat down and motioned for me to do the same.

      Ravyt had never denied me such comforts, but I was well aware that

in most households slavebond were not permitted to use furniture.

      “The floor will do well, thank you.” I sat in front of his feet and took a

moment to study his face again. Fire had blinded him; he had faint scars

around both eyes. A torch-mace blow to the face, perhaps. “How is it you

move and do the things you do when you cannot see?”

      “I have memorized the number of steps it takes to travel anywhere

within the Throw. And, like all those Called, I have a very good sense of

smell and proximity.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You are troubled by more than my lack of sight.”

      I was troubled by everything. “Last night, on the sands – how many

did I take?”

      “Three.” He thought for a moment. “No, I think four.”

      I had killed four people. I felt as if my heart would shrivel from the

shame of it, but I forced myself to face what I had done. “It was quick? I

did not make them suffer?”
                                                                           288

      He frowned. “No more than is customary.”

      “And their bodies? What was done with them?”

      “Nothing.”

      I imagined heaps of torn flesh and bone left on the sands. Bile rose

in my throat. “Did I . . . devour them?”

      “Gods, no, Yana.” He seemed stunned. “We are not cannibals. We

do not even eat animal flesh.”

      “But we killed them. All of them.”

      “No, we released them.”

      “I saw them Thrown. They were cast onto the sands after we

changed.” I did not ever want to remember what I had done. “We took

their lives. We killed them.”

      He shook his head. “I can explain.”

      “Explain what? Those who are Called become deathcats, and

deathcats kill the Afflicted. It is what has always been done.” I looked

away. “What I will always do.”

      He rose to his feet. “It is better if I show you.”

      “Show me what?”

      “Just come.”

                                       #

      Haro took me through a smaller passage and through a door to the

outer courtyard. There were beautiful gardens here that I had not noticed
                                                                           289

when I arrived. People in strange garb walked among the flowers. They

seemed odd – their movements slow, their faces drowsy.

      When one crossed our path, Haro held out his hand. “A word with

you, friend?”

      The man’s plain face turned toward us, and he smiled. “Yes?”

      “Do you remember where you came from?”

      His brow furrowed. “I was in an asylum for a long time. They said I

would not get better.”

      “You will now.” Haro put a hand to his shoulder. “Do you recall what

happened to you last night?”

      He nodded. “I was Thrown.”

      I inspected him. He was small, thin, frail. “He survived?” I could

have snapped his spine with a single blow of my paw.

      “They all did.” Haro nodded to the man, who smiled again before he

wandered off. “All of the people Thrown last night are right here.”

      I spotted a female with orange hair, and walked up to her. “Your

name, woman?”

      “Teesa.” She had no marks on her, and yet I remembered sinking

my claws into her shoulders, and my teeth into her neck. She lifted her

hand and touched the fur on my arm. “You have very pretty stripes.” She

gave me a vague smile and wandered away.
                                                                           290

      “There were a hundred Thrown last night, and there are a hundred

here,” Haro said as he joined me. “But you can count them, if you like.”

      “What did we do to them?” I turned and seized his arm. “They act

as if nothing has happened. They look as if nothing has happened.”

      “They are healing. It takes some days to recover, and when they are

well their minds will retain no memory of this.” He eased my claws out of

his sleeve. “Jasar says it is the shock of being Thrown.”

      I pressed my paws to my skull. “I do not understand. What, exactly,

did I do to these people?”

      Haro sniffed the air before he looked at two guards who had

entered the garden. Between them they held a struggling prisoner.

“Guards. Bring him to the gallery.”

                                      #

      Haro did not permit me to join him on the sand, but made me go up

into the gallery.

      “You can’t be near when I Answer. It will trigger the same in you.”

He gave me a stern look. “And you must never Answer alone.”

      “But you will be alone.”

      “I was Called twenty years ago, and I have other talents. You are but

a novice.” He nodded toward the thorn lattice. “Go, sit, observe.”

      I found a place to sit just above the platform where the guards

waited with the Afflicted man. Haro removed his cloak and spent several
                                                                           291

moments in silence, then looked up at me. His blind eyes cleared and

turned black.

          I closed my eyes.

          “Watch me, Yana.” His voice went rough and deep, becoming more

like a growl. “Do not look away.”

          When Haro went down on his hands and knees, the guard cast the

Afflicted onto the sand and then left the Throw. The demented man

uttered a horrifying scream and scrambled up, dashing himself against

the walls, trying to get away from Haro.

          By then Haro had turned into a huge, growling, black deathcat, and

padded toward the Afflicted. He halted a foot away, and when he lifted his

head the rumbling sound he made turned into an ear-shattering roar.

          The Afflicted slowly turned around to face him. Something was

terribly wrong – his body shook all over, and there was a yellow glow

coming from his eyes.

          “Afflicter,” Haro said, the words barely comprehensible. “Come

forth.”

          The malevolent yellow light shot out of the man’s eyes, pooling in the

air until it enveloped him in a glowing mass. Slowly the mass solidified and

changed the man into something I had never seen.

          Whatever it was, it was not of our world.
                                                                            292

        It had kept the man’s head and legs, but turned his arms into huge

pinchers, and filled his mouth with nightmarish teeth. Its changed torso

was covered with sucking mouths.

        “You are all alone, deathcat,” it said, its voice as sickening as its form

as it moved forward.

        “So are you, demon.” Haro sprang at it, avoiding its immense

snapping appendages and knocking it to the sand.

        I curled my paw around my amulet and held my breath as they

fought. The demon was ferocious, and bit with its teeth while trying to

snap off Haro’s head with its pinchers. Haro slashed into it with his talons

and teeth, eventually catching hold and ripping out its throat. It sank back

onto the sand, gurgling out curses, and then its glow faded and the man’s

body returned to what it had been before, and still.

        Only when the thing had gone did I take my paw from the amulet,

and discovered that I had held it so tightly that I was cut and bleeding.

        Haro backed away and sat on his haunches. “Yana.” His voice

sounded more like a man’s now, and I could see his fur thinning. “Join me

now.”

        I went to him. The man who lay on the sand was pale and covered in

sweat, but unharmed. Haro was not so fortunate – he had a number of

gashes and as he rose to his feet he flexed right arm as if it were sore.
                                                                              293

       “I did not kill him,” he told me as my gaze returned to the man. “I

released him, and killed the demon that has possessed him. Just as you

released the four people Thrown to you last night.”

       I had done what he had? It did not seem possible. I watched as two

black-robed Called appeared and carried the unconscious man out.

       Haro picked up his own cloak and eased it over his bad arm. “Now

do you understand?”

       “You are hurt.”

       “I will heal.” He noticed the blood on my paw and lifted it. “As you

do.”

       The cuts across my pads were not as deep as I had thought – no,

they were closing. I stared. “How?”

       “One of the gifts of the Call,” he told me. “We are very difficult to kill.”

       I had a thousand questions, but I asked the most important ones.

“Why is this not known? Why does everyone fear the Called? Why do

they think we are killers?”

       “We are – we are demon killers.” He managed to shrug into the

cloak, and sighed. “The reasons our ancestors built the Throw are not

known to us, but I suspect they were only being sensible. The Called are

dangerous and unpredictable when we are in deathcat form. Also, only we

can summon demons from the Afflicted. Perhaps with certain magics,

that sort of power could be manipulated.”
                                                                          294

      “So we are isolated and feared instead.”

      “Yes, and we encourage that as much as possible.” Haro grinned at

me. “We are not completely isolated, you know. We cannot speak of what

happens here, but we are given leave to visit our families and friends

during the winter months, when the sun does not set.”

      No darkness meant we could not change form. “What of the

guards, and the people outside in the bailey? What of those who pay to

watch? Do you enchant them so they cannot speak of this?”

      He burst out laughing. “The guards never watch us at our work, nor

do the people in the bailey, who serve the guards as well as escorts and

other visitors. As for our audience, they do not pay. They are all Called.”

      I thought of the faces I had seen. “There were hundreds of them.” I

looked around. The Throw was large, but not enough to accommodate so

many. “Where do you live?”

      Haro pointed down at the sand. “Beneath, in our own city.” He held

out his good hand. “It is time you see where you will live, too. Come.”

                                      #

      The underground city of the Called was even older than the Throw, a

labyrinth of crystal caverns and hidden lakes and beautiful stone dwellings.

I was given my own rooms and many comforts that I had never enjoyed,

even living under Ravyt’s indulgent care.
                                                                        295

      Haro, who had been appointed my mentor during my novice period,

introduced me to many of the Called in the weeks that passed, and we

Answered and fought together. There were some who, like Kallam,

disliked me for what I was, but most welcomed me to their ranks.

      The Elders were consulted, but no one could understand why a

Namulcat had been Called. I was the first.

      The more I Answered, the more I remembered. When I changed, I

discovered that I became one of the largest deathcats among the Called,

and as such I was pitted against the worst of the demons. What Haro had

fought in front of me paled in comparison to them, but I had other

advantages. Many of the Called often had to be taught what were but

instincts for me.

      When I did not Answer, I watched others fight on the sands. There

was much to be learned about the many demons that inhabited the

Afflicted and how to prevail over them. It also helped me learn to control

myself and not Answer, which was the hardest task for any of the Called.

      I absorbed everything. I would not have chosen this life for myself,

but indeed it seemed as if I was born to this.

      The explanation I had sought for so long came to me, one night after

a battle. As I limped off the sands, I thought of the old man and how many

battles he must have endured, and then I knew. I clutched Ravyt’s amulet

in my sore paw, and sent a silent prayer of thanks – my first – to his Gods.
                                                                             296

         My novice period lasted only a month before Jasar decided to grant

me full status, and did so in a solemn ceremony on the sands of the Throw

before the Afflicted were brought in. This time, however, Haro led me

from the enclosure and out into the gardens.

         “Don’t you want to Answer?” I knew he enjoyed fighting demons as

much as I did – and not only because the change temporarily restored his

sight.

         “Not tonight.” He nodded toward a solitary figure waiting by the

center fountain. “He has written every day since you came to us,

demanding your body. I don’t know how he did it, but somehow he got in

here today.”

         Ravyt appeared terribly thin, and when I drew close did not lift his

head. “I am not leaving without her. She will be buried on my lands.”

         “I think I would find that very uncomfortable.” I dropped down in

front of him. This time he was weeping. “Don’t cry.”

         “Yana.” His hands trembled as he cradled my face. “You’re alive.”

He looked all over me. “How?”

         In time I would ask him how he came to be with my mother, and why

he had never told me. For now it was enough to see him and be with him.

“I am my Father’s daughter.”
                                                                           297

                           A Diversity of Houses

                                by S.L. Viehl



      “They will arrive today,” Sorel Irea said as he watched his ClanSister

unload the last bale from the conveyor. “We have never welcomed visitors

from HouseClan Giran before.”

      “We have. You are too young to remember it.” Natala Irea cut open

the baling ties and divided the dried yiborra into three portions before

distributing it among the last of the empty feeders. The smell of the feed

grass added a touch of sweetness to the air. “It is a cause for much

celebration. Our ClanFather must be pleased.”

      Her ClanBrother’s young face lit up with happiness. “He is, I think.

He never stops smiling.”

      Visitors meant the entire HouseClan would assemble and celebrate,

to make a proper welcome and to present opportunities for strengthening

ties between the Houses through commerce and trade agreements.

Unlike the Irea, the Giran were known as a wealthy and powerful

HouseClan, with vast land holdings, many ships and much influence with

the Jorenian Ruling Council. The diversity of their Houses might even lead

to some Choices being made.

      Natala discarded the baling ties and wiped some sweat from her

brow. “Why are you not up at the pavilion, helping with the preparations?”
                                                                             298

      “I was sent to fetch more milk from the dairy.” Sorel hesitated

before asking, “Will you not attend tonight?”

      The calves shuffled over to the silver-white mounds of grass with

more enthusiasm than they had last week; soon they could be released

with the rest of the herd. She was pleased with them, though annoyed

with Sorel. “You know the answer to that.”

      Her ClanBrother made a face and dug his boot toe in the dirt. “It

does not have to be so.”

      She switched off the conveyor unit and went to the corner pen.

Green-Eye, the name she had given to a sickly runt driven out of the herd

by his sire, lay curled in one corner of the pen. Like all t’lerue, he was

square-bodied and short-necked; his head shaped like a crude, five-pointed

star. There was hardly any fat layer beneath his gray-green hide, however,

and his joints protruded sharply. His eyes did not match in color, one

brown, one green, and his sireline mark – three red ovals around and

above his left green eye – made the oddity more pronounced. The

contrast would likely fade as he matured.

      If he matured. She had been hand-feeding him since she’d found the

underdeveloped calf wedged under a water trough, but he had shown little

interest in anything. Her ClanFather would order me to cull him soon.
                                                                           299

       You cannot change the path, Natala, Ylo Irea often said when she

was young. Not so much to remind her of her duty than to reconcile her

with the reason for it.

       She took a bottle of newborn formula from the warming rack and

went into the pen, and carefully lowered herself next to the listless calf.

She had scrubbed and kept him clean so he did not stink of waste as he

had when she’d found him. Still, if he did not get up and stand on his own

soon, ground sores would start eating into his hide.

       “Drink.” When Green-Eye would not take the artificial nipple in his

mouth, she pushed it in and began squeezing the sides of the bottle gently

to encourage his suckling. “Stubborn little one.”

       Sorel leaned over the gate to watch. “You would know.”

       “I am not little.” Indeed, she towered over Sorel, and stood several

inches taller than the eldest of their ClanSiblings. After these many years

in the yards, she was also much stronger. “Nor am I stubborn.”

       “What say you prove my claim wrong and attend the Welcoming

tonight?” He tried to smile and make his gestures casual when she looked

up at him. “It will

be . . . enjoyable. We hardly ever have visitors and we want you there.”

       Natala never entered the pavilion unless summoned, and no

summons would be sent this day. Her ClanBrother knew this.
                                                                           300

        “I have great affection for you, Sorel.” And she did, for despite the

gap between their ages, her youngest ClanBrother had always gifted her

freely with the same. “That is why I ask you say no more, and leave me

now.”

        “I could speak with our ClanMother.” He gave her a hopeful glance.

“You know how she favors me.”

        Natala squeezed the bottle too hard. Green-Eye gave a weak jerk

before he regurgitated the excess formula all over her trousers. She used

the hem of her tunic to clear his nostrils, and then cradled his head in her

lap. “You must not do that.”

        His hope became a pout. “She can be made to see reason.”

        “While you cannot.”

        “It is not fair!”

        “You think it fair to see me summoned before a visiting HouseClan?

That your concept of justice will convince our ClanMother to present me to

the Giran as potential kin?” She snorted. “I must speak with your tutors.”

        “You know what I say.” He ducked his head. “There is nothing wrong

with you.”

        “And yet you cannot look upon me when you say that.” She stroked

the calf’s brow before she rose and left the pen. “Truly, Sorel, think you

our visitors will afford me the same courtesy?”
                                                                           301

       “You do not know what will happen. You never come to see anyone.”

He caught her arm and tugged on it. “You are Irea.”

       “While you are no longer a child. Please stop behaving like one.”

She removed his grip. “Go now. I have work to do.”

       Natala kept working, changing the calves’ soiled bedding for fresh

until she heard Sorel pick up his milk cans and leave through the side

entrance. Then she stopped and walked slowly back to her room. At the

pavilion she had comfortable quarters with many amenities, like all the

ClanDaughters of Ylo Irea were afforded. They had stood empty since her

tenth year, when it had been determined that no more could be done for

her.

       There is nothing wrong with you.

       Sorel’s words had wounded her, as such kindly-meant things did,

and she went to the mirror panel she had placed on the wall beside her

sleeping platform. She looked in the glass for a long time, until the sight of

her own features calmed her.

       You cannot change the path.

       Natala had no intention of attending the Welcoming, where she

would never be made welcome. Sorel did not understand, but she had

made peace with her lot when she was even younger than him. She would

stay here, in this small but quiet corner she had made for herself, where

she could curl up and be left alone.
                                                                        302

      Never would she give her sire reason to drive her away.

                                     #

      “No one will welcome you unless you remove that scowl from your

face,” Qedalea Giran advised his ClanLeader.

      Tavo Giran did not look up from the stock reports he was studying.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

      “It would not divert your path to enjoy yourself for once,” the young

warrior said. “I should warn you that I have been given strict orders to see

you do more here than inspect and purchase stock animals.”

      “Then I would say your mission is doomed to failure, ClanCousin.” He

advanced to the next page of data.

      “What is it you find so fascinating?” Qedalea leaned over to inspect

Tavo’s datapad display. “Irea sirelines, of course. Why did I not guess it?”

      The edge of his stern mouth curled. “Perhaps because all you can

think about is parading nubile young women in front of my nose.”

      “Never – I? Coerce our ClanLeader to Choose?” Qedalea thumped

his chest with an indignant fist. “I am sworn to protect and serve, not to

procure.”

      Tavo raised a dark brow. “What say you should I request such a

selection of females?”

      His young ClanCousin dropped his fist. “How many do you wish to

see, and when, and where?”
                                                                           303

      “As I suspected.” He nodded. “My ClanUncle has been busy.”

      “He has been driving me to madness.” Qedalea sighed. “My days

would be far more serene – and quieter – would you but Choose.”

      So would mine. Tavo glanced through the transport view panel and

saw a glimmer of white in the distance to the north.

      The Irea were one of the more remote HouseClans, with lands

located in the farthest northern regions of Joren’s smallest continent.

Only three other HouseClans occupied the landmass, and they were all far

to the south. In addition to this, few Irea traveled outside their territory as

well, and thus the HouseClan had remained mostly cut off from the bulk of

Jorenian society. Some claimed it was their location that kept them

distant, but others thought the Irea a House of isolationists.

      “They say there are no females in the twenty-eight territories that

can compare to Irea women,” Qedalea told him. “I have seen one myself

among the Zamlon and their beauty was not exaggerated. She was

stunning.”

      “I would advise you not judge the women of a House by one face.” To

the east, a dark blur moved slowly across a wide silvery pasture. It

appeared to be too large to be anything but the Irea’s main herd.

      “They are said to be very clever as well,” his ClanCousin added in a

hopeful manner. “And fertile – an Irea woman would give you many young

ones, and make you a fine family.”
                                                                           304

      To replace the one I lost. Tavo needed air and space around him,

and he needed it now. “Driver, stop.” He tucked placed his datapad in his

journey pack.

      Qedalea followed his gaze. “Oh, no. You cannot go and chase

through the grass after those creatures. It will be night soon.”

      “I want time to make a proper selection, they do not run away, and I

am not afraid of the dark.” Tavo often camped out overnight in the fields,

and as it was summer in this region he would not require special gear. “I

think I will sleep under the stars.”

      “ClanLeader, you cannot. We are expected tonight.”

      The men seated behind them – ten of Giran’s highest-ranked

warriors, who had accompanied their ClanLeader as escort for the long

journey – made sounds of respectful agreement.

       “Cattle are the reason I agreed to make this journey,” Tavo said, and

clapped the younger Giran on the shoulder. “I will view the herd now, while

you and the others will go on ahead. Think of it as giving us both time to

properly inspect likely candidates.”

      “I am assigned to you as bodyguard.” Qedalea folded his arms. “I

cannot do that unless I have your body present to guard.”

      “You hate cattle, and I am giving you an order. Tell the Irea that

business delays me.” When the transport came to a halt, he climbed out
                                                                          305

and hoisted his pack over his shoulder. “I will see you at the pavilion in the

morning.”

      Tavo turned and walked toward the eastern pasture, hoping his

ClanCousin and their escort would not follow. At last the transport

continued toward the Irea pavilion, and some of the tension that had

plagued him since leaving his own territory and crossing the sea began to

ease. Likely Qedalea’s efforts to secure a bondmate for Tavo would satisfy

many among the Giran. Certainly they would Qedalea’s ClanFather, who

for weeks had been dropping adages about leadership like small stones on

Tavo’s skull.

      A ClanLeader must be an example to the House.

      Qedalea was right; he should Choose someone on this journey. The

diversity of their Houses was promising; it was always considered good

luck to Choose from a HouseClan located far from one’s own. Being one

of the few ClanLeaders on Joren who had not taken a bondmate had

proved to be a continual annoyance for himself and something of an

embarrassment to his kin. It would make everyone’s life more pleasant.

      Everyone’s but his own.

      Tavo knew he was long past the age of Choice, but he couldn’t help

resenting the constant pressure to take a bondmate. He felt he had

enough to attend to, trying to manage the HouseClan’s extensive holdings

and govern his kin after the abrupt loss of his ClanParents, the former
                                                                         306

Giran ClanLeaders, and his older ClanBrother, Niro. He was literally

learning to lead day by day.

      It was Niro who had been groomed for this, not him. Tavo would

have been content to serve his ClanBrother by managing the HouseClan

stock – and would be doing so right now, had not a senseless transport

collision wiped out his entire family.

      Death was celebrated on Joren, but Tavo had been incapable of

venerating the loss of the three people he had honored most. Especially

Niro, who had been the best of ClanBrothers. For a time Tavo had even

considered joining them in death, until his kin had stunned him by electing

him as their new ClanLeader. From that moment on his life had become

an endless procession of duty and formality, decisions and politics.

      Now they would have me add a bondmate and ClanChildren to my

responsibilities when I can barely cope with what I have.

      Tavo noticed as he drew near that the t’lerue herd was much larger

than he had originally estimated; even with darkness falling he could see

well over ten thousand head. They appeared healthier and sturdier than

any herd he had ever seen, justifying the admiration for the Irea sirelines

which had been spreading for many years. It would seem this HouseClan’s

stock manager had a breeding program far superior to his own.

      Perhaps I should consult with him as to which of the ClanDaughters

Irea to Choose, he thought as he came to the outer fringe of the herd.
                                                                        307

One of the larger males shuffled over to sniff at his tunic, and he stroked

an admiring hand across the space between the placid creature’s blunt,

short horns. At least with that advice I could expect to sire healthy

ClanChildren on her.

      Such heresy amused Tavo, but it would have scandalized his kin and

insulted the Irea, who also had the reputation as one of the more proper

and formal Houses of Joren. If he voiced those thoughts, they would

create an instant rift between the Giran and the Irea, and such things had

to be avoided.

      Tavo could not do what he wanted, Choose when he wanted, or

speak as he wanted. No ClanLeader could.

      “Perhaps I may settle for purchasing you,” he told the big male, who

eyed him with placid curiosity. Tavo took out his datapad and made note of

the sireline mark as well as the ID tattooed on the inside of the animal’s

right ear, “If not a ClanChild, then I can breed some stronger calves next

season.”

      Although Joren had advanced to a highly developed, technological

society, the t’lerue remained an important commodity. While Jorenians

did not consume animal flesh, t’lerue milk was a staple part of their diet

and contained vital nutrients which could not be synthesized. T’lerue

manure was even more valuable, and considered to be the finest natural

crop fertilizer within the quadrant. The animals served as a cultural
                                                                        308

foundation as well, for it was the t’lerue that had convinced the ancient

Jorenians to abandon their nomadic ways and become tribal herders.

      A plaintive sound of distress drew Tavo’s attention away from the

t’lerue, but the sun had set and darkness swallowed the source. As he

moved around the herd toward it, he noticed some of the outside animals

growing restless. Very little disturbed t’lerue, so he drew two blades from

his belt and held them ready.

      His eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and he saw the shapes of two

yearlings on the ground, struggling as though held by a great weight. Two

cloaked figures stood over them, apparently readying to lift one.

      “Hold!” he shouted.

      One of the pair produced a pulse rifle and fired into the herd,

sending a surge of frightened animals toward Tavo, who leapt on the back

of a female to keep from getting trampled. After coiling one hand in

animal’s shaggy neck fringe for control, he used the other to throw a knife

at the one who had fired. His blade sank into the arm of the intruder, who

dropped the rifle.

      The female bucked under him, frightened by the field rover which

came to a screeching halt behind him.

      Sssssissss.

      Something invisible hit Tavo with such force that it drove him

backward and over the animal’s haunches to hit the ground. The herd was
                                                                            309

moving away from him so he didn’t end up under her hooves, but as he

landed the edge of one of his blades bit into his left side.

      “Stop!” a woman shouted

      Tavo swore as he rolled and pushed himself to his knees in time to

see a tall female with unbound hair attack the two intruders. Air whistled

as she wielded the herding staff in her hands like a sword, striking both

with hard, rapid blows. The uninjured of the pair drew a pulse pistol and

fired at her. She used her staff to vault out of the way, but it gave the

intruders an opportunity to skirt behind the now-receding herd and use it

as a shield while they ran away. Before she could catch up to them, they

climbed into a surface glider and took off, leaving her on the ground.

      She watched their craft until it was out of range, and only then

lowered the end of her staff to the ground. “Houseless scum,” he heard

her say.

      “Lady.” He clamped a hand to the gash in his side and made his way

toward her, but he was dizzy and his steps dragged. “Are you harmed?”

      “No, but you are. Come.” She put a strong arm around him and led

him back to her field rover. “I regret that I did not arrive in time to provide

proper aid.”

      “I make no complaint.” He scanned the surrounding fields. “Have

you no security grid?” Such a sensor web suspended above the field would

have picked up the intruders’ craft as soon as it landed.
                                                                          310

         “We hope to afford one next year,” she said, reminding him of the

disparity between their Houses. “For now I keep sensor pylons around the

field perimeter, but they are widely spaced. They must have found a blank

spot.”

         He grimaced. “I tripped them, then.”

         “I am happy you did.” When he stumbled again, she tightened her

arm around him. “To whom do I owe thanks for defending my stock,

Warrior?”

         Tavo began to answer her, and then hesitated. It was too dark for

him to see much of her face, so he assumed the same was true for her.

He had not put on his over tunic with all the ceremonial frittery befitting his

status. For a time he could enjoy some anonymity.

         “One who does the same for the Giran, Lady.” Fortunately the

exchange of full names between members of different Houses was

traditionally reserved until formal introductions could be conducted before

kin.

         “I wondered why you were out here. Only a stockman would forego

the pleasures of Welcoming to inspect a herd.” She helped him sit in the

passenger’s seat before she eased her arm away. “You are bleeding all

over me, ClanSon Giran.” She tossed her staff in the back of the rover. “I

will take you to our healer.”
                                                                           311

        “No.” He could not arrive bloody and wounded before the Irea or his

own men; their instinctive reactions might lead to open aggression or

worse. Carefully he probed the wound. “I would not . . . shame my kin by

appearing thus.” It would be awkward but he might be able to suture it

himself, or with her aid. “Have you a med kit?”

        “Yes, I use it for the stock and my own injuries. But I am no healer of

men.”

        Relief made him sit back. “I trust you to see to my wound,

ClanDaughter Irea.”

        “It is your hide.” She went around to the other side and started the

engine.

        As she drove back toward the low cluster of buildings set away from

the pavilion, they discussed the incident and then herd. To keep his mind

off his wound and his body from slipping into the darkness fringing his

vision, Tavo asked her a number of questions about the Irea breeding

program, to which she provided such detailed answers that it was clear

that she was the stock manager. Unusual, to be sure – few women took

interest in cattle breeding – but she seemed to have a natural affinity and

affection for the work.

        “You should invest in a security grid as soon as possible; your herd is

too great a temptation to thieves,” Tavo said. “Irea sirelines will soon

outshine all others.”
                                                                          312

       “I must tell the Lno buyer that the next time he signals me,” she said,

her voice rich with amusement. “He would have me believe my animals

teetering on the brink of disease and death.”

       “Lno has told me the same, several times. He should alter his

predictions occasionally.” He noted the glint around her wrist. “You wear

a wristcom – why?” The translation/location devices were virtually

unnecessary unless one regularly dealt with offworlders.

       “It is a convenience.” Some of the friendliness left her voice. “Often I

go out and spend many several days in our outlands, checking the fences.

If I am ever injured, I can use it to signal for help.”

       He would have questioned why she did the work alone, but they had

reached HouseClan Irea’s stockyards. The compound was as impressive

as the herd, expansive and well-maintained, with large barns for milking,

breeding, isolation and culling. His companion parked the rover outside

the smallest, which he assumed would be like his own for isolation of sick

or orphaned animals.

       No one came out to greet them, which also bothered him. They

should have been surrounded by her kin. As she helped him out of the

seat, his thoughts were replaced by more urgent ones.

       “Are you strong enough to drag me inside?” Tavo asked as the

ground tilted beneath his feet.

       “I believe so.”
                                                                          313

      “Your pardon, lady, for I think now you must.” He sank down into

darkness.

                                      #

      Natala caught and supported the Giran’s heavy, unconscious form

until she could lay him gently on the ground, then she ran into the barn.

He was too large and heavy for her to carry, and dragging him, while

possible, would only aggravate his wound. The grav-lift she used to

transport calves from the field was her only other option.

      No, you could signal a healer, a cold, inner voice that sounded

remarkably like Hunetku’s said as Natala rolled the unconscious male onto

the lift’s pallet. That would be the proper manner of dealing with a visitor.

      Yet all she wanted was a little more time with him, so that she could

tend his wound and ask him more about the pair who had attacked him.

Indeed, they had been so busy talking about the herd that she had

practically forgotten about the intruders.

      “Lights on,” she said as she brought him inside, and the

envirocontrol panel illuminated the dark interior of the barn.

      This was the third time in a cycle her sensor pylons had been

triggered, but the only time she had ever caught up with the intruders,

thanks to the stockman. If the Giran had seen and could describe their

faces, she might be able to identify and track them.

      That is not the only reason.
                                                                         314

       She brought him inside to her room and hoisted him up and over

onto her sleeping platform before retrieving her med kit and a pair of

shears. Rarely did she get this close to a man when he could not look at

her, so it was a pleasant novelty. Particularly as he was not averting his

eyes or chattering polite nonsense to cover his discomfort.

       Thank the Mother you are but a lowly cattle worker, she thought.

Hunetku would never forgive me for treating some high-ranked dignitary

like this.

       As Natala cut off his tunic, she admired the strong, tough lines of his

upper torso. The Giran had a typical stockman’s build, with heavily

muscled arms and a deep, broad chest. His skin was a dark, even blue but

marred by wide angular scars on both forearms. Marks left behind from

young t’lerue hooves, she knew, because they were identical to her own.

       “I shall have to show you my holding pen,” she murmured. She had

designed and built the holding area to immobilize new calves while

tattooing them with stock numbers. “That should save some of your pretty

hide in the future.”

       The wound was long but not dangerously deep, and she irrigated

and disinfected it thoroughly before sealing it with the suture laser from

her med kit. Their healer might have made a neater job of it, but this was

a man accustomed to regular injuries and their resulting scars. It would

have to do.
                                                                          315

      Natala studied his face as she washed the dark green blood from

his skin and infused him with a mild analgesic she used occasionally for

her own pains. He wore his thick black hair shorter than most men, in the

style of a ClanLeader, but that was likely more for convenience. Working

with the stock and equipment required her to bind up her hair or risk

having it pulled out. Beneath his ear was his Giran ClanSymbol, which

appeared as two small interlocking circles, unlike her Irea mark, which was

shaped like a miniature jagged claw. He was not at all handsome, and

many would say such an angular countenance made him appear remote,

even intimidating. Yet it was not the strength of his features as much as

the shadows beneath his eyes and a premature purple streak in his black

hair made her heart constrict.

      She dared to sift her fingertips through the purple strands that only

came with age or great suffering. You are too young for this, ClanSon

Giran. What have you endured, I wonder.

      Natala took her hand away and deactivated the interior lights. Since

he occupied her only sleeping place, she sat on the floor beside the

platform and rested her back and head against the wall. All of the

excitement left her feeling drained, and she drifted into a light doze.

      Sometime later his voice woke her. “Lady?” A large hand reached

over the side.

      She caught it with her own. “I am here, Warrior.”
                                                                             316

       “Ah.” He sounded drowsy as he laced his fingers through hers. “It

seems I owe you a bed as well as my life.”

       She smiled. “If you have a spare security grid, I will take it in trade.”

       “I must remember to bring one with me upon my next visit.” His

voice grew serious. “I would ask your pardon. It was not my intention to

place such a burden upon you.”

       “No pardon is required.” She had to get up and turn on the light

now, but she did not regret it. For a time he had spoken with her easily

and freely, and she would have that happy memory to keep. “I will signal

your kin at the pavilion.”

       “That can wait until morning,” the Giran said when she stood and

tried to release his hand. He tugged her toward him. “Come and sleep.”

       All Jorenian women were taught proper behavior – even Natala.

She knew it was not seemly to lie with a man unless he was Chosen or a

bondmate. Yet she was tired and uncomfortable from sitting on the cold

dirt floor, and he sounded exhausted. Sure no harm would come of

sleeping side by side.

       “As you wish.” Cautiously she stretched out beside him, uneasy and

more than a little stiff. It was one thing to touch and smell and see an

unconscious, wounded man, quite another to do the same when his eyes

were open and mere inches from her face. She would have to rise before

first light or–
                                                                            317

      “You are chilled.” The Giran put an arm around her waist and pulled

her close.

      His limbs and torso pressed against her own, as well as the places

where his bare skin touched hers, produced very strange sensations. He

smelled of safira and his own body heat, an intoxicating combination.

      So this is why it is unseemly. Natala let herself imagine for a

moment sharing this closeness and contact with a man each day and

night until life ended. It was unbearably bitter, but she found herself

relaxing against him. If she could never have this for her life, then she

would have for these few hours.

      “I can almost hear your thoughts, Lady,” the Giran murmured.

      Mother, I hope not. “The two who attacked my herd – did you see

their faces, Warrior?” she asked.

      His hand came up and shifted her so that his chest pillowed the left

side of her head. “I regret I did not. You?”

      She was distracted by the sound of his heart beating just under her

cheek. “Ah, no. I only saw them from behind.”

      “The weapon they used to knock me from back of the t’lerue was

unknown to me. They may be offworlders.” His fingers brushed a tendril

of hair back from her temple. “Even as talented as you are with a staff, you

should not have pursued them alone.”
                                                                             318

         “There was no one else to accompany me,” she said. “All were

attending the Welcoming.”

         “Why were you not?”

         “I am not one for celebrations.” That, at least, was true.

         “Neither am I.” He turned his head and pressed his mouth to a spot

just above her right brow. “Sleep well, Lady.”

         Natala closed her eyes tightly. “And you, Warrior.”

                                         #

         Tavo had not slept so soundly since before the accident that had

taken his blood-kin from him, and when he woke he did so with a smile and

full memory of the past night’s events. Qedalea will never believe any of

this, while I will never hear the end of it.

         Sunshine filled the humble little room, and he rolled on his side so

that he could at last gaze upon the face of the Irea female who had saved

his life.

         In the space where a woman should have been lay only a folded

tunic.

         Tavo sat up, ignoring the flash of pain from his side, and looked

around him. “ClanDaughter Irea?”

         No one answered. He was alone.

         As he rose he pulled on the tunic, which was old but clean and neatly

mended. His footgear, he saw, she had placed at the base of the platform,
                                                                         319

along with his pack. He could still smell her on his skin – her scent was

like new l’seevala blossoms – but there was no other sign that she had

even been in the room.

         Why did she leave me?

         Tavo walked out into the barn, where several young calves eyed him

as he passed their pens, and out into the stockyards, but saw no one. It

was barely dawn. He turned until he saw the Irea pavilion, and headed in

that direction.

         Had she recognized him? Had she gone to inform the other Giran

of his presence? He increased his pace and crossed the distance with

long strides. Was she angry with him? He did not care for the fact that

she had left him. She should have remained, she should have woken him.

There will be much to explain.

         Qedalea and some of the other Giran were walking out of the grand

front entrance of the pavilion as Tavo approached, and they saluted him as

usual.

         “We were about to go in search of you,” his ClanCousin informed

him with a grin. “Did you enjoy your night under the stars?”

         “In some ways.” Tavo scanned the faces of his men, which were

open and unconcerned. “Did no one bring word of me this morning?”

         “No one yet knows you are here.” Qedalea peered at him and lost his

smile. “Something is wrong. You are favoring your left side.”
                                                                           320

      Tavo informed them of what had happened, and the easy

expressions instantly evaporated from every face. “We are visitors here;

you are to say nothing of this to the Irea.”

      Qedalea already had his hand curled around his blade hilt. “No one

attacks our kin and takes the coward’s path,” he said, his tone as lethal as

the dark blue claws that had emerged from the tips of his fingers.

      “We will track them later,” he said. “I would pay my respects now

and be properly introduced to the woman who saved my life.”

      Slowly his ClanCousin nodded. “As you say, ClanLeader.” His gaze

drifted down to Tavo’s tunic and some of the killing rage left his face.

“Perhaps a change of garments first?”

      The men escorted him through the pavilion to their guest quarters,

where Tavo took care to cleanse and prepare himself properly. As the

men discussed how they would track the intruders, he inspected his

garments and adjusted his best tunic. He knew himself to be too large

and sharp-featured to be considered appealing to a young female, but he

suspected his savior was somewhat more mature. Which made him

wonder why she had not Chosen – surely a female with her strength,

charm and talent would be pursued by every male within five HouseClan

territories.

      What if she has Chosen?
                                                                           321

      Tavo dismissed the alarming idea at once – no woman who had

Chosen would have slept at his side as she had. Nor would any Chosen of

hers allow her to occupy a room away from the pavilion. He had a

suspicion that she spent much of her time in the stockyards, perhaps even

slept there, which also disturbed him. It was not natural to dwell apart

from kin.

      He walked out to where his kin waited. “After introductions are

made,” he told Qedalea, “I will ask for the female so that she and I may

discuss the Irea breeding program. Remember, you and the men are to

say nothing about the attack. This is her business, and I will not intrude

upon it without her permission.”

      By the time they emerged from the guest quarters, word had

spread through the pavilion and the Irea had assembled in their central

receiving room, which had been prepared in banquet style for a large

communal meal. Qedalea and his men escorted Tavo to the head table,

where a tall, stately couple stood waiting to receive him.

      “ClanLeader Tavo Giran,” the older man said as he made the formal

gesture of greeting between Houses. “I welcome you to HouseClan Irea.”

      “ClanLeader Ylo Irea,” Tavo said, returning the gesture and adding

one of gratitude. “Your kindness is greatly appreciated. I regret the delay

that prevented me from attending last night.”
                                                                         322

      Tavo was introduced to Hunetku Irea, Ylo’s bondmate, and to their

four sons and two daughters. He was then presented to the HouseClan

with the traditional ceremony before he and his men were invited to share

morning bread at the ClanLeader’s table.

      By then Tavo felt impatient, but waited until all the customary

remarks had been exchanged before venturing to ask for the female. “As I

journeyed to your House, I could not help but notice your fine herd of

t’lerue in the eastern pasture. I would not the first to be envious of such

fine animals, I imagine.”

      “We are quite proud of our stock,” Ylo said as he broke the end of a

golden, intricately braided loaf before passing it to his bondmate. “I

understand that you wish to increase the diversity of your sirelines.”

      He nodded. “I would also like to improve our breeding program.

Could your stock manager join us? I would appreciate a personal

introduction.”

      The loaf fell from Hunetku’s hand and clattered onto her plate, and

everyone at the table gave Tavo horrified looks.

                                      #

      Natala drove the field rover as far as the border between the Irea

and Zamlon territories, which were divided by a long stretch of inhibitor

poles. The poles produced sensor-activated bioelectric fences, mainly to

keep strays on Irea property as the Zamlon grazed their herds much
                                                                           323

farther to the south. She shut off the engine and sat staring at her hands,

which were clenched so tightly on the steering controls that her knuckles

bulged.

      “It was an idyllic interlude, and now it is over,” she told herself. “Over

and done with. Forget him.”

      Natala took her staff and climbed out of the rover, to start walking

the line of poles. At last count no animals were missing, but it was her

duty to check the borders and maintain the costly equipment. Usually she

did so in the field rover, but today she decided to inspect this portion on

foot. She had to do something physical, to stop thinking about the Giran.

      She had not slept, of course. His kiss to her brow had made that

impossible; it had burned into her head like a brand applied for hours. It

must have amused the Mother to have him touch his lips to that particular

spot on my face. Rising and leaving him just before dawn had been a

cowardly thing, but after that kiss she could not allow the Giran to wake

and look upon her in the light.

      “He will never feel disgust or shame for his kindness to me,” she

muttered as she crouched to adjust a loosened sensor port at the base of

one pole. “In time, he will forget me.” Movement behind her rise and turn.

      The cloaked figure standing a few feet away raised an odd block-

shaped device.

      Sssssissss.
                                                                        324

        Natala was thrown back into the space between the poles, which

triggered the sensors to produce the energy fence. Pain crackled over

her as she bounced off the fence and back toward the intruder. She had

enough sense use the staff still in her hand to knock the device away

before she hit the ground. As she heard their intruder scrambling for the

weapon, she pressed a button she had never before used on her wristcom

and then tucked her hand under her body to protect it.

        Sssssissss.

                                           #

        “You do have a stock manager, do you not?” Tavo asked Ylo. His

voice sounded overly loud, but that was due to the utter silence that had

fallen over the central receiving room.

        The ClanLeader nodded slowly. “Our stock manager

is . . . .” he groped for words.

        “Not one for celebrations, I imagine.” Tavo kept his expression and

voice mild as he sipped from his server of jaspkerry. “Few cattle breeders

are.”

        “Indeed.” Ylo smiled his relief.

        “Then perhaps you would permit me to visit your stockyards,” he

suggested, “so that I may speak to your manager in surroundings less

formal.”
                                                                            325

      “No!” Hunetku Irea gave her bondmate a hard look before adding,

“Forgive me, ClanLeader Giran, but such matters are best delegated to

those whose time is not as valuable as your own.”

      “I will have full details of our breeding program provided for your

stock manager,” Ylo added quickly.

      Why were they so eager to keep him from meeting with the stock

manager, when they had fallen over themselves to afford him every other

possible courtesy?

      “Before I was elected as ClanLeader Giran, I managed the

HouseClan’s stock.” Tavo caught Qedalea’s warning glance and realized

his own tone had become quite chilled. He forced a smile. “Alas, as I have

not yet selected or trained a replacement manager, there is no one to

whom I can delegate such tasks. I fear it must be me.”

      Before Ylo could respond, his ClanSon Sorel jumped from his seat

and clapped a hand around his own forearm. “ClanFather – Natala

signals. She is in danger.”

      The boy’s ClanSiblings also looked anxiously at each other and Ylo.

      Tavo spotted the flashing display on the wristcom the boy wore, and

politely rose to his feet. “May the Giran be of service in this matter,

ClanLeader Irea?”
                                                                         326

      Hunetku muttered something, and made a terse gesture at her son

while Ylo said to Tavo, “Your offer is appreciated, ClanLeader, but my own

men will—”

      “ClanFather!” Sorel’s young voice snapped, whip-sharp. He turned

to Tavo. “Natala is my ClanSister as well as our stock manager,” he said in

a rush.

      “Sorel!” Hunetku appeared ready to faint.

      The boy ignored his ClanMother. “She would not signal unless her

life was threatened. We must go to her now.”

      “I see.” Fury welled inside Tavo as his claws emerged and he met

Ylo’s gaze. “Then it appears that her absence here was not, as you said,

by choice.”

      The dull dark color of shame appeared in the older man’s face.

“Little in Natala’s life is.” He sounded old and tired.

      His bondmate rose. “This is nonsense. Natala is in no danger.

Sorel, turn off that device and sit down.”

      “Do you have a reading on her location?” Tavo asked the boy.

      Hunetku’s hands fluttered in near-incomprehensible gestures as she

produced a strained laugh. “ClanLeader Giran, do not trouble yourself.

We will send our own men to attend to this.”
                                                                         327

      “She is near the border.” Sorel came around the table to show Tavo

the coordinates. His ClanBrothers were already heading for the doors.

“We have surface craft, but not as fast as yours.”

      Tavo nodded. “We will take mine.”

      “Ylo!” Hunetku became shrill. “Do something!”

      “ClanLeader, we appreciate your aid,” the older man said, “but this

matter is Irea business.”

      Tavo’s vision dimmed for a moment.

      “Unfortunately, it has become mine as well. Your ClanDaughter

Natala saved my life last night.” He shocked everyone by using his claws to

pull open his tunic to reveal his wound. “I would return the favor.”

      Ylo’s bondmate gaped at him. “You saw her? You saw and you said

nothing?”

      Tavo did not respond to her nonsense, but nodded to Qedalea, who

like the Giran men stood ready. To Ylo he said, “We will bring back your

ClanDaughter.”

      The ClanLeader nodded and sank back into his chair.

                                      #

      Natala had not expected to open her eyes again, but when she did

she found herself in a peculiar position – upright, spread-eagled, and

unable to move. A hum of energy pressed in around her, and she looked

through the tangle of hair hanging over her face until she spotted a
                                                                        328

projection device on the ground in front of her. Four bright streams of

energy had her pinned; apparently between two p’nepel trees, from the

feel of the spiky bark biting into her wrists and ankles.

      A pair of alien males stood a short distance away to her left, arguing

with each other. They were of average size, vaguely humanoid but she did

not recognize their species or language. Two Maneo t’lerue yearlings, a

male and a female, lay to the right. Both had pressure darts in their

haunches, and both were dead.

      Offworld thief breeders. Her claws slowly emerged and buried

themselves in the p’nepel bark. They must have attempted to tranquilize

them for transport. Anyone could access the planetary database and

learn that most sedative compounds were fatal to t’lerue, yet this pair had

not even bothered. Although the animals were not hers, the waste of life

disgusted her.

      That these two might have diverted the path of the Giran last night,

however, enraged her.

      One of the thieves noticed her watching them and strode over to

her. He jerked her head up by her hair and peered in her face.

“Habartallanekkatan.” He switched on a wristcom to translate his speech

and pointed to the carcasses. “We gave them neuroparalyzer. Why did

they die?”
                                                                          329

       “Because you are idiots.” She strained and twisted against the

energy bonds. “You cannot take t’lerue offplanet. They never survive the

drugs or the transport.”

       He took out the square device that had knocked her unconscious.

“That is a lie, invented to protect your livestock. Give me the truth.”

       She could not get at him like this. She needed to be free and on the

ground. Perhaps they are as ignorant of Jorenian women as they are of

t’lerue.

       “Don’t hurt me again.” As she curled her claws into her palms to

hide them, she produced what she hoped was a convincingly fearful

expression. “Release me and I will show you what you must do.”

       The alien glanced at his companion, and then bent down to switch

off the device on the ground. Natala fell forward and landed on her hands

and knees.

       “Get up and–”

       She sprang at him, slashing at his face and throat with her claws.

They fell together, but she flipped him under her and straddled him. The

pleasure of hearing him scream and feeling his flesh part under her hands

made her want to linger and enjoy the work, but she had the other to

disable first.

       Sssssissss.
                                                                           330

        The blow was a glancing one, and still Natala was thrown off the

thief and into one of the carcasses. She rolled over it and flattened herself

behind the dead yearling just in time.

        Sssssissss.

        The heavy carcass lifted as it was propelled back, and landed on her

left arm, snapping a bone in her forearm. As she struggled to work

herself free of the dead weight, the second alien came to stand over her

and leveled the device at her head.

        Natala went still, and found the words she wanted to be her last.

“Walk within beauty, ClanSon Giran.”

        “Who is Giran?” the alien demanded.

        Someone loomed up behind him. “I am.”

                                         #

        Tavo was the first to spot the two aliens and what they had done to

Natala Irea. “There, to the west,” he told Sorel. “Drop down and land

behind that hill. We cannot take the chance of firing on them from the

air.”

        He was the first out of the craft as well, and when Qedalea tried to

move in front of him he jerked his ClanCousin back. His bodyguard started

to protest until he saw Tavo’s eyes and subsided.

        They moved forward silently; Tavo flanked by Qedalea and Sorel and

followed by his men and Sorel’s ClanBrothers.     As they approached, one
                                                                          331

of the aliens went to Natala, who hung unmoving between two trees.

When the alien aimed the force-device at the helpless woman, Tavo raised

his pulse rifle and targeted the back of the alien’s head. He only lowered it

when the alien released Natala from the projection field.

      Fool, Tavo thought as he handed Qedalea his rifle. “Stay here.” To

Sorel he said, “They are mine.”

      The boy’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Tavo glimpsed the man

he would be. “We have your back. Take them.”

      Tavo ran, but before he had crossed half the distance Natala had

taken down one of the aliens. He changed direction and came up behind

the other just as the alien had pinned Natala beside a dead yearling.

      At such close range the force-device would blow her head apart.

Tavo’s mind cleared of everything except getting to the alien before he

could divert Natala’s path.

      “Walk within beauty, ClanSon Giran,” he heard her say.

      Tavo slowed his pace and made his footsteps soundless as he came

up behind the thief.

      “Who is Giran?” the alien demanded.

      “I am.” As the thief whirled around, he knocked the force-device

away with one hand, and buried six claws of the other in the alien’s

abdomen. Tradition held that an enemy be allowed to defend himself, but

he was taking no chances. “I declare you my ClanKill.”
                                                                            332

      Tavo had served Joren in more than one conflict. He had killed

many enemies with blades and pulse fire during those service years, but

he had never used his bare hands to rip open the body of another. ClanKill

was reserved for those who threatened or harmed kin, and as he held

down the screaming male and did the work, he finally understood why. The

deep, instinctive killing rage enveloped his reason, and if anyone had tried

to stop him at that moment, he would have ripped them apart as well.

      Only when Tavo was covered with the blood of both men did the rage

fade. He went to where Natala lay, her arm pinned beneath the carcass.

He went down on his knees and lifted the side of the heavy yearling, easing

her arm out from under. She made no sound, but from the odd angle of

her forearm he could see that it was broken.

      “We meet again, ClanDaughter Irea,” he said, gently cradling her

arm against her breast.

      “You do not fight fair, ClanSon Giran,” she murmured. “I like that

very much.” When he tried to brush back the snarl of long black hair

covering her face, she caught his wrist and turned her head away. “Do not

look at me. Please.”

      Had they done something to her face? Tavo wanted to tear them to

pieces all over again. “I have thought of little else since last night.” He felt

her cringe under his touch. “Lady?”
                                                                           333

        She drew in a deep breath, then swept her hair away and turned to

face him.

        Natala Irea had the same elegant bone structure and refined

features he had seen among the other Irea women, as well as the

elliptical, tilted white-within-white eyes. Her lips and brows were smooth

and balanced, and her skin was the clear blue of the summer twilight.

Clear and flawless blue, except for the large and livid purple oval that

enveloped her left eye, and the two smaller matching circles above her left

brow.

        There was no mistaking the pattern – it was a t’lerue sireline mark.

        Someone made a sound, and Tavo dragged his gaze up to see his

men standing around them. All were staring at Natala’s face. No one

seemed to know what to say.

        “Natala!” The boy flung himself down beside her. “Your arm – is it

bad?”

        “I do not think so, Sorel.” She met Tavo’s gaze. “I thank you for my

life, Warrior.”

        “No thanks are required, Lady.” Tavo lifted her into his arms and

glanced at Qedalea. “Bring the bodies.”

                                       #

        The Irea healer set Natala’s broken arm and suggested she stay

overnight in the HouseClan infirmary, but she refused. All she wanted was
                                                                           334

her quiet corner in the isolation barn, where there were no strange eyes

to stare at her, and no faces that would turn away from the sight.

        Her ClanMother, however, stood waiting outside the infirmary.

        “Natala.” Hunetku’s eyes took in the cast on her ClanDaughter’s

arm before moving up to her ruined face. “I was informed of your injury.

You are well?”

        “It was a clean break.” She kept her voice and expression blank.

        “That is fortunate.” Her brows arched. “A pity that your actions

resulted in this. Perhaps it will teach you to remember proper protocol in

the future.”

        She stiffened. “Yes, I will endeavor to remember to behave with

more decorum when we are next attacked by intruders.”

        “You have no regard for the disgrace you have brought down upon

this House, do you?” Hunetku made a slashing gesture of contempt.

“Return to the yards and stay there.”

        “At once, ClanMother.” She turned, but saw a group of men

entering the corridor and changed direction. She heard one of them

calling her name but kept walking. Only when one of the Giran’s kin caught

up with her did she halt.

        He was younger than the Giran and quite handsome, and smiled

easily at her. “ClanDaughter Irea, I am Qedalea Giran. May I speak with

you?”
                                                                         335

        “Your pardon, Warrior, but I am needed in the yards.”

        He frowned and stared at her arm. “Surely not.”

        “I am quite well.” She hesitated. “I wish to thank you and your men

for providing aid to our House. Please extend my gratitude to your kin.”

She made the formal accompanying gesture as best she could with one

hand, and then walked away.

        “Lady – wait,” he called after her. “Our ClanLeader wishes to see

you.”

        Such a meeting would send Hunetku into hysterics. Natala was

almost tempted, then she thought of the shame it would cause her

ClanFather. I cannot do that to him. “I regret I am unable to attend him.”

She kept going, until a trio of Giran males blocked her path.

        Qedalea came to her side. “I fear he was most insistent about it.”

        “Was he.” She looked over his shoulder and saw her ClanMother a

few yards away. Hunetka appeared prepared to explode. “ClanSon Giran,”

she said, keeping her voice low, “I am in your debt, but I have no desire to

meet your ClanLeader. Such an introduction would only cause discomfort

and embarrassment for both Houses. Now, please tell your kin to get out

of my way, or I will move them myself.”

        A different smile spread across the young warrior’s face. “As you

say, Lady.” He nodded to the men, who stepped aside.
                                                                          336

      Natala went unhindered from the pavilion to the stock yards, but

only when she was inside the isolation barn did she relax her guard.

“Mother of all Houses, let that be the last of it.”

      She went to check on the calves, which were hungry but otherwise

well. Only Green-Eye refused to rise or feed, and with a sigh she brought

another bottle into the pen.

      “I am not going to leave you alone, you know,” she told him as he

refused to take the formula. “You may as well resign yourself to life.”

      “My thoughts exactly,” a deep voice said.

      Natala’s eyes flashed up to see the Giran stock manager standing

just outside the pen. “What are you doing here?” she blurted, before she

remembered her manners and averted her face. “Your pardon. I am very

grateful for the aid which you provided today.”

      “It was little more than what you did for me last night.” He opened

the gate and came in to have a look at the calf. “Does he not thrive?”

      Natala shook her head. “His dam did not survive his birth, and his

sire drove him off before he could bond with another.” Why does he not

go? She dared a glance at him. “Have you had any such in your herd?”

      “A few.” He looked around. “Keep you any hides here?”

      “There is a bundle in the storage bin there.” Natala nodded toward

the stack of t’lerue hides she salvaged from culled animals and sold to

sheathmakers in the south.
                                                                          337

      The Giran retrieved one and brought it back to the pen. “Drape

yourself with the hide and offer him the bottle again.”

      Natala did as he instructed. Green-Eye lifted his head and, after

much snuffling, latched on to the bottle and began suckling.

      She forgot herself and grinned openly at the Giran, who stood by the

gate watching. “It worked – how?”

      “The stubborn ones usually respond to the scent of the hide –

wearing it, you smell like a t’lerue instead of a Jorenian.”

      Her smile faded. “A garment to match my face, then.”

      He didn’t say anything for some time. Then, “How long have you had

the mark?”

                                       #

      Tavo had not meant to ask her in such a blunt fashion, but she

seemed to take no offense.

      “Since the winter of my ninth year.” She trailed her fingers back and

forth along Green-Eye’s silky hide. “Even as a child I spent most of my time

in the yards. Nothing made me happier than to help with the stock, and

our manager at the time indulged me. I think he believed in time I would

lose interest and take up a more feminine pursuit, like weaving or

garment-making.”

      He studied her. She wore simple, comfortable garb that suited her

long-limbed, muscular body, but no adornments. Her hair she left loose, he
                                                                          338

suspected, so that she could better conceal the mark. “I cannot picture

you at a loom.”

      “Neither could I, much to my ClanMother’s despair.” She stared

past him, as if toward the pavilion that lay beyond. “It was a disagreement

with her over my behavior that made me slip out very late one night. I

could not sleep, and I was angry and distracted. I think that is why I did not

sound an alarm when I saw the craft land near the herd. I rushed out into

the field.” She wiped a dribble of formula from the side of Green-Eye’s

mouth. “There were eight of them, but I was not afraid. My sire was

ClanLeader and I believed all I had to do was inform them of that and order

them off our land.”

      A child, alone with eight thieves. Tavo muttered some vile. “Who

were they?”

      “I never saw their faces. They never spoke, and the fists they used

on me were gloved. They laughed, though, when one of them produced

the infuser and injected me with the chemical marker.”

      The compound used for the marking of t’lerue was a powerful one,

which permanently altered the color of tissue on the cellular level. It was

developed to do so to prevent anyone from altering or falsifying sireline

marks. However, the alteration process took several hours to complete,

during which time it could be neutralized. “Why were you not given the

counteragent?”
                                                                         339

      She ducked her head. “They left me bound and gagged in the culling

barn. Because stock had been stolen and no one realized I was gone, I

was not missed at first. My kin found me late the following night, and by

then the damage was irreversible.”

      At least her kin had not done this to her as some form of archaic

punishment. He could not have left her here when he returned to the

Giran, had that been the case. “Why did the raiders mark you thus?”

      Natala’s shoulders moved. “Perhaps they thought it amusing, or a

way to show scorn for our House. They were never caught, so I have no

answer.” She held up the empty bottle and smiled at him. “Your ruse

worked, Warrior.”

      Tavo knew in that moment that it made no difference how the Irea

treated Natala. He could not leave her behind; he could never leave her

again. In truth it was an odd moment to discover that she was his, and he

was hers, but he accepted it without hesitation. That was the way of

Choice.

      He held out his hand to her and helped her to her feet. “You should

not be working with a broken arm.”

      “I ran away from the pavilion again, I fear.” At his inquiring glance

she added, “I was told that your ClanLeader wished to see me. I thought it

better to avoid the encounter and thus bring no more shame to my kin.”
                                                                         340

        Tell her who you are now, and declare yourself to her. He followed

her to the cleansing unit. “Your kin have no reason to feel ashamed of

you.”

        “They are ashamed of me.” She began to wash her hands. “They

have always been thus.”

        She said it with such acquiescence that for a moment he could not

speak. “Mother, why?”

        “Is my face not reason enough?” She glanced at him, puzzled. “Irea

women are renowned for their beauty. That is a matter of great pride to

my kin.”

        Beauty? He could not think of a woman who could compare to her.

“How could your kin not take pride in you? You were a child, defending the

House.”

        “Now I am woman, marked like a herd animal.” She dried her hands.

“That is what people see, what shames my kin.”

        “My eyes must not function properly, then.” He wanted to pull her

into his arms, but settled for resting his hands on her shoulders. “What I

see is that you are strong and clever and kind. And I see this” –he traced

the oval surrounding her eye– “as a mark of your courage. It makes you

beautiful in ways other women can never be.”

        Natala went still under his hands. “Do not say such things.”

        “Why should I not?” He moved closer. “They are true.”
                                                                         341

      “It will be difficult enough to forget you now, Warrior.” Pain laced

every word she whispered. “Do not make it impossible for me.”

      “Lady, I fear I must.” He bent his head, and touched his mouth to

each mark. “I would be a constant presence in your thoughts.” He cradled

her face with his hands. “As you are in mine.”

      A man cleared his throat, and Tavo reluctantly released her and

turned. His ClanCousin stood just behind them, and when Natala saw him

her cheeks darkened.

      Impatience made Tavo snap, “What is it?”

      Qedalea’s gaze shifted from Natala’s face. “Forgive my intrusion,

but you are needed at the pavilion . . . ClanCousin.”

                                      #

      Tavo wanted to send his own men to bring Natala to the pavilion

that night, but Qedalea persuaded him that diplomacy might work more to

his advantage than brute force.

      “You never think to exercise the power and privilege of rank,

ClanCousin,” the younger Giran reminded him. “Rules are made to be

manipulated.”

      He dragged a hand through his hair. “I cannot remember them all.”

      “Which is why I have memorized them for you. Protocol requires

that a visiting ClanLeader be introduced to his counterpart’s blood-kin. All

his blood-kin.”
                                                                           342

      Tavo met his ClanCousin’s gaze. “Natala has not been formally

presented to me.”

      “Precisely.” Qedalea straightened the line of his tunic. “I will go now

and remind ClanLeader Irea of this oversight.”

      He made an impatient gesture. “He will only make another excuse

to keep her away.”

      “Ah, but should he do so, I will remind him that you killed for her.”

The younger Giran grinned. “He cannot prevent her from acknowledging

such an honor before her kin.”

      Despite his ClanCousin’s machinations on his behalf, Tavo was

uncomfortable with the entire matter. Natala still did not know he was the

Giran ClanLeader; he had not found the opportunity to tell her earlier, in

the barn. At the time reassuring her that she was beautiful in his eyes had

been more important than driving her away with the truth of his rank.

      It still is, he thought as he dressed for the presentation. Instead of

resorting to his finest ceremonial garments, he selected a simple tunic

and trousers, hoping that would make her feel more at ease. She has

suffered enough for ten lifetimes.

      Qedalea reported success as he and the Giran escorted Tavo to the

elaborate feast the Irea had prepared to celebrate his ClanKill on their

behalf. As was custom, the bodies of the two alien intruders were hung by

their own intestines outside the pavilion, in ritual ClanSign to all of what
                                                                          343

could be expected by those who intended harm to the Irea. Tavo stepped

outside to admire the presentation of the corpses, and found Sorel serving

as the ceremonial guard.

      “ClanLeader Giran,” the boy said, giving him a respectful salute.

      “ClanSon Irea.” He eyed the swaying bodies, which had been

displayed with great care and attention to detail. Most offworlders were

said to find the ClanSign custom distasteful, but none had ever complained

to a Jorenian about it. “Is this your work?”

      “Mine and my ClanBrothers.” Satisfaction gleamed in the boy’s eyes.

      Tavo smiled. “Well done, Warrior.”

      Sorel’s jaw sagged for a moment – the honorific was reserved for

adult men – and then he remembered his dignity and made a gesture of

gratitude. “All Irea are grateful for your aid, ClanLeader Giran.”

      Tavo returned inside, and went with his men to the ceremonial

banquet hall, where they were received with somewhat subdued pleasure.

Hunetku was conspicuously absent, and it was left to Ylo to make the

proper ceremonial remarks. As he spoke, the ClanLeader watched the

open door at the back of the hall.

      She will attend, Tavo told himself as he did the same. She will attend

or I will go and get her myself. He relaxed when he saw a cloaked figure

carrying a staff appear in the entrance.
                                                                         344

      “I have not had the opportunity to introduce you to the blood-kin for

whom you provided aid,” Ylo said, and raised his hand. “My ClanDaughter,

come forth.”

      To her credit, Natala only hesitated a moment when she drew close

enough to see Tavo’s face. She continued forward and a few feet from the

ClanLeader’s table, moved her staff to a horizontal position and sank to

her knees. “ClanLeader Giran,” she said, “my life is yours.”

      “Rise, Natala Irea.” He moved forward as she stood, until only a

small space separated them. She would not lift her head or remove her

cloak. “I would look upon the face of the ClanDaughter of this House,” he

said, very gently.

      Natala pulled back the hood of her cloak and glared at him.

Murmurs swept around the hall as most of the Irea stared then averted

their eyes.

      She was angry; her hand trembled so that she could not hold her

staff motionless. “Are you satisfied now?”

      “ClanLeader Irea,” Tavo said, never looking away from Natala’s face,

“has your ClanDaughter Chosen?”

      Behind him, the older man made a choking sound before he replied,

“No. She has not.”

      “I am glad to know it,” he said, ignoring the sounds of shock her kin

made, “as I would make her my Choice.”
                                                                              345

      “You cannot.” The outrage faded from Natala’s expression,

replaced by a sadness that turned her skin chalky and made the purple

marks stand out even more. “You must not.”

      “I honor you, Natala Irea.” He lifted a hand to touch her face.

      She turned and ran from the hall.

      Tavo followed and caught up with her before she left the pavilion.

“Natala!”

      She whirled around, holding her staff like a weapon, her face wet

with tears. “I have satisfied protocol. You will not look upon me or touch

me again.”

      “That is unlikely.” He couldn’t understand why she was weeping.

“Natala, you honor me as I honor you. I can feel it, here.” He pressed his

hand to his heart before he reached for her again.

      “I feel nothing.” She jabbed at him with her staff and backed out of

reach. “Go back to the pavilion.”

      She was lying, but why? “Why do you deny me?”

      Natala produced a short, bitter laugh. “You ask me that, ClanLeader

Giran?”

      “I should have told you that first night. I . . . I wanted you to feel at

ease, to know me for myself instead of for the title given me.” He made a

gesture of regret. “What is done cannot be changed. Come back to the

pavilion with me. If you wish time before we Choose, I will wait for you.”
                                                                         346

      “Wait for me.” Her gaze shifted like a trapped animal’s, then she

swung the staff and struck him across the face with a blow so hard it

made him stagger backward.

      He didn’t understand why she had done it until his men swarmed

around him with weapons drawn. “Hold.”

      “Are you blind?” she shouted at his men. “I harmed your

ClanLeader!”

      “I will survive.” Tavo wiped the blood from his mouth. “I shield you,

Natala Irea.” When she swung at him a second time, he caught the staff

and wrestled it away from her. “Is this is your intention, then?” Furious

now, he tossed the staff to Qedalea. “To goad my men to divert your path

simply so that you may avoid our bond?”

      “There will be no bond between us!”

      “It already exists.” He saw the truth of what he felt, reflected in her

terrified eyes. It calmed him as nothing else could have. “You know we

have but to Choose.”

      Natala looked at the impassive faces of the Giran man, then at Tavo.

“You would disgrace your kin in this fashion?”

      “You will be honored by HouseClan Giran as my Chosen.”

      “She will bring you nothing but ridicule and humiliation,” Hunetku said

from where she stood watching them from one of the upper balconies.

When Tavo glanced up at her, she retreated into her apartment.
                                                                          347

       “There, you have it from the lips of my own ClanMother.” Natala met

Tavo’s gaze. “I will not Choose you.” She stalked away toward the yards.

       Qedalea came to stand beside Tavo and watch her go. “She seems

serious, ClanCousin.”

       “I will persuade her.” Tavo rubbed his sore jaw. “If I can first keep

her from diverting my path, or you from diverting hers, and somewhere

between silence that ClanMother of hers.”

       “Is gagging a ClanLeader’s bondmate considered an insult to the

House?” his ClanCousin asked. “If not I will be glad to do it.”

       “This is no time for humor.” Tavo made a gesture of frustration and

scanned the faces of his men. “What say you of ClanDaughter Irea? Do

you find her an object of shame or pity?”

       The men all gave rather forceful, negative replies. Qedalead added

his own with, “I have great hopes that she will teach me how to fight with a

staff like that.”

       Tavo felt a little better, knowing his kin shared his sentiments. “Now,

how to convince her that we do not care what color her face is.”

       “You told me not to judge the women of a House by one face.” His

ClanCousin placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “It is a pity she

judges her face by one House.”

       Tavo smiled slowly. “Qedalea, you are brilliant.”

                                       #
                                                                         348

      Natala spent a restless night pacing the length of the isolation barn.

Toward dawn, she packed her meager belongings and prepared for a

journey. To where, she knew not, but as long as it was far from Tavo Giran

she would be content. If she left at first light, she could avoid more

unpleasant scenes. Perhaps the Zamlon or the Maneo would hire her to

work their herd.

      Her arm still throbbed as miserably as her head.

      “Natala.” Sorel came into the barn, and for a moment she

considered concealing herself until he went away. But the temptation to

bid her ClanBrother farewell was too overwhelming, and she slung her

pack over her shoulder before stepping out to greet him.

      “Sorel.” She embraced him. “Your ClanSign was magnificent. It was

an honor to see it.”

      “I am delighted that it pleased you.” His eyes moved to her pack.

“You are not going away from us.”

      “I must. The Giran – the ClanLeader Giran,” she corrected herself,

“is not thinking clearly. It must be the ClanKill that has unbalanced him.

When I am gone he will come back to his senses.”

      “The man is not demented for wishing to Choose you,” her

ClanBrother informed her. “I rather think more of him for it.”

      She shook her head. “Then you are equally unbalanced, and will

doubtless benefit from my absence as well.”
                                                                           349

      “Oh, Natala, do not go like this.” Fear colored his voice. “If you do I

think I will never see you again.”

      “I must.” She bent to touch her brow to his in a gesture of rare

affection. “You will always be in my heart, Sorel. You are the finest of

ClanBrothers, and the best of friends. Remember me.”

      They both looked up as Hunetku Irea stepped into the barn. Their

ClanMother appeared both unfamiliar and uncomfortable with the

surroundings, but she had never actually entered the yards before this

day. “Natala, your ClanFather and I would speak to you.”

      They had all suffered enough pain and humiliation. It was within

Natala’s power to put an end to it, now. “I regret that I do not have time to

attend you, Lady. I am taking a journey.”

      A familiar, imperious expression replaced Hunetku’s uncertainty.

“You will attend us, nevertheless.” To Sorel she said, “Escort your

ClanSister to the pavilion.”

      Natala could have walked off into the fields; neither Hunetku nor

Sorel were strong enough to stop her. It was her ClanBrother’s pleading

eyes that convinced her to accompany him.

      Hunetku led them not to Ylo’s private chamber, but to the

ceremonial hall. Though it was still not dawn, there her entire HouseClan

stood assembled. There also stood her ClanFather and Tavo Giran, along

with the Giran men. Everyone was in full ceremonial robes. That was not
                                                                       350

what shook her so completely that she nearly collapsed. It was seeing the

ClanLeader Giran and his men, and the three livid purple ovals that marred

each Giran face.

      Tavo and his men had injected themselves with sireline chemical

marker.

      “Come forth, ClanDaughter Irea.”

      Natala could not blink, much less walk, but Sorel took her hand and

guided her to the front of the hall.

      There Tavo stepped up to her, and Sorel joined her hand with the

Giran’s. “I would not give her back her staff right away,” her ClanBrother

murmured to Tavo before moving away.

      “Are you displeased?” Tavo asked her.

      “Displeased? Mother of all Houses . . . how could you?” She looked

down the row of discolored faces. “How could you do such a thing to

yourselves?”

      “To honor the one who saved the life of our ClanLeader,” Qedalea

said, speaking for the men. With a mischievous grin, he touched his face

and added, “I thought mine came out particularly well, don’t you?”

      Natala was speechless.

      “I have signaled our HouseClan and told them of you,” Tavo told her.

“They thought it a marvelous notion and have agreed to do the same.” He
                                                                            351

smiled. “I only hope we have enough of the chemical on hand; we have

many kin.”

        “This is madness.” Natala turned to her ClanFather. “You must

summon the healer. This can still be reversed.”

        “I offered, several times,” Ylo told her, looking almost as

dumbfounded as she felt. “They refuse.”

        She seized Tavo’s arm. “You cannot disfigure an entire HouseClan

on my behalf. Let the healer attend you. Signal your kin and tell them to

stop.” When he did not reply, she went down on her knees before him.

“Tavo, do not do this, I beg you.”

        “It is done, my heart.” Gently he raised her up. “For one alone, this

may have seemed a disfigurement.” He touched the oval that surrounded

his eye, and then hers. “For my House, it now becomes a symbol of

courage. For me, devotion. I honor you, Natala Irea. I will for all of my

days. So shall my kin, whether you say the words you hold in your heart, or

not.”

        Every pair of eyes in the hall was upon her; no one seemed to

breathe.

        “You do not fight fair, Warrior.” She touched the new marks on his

face. “Did I tell you that I like that about you?”

        He inclined his head. “Might be there something more you wish to

tell me?”
                                                                      352

      “As it happens, yes, there is.” Natala pressed her cheek against his

palm before she brought his hand down to rest over her heart. “Tavo

Giran, I Choose you.”
                                                                          353

                            Defense Mechanism

                                By S.L. Viehl



      I try to stay out of places like Dottie’s New Age Store and

Herborium, but the store had just opened on the corner across from my

office. It seemed rude not to drop in and introduce myself, and warn the

new owner about the rash of robberies we’d been having in the area.

      I didn’t like people, though – especially strangers. I was a lone wolf

type, and I liked it. Bad enough I had to deal with pet owners.

      My receptionist had already checked out the place, of course.

Mindy’s two favorite hobbies were men and shopping.

      “She’s got like the neatest stuff, Jude. I bought some way cool

incense and a set of personal power stones guaranteed to center my

chakrahs.” Her bright blue eyes turned dreamy. “Plus she stocks every

album Yanni ever recorded.”

      “Be still my heart.” After listening to Yanni on the office stereo for

two years, I wanted to watch him die, slowly, after an extended period of

torture involving his tongue and his genitals. Which I also wanted to

watch. “Mrs. Bettles, Coco is still overweight but otherwise she’s fine.” I

handed the shivering Cocker Spaniel over to her anxious owner. “You

really must stop feeding her snacks between meals.”
                                                                            354

        “But that would be cruel.” Mrs. Bettles, who had no children and

compensated by treating Coco like one, kissed her dog on the mouth. “My

sweet baby wuvs her ice cream, doesn’t she?”

        I don’t approve of kissing dogs – you never know where people’s

mouths have been. “If you want Coco to live a long life, you must keep her

weight under control.” My tone was harsh, but Coco was Mrs. Bettles’

fifth dog in ten years. I was really tired of watching her stuff them to

death.

        Easy, I told myself. You can’t rip the woman’s throat out for spoiling

her pets.

        “We’ll just get some of that low-fat yoghurt next time, won’t we,

baby? Yes we will.” Mrs. Bettles continued cooing to her beloved pet as

she left the office.

        On the other hand, if I did, Coco might live longer. “She should get a

job at a clinic for anorexics.” I handed Mindy the stack of charts I’d

finished. “So what’s this Dottie like?” With that name and business, it

wasn’t hard to guess.

        “She’s kind of old but super nice. Reminded me of my Grandma

Louise.” She frowned. “I didn’t like her stockguy, though. He needs a

major attitude adjustment.”

        “Oh?” That was unusual – Mindy had never met a man she didn’t

like.
                                                                           355

      “I started to go in this room in the back – I thought Dottie might

have an aromatherapy section like Serenity Bed and Bath does, you know?

– and this humongous guy gets in my face.”

      I didn’t like hearing that. Mindy was only seventeen and her folks

lived two hundred miles away, so I tended to be a little protective of her.

“What did he do?”

      “Oh, he didn’t yell at me or anything. He was polite and stuff, it’s just.

. .the way he looked at me. Like Mr. Donatti’s pit bull did after he attacked

that mailman, you know? Scary eyes.” She shuddered. “Gave me a

serious case of the creeps.”

      I looked at the appointment schedule, which was clear until 3:00

pm. “I think I’ll go over before lunch and say hello.” And see just how rabid

this Creepy Stockguy was.

      “Check out the CD racks,” she said as I grabbed my purse from

under the counter. “There’s lots of that Celtic music you like.”

      As I crossed the street, I inspected the front window of the store. It

mirrored my own, but instead of bags of special formula pet food and

travel carriers it contained an artful display of crystals and books and

jewelry. Some of it was pretty, but it was all pretty useless junk. Why

people spent their hard-earned cash on it was beyond me.
                                                                           356

        A couple of hollow-sounded bells chimed as I entered the store. I

could smell patchouli and sage, and heard a mournful vocal harmony by

Clannad humming from a pair of strategically-placed speakers.

        The store had a nice airy arrangement of tables and shelves, and

the wide variety of stock ran the gauntlet of alternative religions from

ancient Native American relics to the latest personal empowerment stuff.

There was no one in the store or behind the front counter, but I heard

voices drifting from the door at the back. “Hello?”

        An elderly woman appeared in the doorway and smiled at me as she

approached. She was dressed in a plain dark blue caftan that minimized

her extra pounds and maximized her short silver curls and beautiful skin.

In her hands she carried carrying a pretty gold and blue teapot decorated

with Chinese characters. “Come in, welcome.” She gave me the once-over

as she set the teapot down on the counter. “You must be the vet from

across the street.”

        “Judith Parish.” Although I hated touching people, I held out my

hand.

        “Dorothea Killian. Everyone calls me Dottie.” Despite her frail

appearance she had a nice, steady grip. “I’m afraid I haven’t any pets,

doctor, so I won’t be able to give you any new business.”

        “That’s okay, I don’t have any chakrahs that need centering.” I

smiled to remove the sting. “And call me Jude.”
                                                                          357

      “Aha.” Her cheeks bunched and two dimples appeared. “A non-

believer.”

      “More like a severely lapsed Catholic.” I scanned the store. The

incense made it hard to smell anything else. “You did a nice job setting up.

How many employees do you have?”

      “Just me and my grandson at the moment.” She glanced toward

the back door. “Charles is a little shy around people, so he takes care of

the stock and I tend to the customers.”

      Before I could comment on Charles Killian’s personal charisma (or

lack thereof) the door bells chimed and a reed-thin man in dirty clothes

strode in. He looked from right to left before he settled his wide-eyed gaze

on us. “I need something fast.”

      Dottie started toward him. “What are you looking for?”

      I froze as the man pulled out a knife. “Money.” He was sweating,

pale and shivering, all the signs of an addict in need of a fix. He jerked the

blade sideways. “Open the register and take out the cash.” I took a step

forward, and he turned to me. “You come here.”

      I went to him, and he pressed the edge of the knife to my throat.

“Gimme what you got in your purse.” He smelled horrible, like he’d slept in

an open sewer.

      Don’t cut me, was all I could think. Please don’t cut me.
                                                                         358

      I took my wallet from my purse and handed it to him. He made me

walk to the door, where he flipped the hanging sign from OPEN to CLOSED,

then yanked down the window shade so no one on the street could see

inside.

      Dottie didn’t panic, but went immediately to the register and rang a

no-sale to open the cash drawer. She withdrew a modest stack of bills

and placed them on the counter.

      The junkie forced me to walk with him to the counter, where he

snatched up the money and fanned with his thumb. Then he looked inside

my wallet, which only had a twenty and my driver’s license in it. “Where’s

the rest?” he asked Dottie.

      “That’s all there is.”

      “She just opened the store yesterday,” I said, trying to breathe

through my mouth. He pressed the knife in harder until blood trickled

down my neck. I heard a low, strange sound and closed my eyes for a

moment. God, no. No.

      “It ain’t enough. You gotta have more than this,” he demanded.

“Where’s the safe?”

      “I don’t have one,” Dottie said. She wasn’t looking at him but at the

back door of the store. “We’ve given you everything.” Her eyes widened

as another, louder growl came from behind me. “Please, just leave now.”

      “What the hell is that?” The junkie turned his head, then screamed.
                                                                           359

       Something knocked me away from the robber and sent me

sprawling face-first on the floor. As I went down, something stabbed my

side. I crawled for cover and curled into a ball, fighting the fiery pain inside

my abdomen. The junkie staggered my way, crashing into things and

knocking them over. He tripped over me, then scrambled to his hands and

knees and crawled behind a bookcase.

       Dottie crouched next to me. “Judith, you’re hurt.” She reached out.

       The junkie screamed again.

       “Don’t touch me,” I gasped, rolling away. “Lock yourself in the back

room, quickly.” When she didn’t move, I nearly shrieked, “Dottie, please,

just do it!”

       The last thing I saw was a shadow loom up behind the old woman.

                                       #

       I woke up in strange bedroom with a large naked man in bed with

me. Not something I’d ever done before, so just absorbing the situation

kept me silent and still for a few minutes.

       I had no idea where I was, or who he was.

       He wasn’t handsome or even remotely attractive – his face was all

bony angles and edges – but he had neatly trimmed brown hair and he

smelled cleaned. The only reason I knew he was naked was because I was,

and his arm had me pressed right up against him.
                                                                              360

       I wasn’t completely naked, though, someone had bandaged my

abdomen with a neat square of gauze and put a big bandaid on the cut on

my neck. Slowly I inched back away from him and tried to slip out from

underneath his arm.

       His eyes opened, and I saw they were a funny, orange-brown color.

“Good morning.”

       Morning? It was morning? I glanced at the window, but the blinds

were closed. The door on the other side of the room opened, and Dottie

came in with a tray.

       “I brought you two some tea,” she said to the man as she set the

tray down next to the bed. “It’s nearly eight o’clock, dear.” She smiled at

me. “Good morning, Judith. I hope you’re feeling better.”

       “Where am I?” I looked at Naked Guy. “Who are you?”

       “This is my grandson, Charles. We decided to bring you home with

us last night, so you could recuperate.” Still beaming, Dottie went back

out.

       I had a terrible feeling I’d done the unforgiveable, but I had to be

sure. “Where are my clothes?”

       “You tore them to pieces.” Charles reached across me to pour two

cups of tea, and handed me one.

       I suddenly recalled the junkie. “What else did I tear up?”
                                                                        361

      “The man who was going to kill you and my grandmother. Well, I did,

and you helped.” He sipped from his cup, then added in a mild way, “Then

we . . . celebrated.”

      There was no way he could have helped me, unless – I pulled down

the cover to expose his body. He had a scar on his left pectoral muscle, an

old, deep scar from a terrible animal bite.

      It was exactly like the scar on my right arm. Then I realized I wasn’t

hungry – and I was usually starving in the morning. “Exactly how did we

celebrate?”

      “We ate him.”

      “Terrific.” I put the tea aside, rolled onto my back and stared at the

ceiling. “You’re a were.”

      “So are you. Have you brought others over?”

      I glanced at him. “No. I don’t bring anyone over. And when I have to

change, I usually leave town first and spend the weekend in the

mountains.” Where I hunted deer and rabbit and the occasional skunk.

Clean-up when I got home from the mountains was always fun.

      He nodded as if approving and went back to sipping his tea.

      “I wouldn’t have changed if he hadn’t cut me.” I covered my eyes. A

human drawing my blood always triggered the change, it was the oldest of

were defense mechanisms. “God I hate this.”
                                                                          362

      Charles set aside his cup and put an arm around me. “No, don’t

huddle away from me. After what happened yesterday, I’m your blood

brother.” I stared at him. “In the non-familial, sharing-a-human-kill sense of

the term.”

      I’d never been around another were for very long – we tended to be

pretty territorial. “So will you and your grandmother close the shop, or do I

have to move my office somewhere else?” I had prior claim, but he looked

a lot bigger and stronger than me.

      “Neither. We’re not hunting here, so we can share the territory.”

He trailed his fingertips across my cheek. “And, possibly, in time, other

things.”

      He wasn’t handsome, and he did have scary eyes. But I had the

feeling I’d just given up my lone wolf status for good. I peered up at him.

“Tell me you don’t believe in all that new age crap.”

      His grandmother’s dimples appeared in his lean cheeks. “I don’t

believe in all that new age crap.”

      I snuggled against him, feeling better than I had in years. “This

might just work out, then.”
                                                                         363

                                 The Widow

                                By S.L. Viehl



      The last woman on Earth had to quit smoking.

      Victoriana certainly had plenty of second-hand around to breathe in;

oily black smoke drifted in through the broken window as if drawn by the

thinner, whiter smoke. Her last cigarette had reduced itself to a curl of

undisturbed ash on the edge of the mantel. She’d put it there deliberately,

right next to her second-to-the-last-one which she’d watched burn down

there an hour ago. Her hair was sticky and her hands filthy, but she

wouldn’t wash. Couldn’t wash.

      If only they hadn’t taken all the towels and ashtrays.

      A shower would have been nice, but she didn’t want to smoke. Only

last week she’d give Joshua her word that she would quit. You remember

what a total bitch I am when I go through nicotine withdrawal, darling. This

summer, while I’m at Club Med. No one lights up there unless they’re

smoking clove, and that gives me a rash. I promise.

      Now he would never know that she had.

      The air cleaner behind the sofa whirred and hummed incessantly as

it polluted itself to save her lungs. The business-like drone of it masked the

steady crunching sounds from outside. Victoriana couldn’t hear them, not
                                                                             364

if she stared very hard at the portrait of the dead man she clutched in her

thin hands. Not if she prayed.

      Our Father . . . Our Father Who . . . something something Heaven . . .

      But what sort of God allowed destruction on such an epic scale to

happen, without warning? Why should she pray to a Higher Power when

He’d done nothing to stop this endless nightmare? And how could she

offer up the Lord’s Prayer when she couldn’t remember the words? It

wasn’t her fault. She’d only been to church four times, and only then to

watch one of her Jewish friends marry someone selected specifically to

piss off their orthodox parents.

      Rachel Steinbergen and Patrick O’Kelley, and Rachel converting six

months before the ceremony. She recalled their nuptials. And Old Man

Steinbergen had cried like a baby.

      It had never been like that with her and Joshua, though. They’d been

blissful atheists, united in their refusal to invest any hope in an afterlife.

Live for the day, that had been their motto. The money they’d saved on

Christmas and Hanukah presents had been pretty decent, too.

      “You are the twilight of my soul.” She whispered to keep the words

just between them. She didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but it

sounded appropriate. They had lived for the day, and now the day was

gone, and so was he, along with most of the other life on the planet.
                                                                          365

“Never again. Never again.” Unless Patrick had survived the invasion –

Rachel had told her that he was a wild man in bed.

      The thing in the next room must have heard her despite her

whispering, for the door to her chamber slid open and it came in. It was

one of the many who had destroyed her world and now held her prisoner

in the ruins. It had to squeeze a little to get through the narrow entrance

(she strongly suspected that whatever world it had come from had

nothing like Club Med) then it tromped in like a small elephant. No

pachyderm on the planet had ever sported such a garish array of scales

and teeth and too-large eyes, of course. In fact, an elephant would have

been completely mortified by the comparison, but there were none of

them left anymore, either.

      So many had come to Earth. So many. So hungry.

      “Still sullen over the death of your mate?” Cha Rlee’s wide lips made

smacking sounds as it carefully pronounced each word. Learning the now-

useless language of its prey helped it pass the time while it waited for the

mother ship to arrive, so it practiced English on her hourly. Also, it liked

talking to her. “I told you I would get you another one.” It looked out where

its companions were snacking on the last of the intact bodies. “Okay,

maybe a dog. We didn’t like the taste of those.”

      “You don’t understand.” She carefully set down Joshua’s portrait on

the remains of the dresser they had once shared. She had bickered with
                                                                            366

him about using the top drawer for her monogrammed panties and Peds,

something she now bitterly regretted. She could have made room for him;

given him half the drawer. Such a small, simple thing. “I don’t want

another man. Or a dog. I want my husband.”

      The alien invader rubbed a spiny tentacle around the wide, toothy

maw at the center of its jointed abdomen. “I could regurgitate what I

haven’t digested, I suppose, but I doubt you’ll want that.”

      “No.” Victoriana guessed he was trying to be kind, but really.

“Joshua is gone forever.”

      Vic-whatever-her-name-was was starting to remind Cha Rlee of its

mother, the travel agent of all its guilt trips. When it came time for it to

develop sex organs, it was definitely going for a penis. “In a few hours,

anyway.”

      “Monster.” She said it without heat, but didn’t know why. To cover

her bemusement, she took the cigarette from the mantle and drew in one

last lungful of smoke before dropping it to the scarred floor and grinding it

out with her heel. If they hadn’t torn down the drugstore yet, maybe she’d

walk down and get the patch. They had the clear ones now, no one would

ever know.

      Tears filled her eyes as she remembered that there was no one left

to see. She blinked them back, determined if nothing else to preserve this

coat of mascara.
                                                                           367

         “You should quit doing that, you know.” It studied the flattened butt

for a moment. “Truly a disgusting habit. Plus we don’t allow it on the ship.”

         Noise from the sudden destruction of something large, the health

club around the corner perhaps, teased her ears. The rumbling, tumbling

sound vibrated through the once polished, now deeply gouged hardwood

floor that Joshua had insisted she wax every week. She, in turn, had hired

Maria, to placate him and preserve her nails. Maria had had no English,

which had been a pain, and no green card, which had made her extremely

affordable. Yet the ruined planks of gleaming oak, her perfect French

manicure and the collapse of The Tight Body Factory could not equal the

state of her shattered life.

         Who would wax the floor? Who would do her nails? Who would

keep her ass from sagging to the back of her knees? All, all gone.

         “I know that I must do many things myself now.” She didn’t feel

brave, but she could act it – her manicure was still intact. There were

those Sally Hansen do-it-yourself kits. She could put in some ceramic tile.

Loose sweat pants concealed a lot.

         “Hello.” A sticky tendril waved an inch from her nose. “Alien to Earth

lady.”

         “I’m listening.” No, she wasn’t. It had nothing to say that she wanted

to hear.

         “You’re not like having a panic attack, are you?”
                                                                              368

       “No. I’m just a little sad, is all.” She let her gaze drift to the cluster

of stunted visulets at the base of Cha Rlee’s broadest segment. She lifted

her chin, secretly rejoicing in the fact that he couldn’t do the same unless

he stood on his head and bent over backward. “When do you plan to

devour me? Next week? Next month? Tell me the truth.”

       “Oh, I didn’t explain things to you, did I?” It covered its abdomouth

with a feeler and smothered a tiny belch. “I’m keeping you as a pet. I’m

going to take you home, put you in a little domicile on my property, and call

you Trixie.”

       She lifted her chin a little higher. “My name is Victoriana Elizabeth

Jungorsiak.” She said it proudly, the way she had after she and Joshua

had exchanged their vows under the redwoods in Eureka. It was her

name, they would never take it from her. Never. No matter what horror

she was subjected to. Even if they pried off her nail tips, one by one.

       “That is precisely why I’m calling you Trixie.” Cha Rlee made wet

sounds as it oozed up beside her and slid a tentacle around the base of

her throat. It liked fondling her, though it wished she had a bit more fur. It

had really wanted one of the cute little domesticated felines that had been

running around the planet, but its commander had a thing for cat nuggets,

so they hadn’t lasted long. “Why are you so sad? He died the moment he

encountered my digestive juices. It was very quick.” And tasty, but it

wouldn’t tell her that. It had some tact.
                                                                            369

      She drew in a quick breath that rasped against her raw throat.

Those were the memories she did not want to preserve forever in her

heart. Especially the moment when the alien had tried to spit out Joshua’s

new trainers and the laces had become caught between its teeth. The

dangling, the swaying . . . That had been too horrible for words. Away with

that. “But not painless.”

      “No, but then being eaten rarely is.”

      They shared the silence until something else large and made of

concrete and glass collapsed, closer this time.

      Victoriana dared to lift a hand and touched the slimy part of it that

held her. It felt a little like the calamari she and Joshua had shared on

their third date, minus the marinara sauce.

      Maybe that’s why they came to eat us. Because they had cousins

here, cousins we served up every night with our Chardonnays and our

Sauvignon Blancs . . . Oh, God, Rachel never told me how to make her

Oysters Marseilles, damn her for being such a recipe snob . . .

      “Monster,” she repeated, almost with a queer sort of affection. She

had certainly been very fond of that calamari. “We would have given you

anything you wished. You and your kind. Anything, anything.”

      “I’m sure you would have, if we had bothered to ask,” Cha Rlee said,

and sighed. “Ah, look, Trixie–”

      “Victoriana Elizabeth Jungorsiak,” she reminded it.
                                                                          370

      “Whatever. The reason I and my kind came down to this planet was

because your mate Joshua signaled us. You remember that, don’t you?”

      “Really?” A fond smile curved her lips. Joshua had been so proud of

his transmitter, and how he had built it entirely out of parts from Radio

Shack. His boyish obsession with contacting beings from outer space had

been one of the first things she’d loved about him. That and his utter

loyalty to the Young Democrats.

      “Uh-huh. Something like that is pretty irresistible, you know. It’s like

you seeing an ad on television for a Big Mac. We simply couldn’t help

ourselves. Granted, we should have checked to see if you were intelligent,

but we’ve been out on the intergalactic trade routes for months and we

were starving, you know? And yes, the invasion was messy, and we did

wipe out the native population – except you, because of that last minute

viral serum lethal to my kind with which your husband injected you seconds

before I ate him – but we’re full now, and we’d like to make amends, such

as they are.” It stroked her hair, smearing it with residual slime before

releasing her. “You’ll have a very nice little human-house on my estate

back on Condiloma, I promise, and I’ll put up an energy fence so you won’t

have to be tethered. And, as you will be the sole surviving human, I’m sure

we’ll study you and discover all sorts of noble things about your kind and be

very sorry we did this right around the time you die of a mysterious

bacterial infection or a broken heart or something like that.”
                                                                               371

        It offered so little. Far too little, but she could be polite. “I don’t want

to leave my home.” She picked up the portrait again. “I must dwell in my

memories from now on. You must go without me.”

        “Leave you here? By yourself?” Cha Rlee made an exasperated

sound by flapping its abdomouth. “Isn’t that pushing the martyr bit a little

far?”

        “You know I have to stay behind,” she told it, caressing the frame

around her husband’s smiling face with tender fingers. “By abandoning

me to live out a solitary life on the ruins of my world, I will then have the

time to reflect on the value of my short but meaningful life with Joshua

before you came and ate him. I can curse him for daring to send that

intergalactic signal that brought down the invasion, but love him for his

infinite curiosity about the universe. After I lose a great deal of weight and

stop washing my hair, I’ll find a way to build a beautiful shrine to him and to

the endurance of love and the human spirit. Something tasteful, maybe

out of the rubble you’ve left behind. Once I have finished that, I will

doubtless collapse and die at the base of it, in an appropriately wretched

pose, which other aliens will see when they come to tour the wreck you’ve

made of Earth. Everyone will feel very sorry about this tragedy. One of the

tourists will definitely weep. Then a scientist will mention the possibility of

reviving me through cloning a DNA sample before he’s vetoed by a
                                                                             372

particularly spiritual companion who takes me and buries me in the

shrine.”

      “Dear me. That sounds uber-depressing.” It heaved its version of a

sigh. “Not much of a choice either way, eh, Trix old girl?”

      She nodded. She knew. She was the Widow of Earth.

      “Very well. Shout for me in a desperate but determined voice if you

change your mind.” Cha Rlee gave her a final caress with its tentacle

before it oozed out of the room.

      She didn’t watch it go. Looking at the photo of Joshua required her

full attention again. If she grabbed another cigarette – she’d hidden a

pack in the SpongeBob cookie jar in the kitchen, hadn’t she? – and looked

at the picture hard enough, she would be safe. She wouldn’t hear the

ghosts of those devoured screaming silently outside her broken window.

She wouldn’t notice the tiny chip on the edge of her left ring-fingernail.

      Build a shrine to Joshua. My ass I will.

      She wouldn’t pray. She’d chant, but she wouldn’t pray.

      Sally Hansen, Sally Hansen, Sally Hansen.
                                                                           373

Sneak Peek

Into the Fire by Jessica Hall

To be released March 2004 by Onyx Books



      Their witness had seated herself at the conference table inside the

interview room. It felt a little stuffy, so Terri opened a window before

asking Sable if she wanted anything to drink.

      “May I have some water, please?” Her voice sounded raspy and

strained, but that might have been from the smoke.

      As Terri got a cup from the cooler and filled it, she kept an eye on

her partner. J. D.’s usual method with witnesses was

to sit down, put them at ease, and charm all the details out of them. He

was good at it, too. Her partner never had a problem making anyone feel

as if they could tell him anything. She’d probably told him way too much

about herself over the years.

      Not this time, though. J. D. didn’t open the interview by consoling

the victim, didn’t establish rapport, didn’t do anything the way he usually

did. He didn’t even sit down, but slowly walked the length of the room,

watching Sable with the single-minded intensity of a starved junkyard dog

presented with a wounded rabbit.

      Or a rejected lover, looking for a little revenge.
                                                                        374

      It didn’t make sense to Terri. Sable Duchesne was a very pretty

woman, but hardly J. D.’s type. He stuck to high-maintenance Garden

District debutantes who never wore white after Labor Day and had their

names plastered all over the society pages. Lately he’d been spending a

lot of time with one particularly obnoxious Creole debutante, Moriah

Navarre, and if his mama had her way, he would be married to her as

soon as possible.

      Marc LeClare’s death would definitely upset J. D.’s father, and

possibly put Elizabet Gamble’s wedding plans on the back burner. That

worked for Terri – any excuse to keep from shopping for a dress was okay

by her, and she’d never been too crazy about the idea of J. D. marrying

The Deb.

      “Here you go.” She handed Sable the water, and noticed the wounds

on her palms again when she accepted the cup. “You sure you don’t

remember how you got those splinters, Ms. Duchesne?”

      Sable examined her hands. “I think I tried to get out through a

window.”

      As Terri sat down, J. D. came to stand over Sable, not touching her

but getting a little too close. The witness ignored him completely.

      Terri cleared her throat and gave her partner a direct look. Get on

with it, she mouthed.

      “Are you living in New Orleans now?” he asked.
                                                                        375

      Sable drank some of the water before she answered. “No.”

      He circled around her chair, as if trying to draw her attention to him.

“Why were you at that warehouse this morning?”

      “I was looking at it as office space.” She stared down at the cup. “I

think I should speak to an attorney.”

      “You’ll speak to me now,” J. D. told her.

      After a minute of silence, Terri decided to give her a gentle prod.

“Ms. Duchesne, you’re not being charged with anything. We only want to

know what happened.”

      Sable’s shoulders hunched. “I don’t remember much.” She sounded

scared and defensive.

      Now J. D. will play her. Terri had seen him soothe any number of

other, shaken witnesses, reassuring them while coaxing the information

from them.

      J. D. clamped one hand on the back of Sable’s chair and grabbed

the hair at the back of her head. “Who hit you?”

      “J. D.” Alarmed, Terri got to her feet.

      He didn’t pull Sable’s hair, but pushed it out of the way and examined

her scalp. There was a large swollen knot under her hair. “Did you see

who did this?”

      Dark red hair flew as Sable jerked her head to one side, away from

his touch. “No. I didn’t see anyone.”
                                                                       376

      “Bullshit.” He jerked her chair around so that she was facing him.

“What happened in that warehouse? Who hit you? Answer me.”

      “I don’t know.” Sable turned her head to look at Terri, anger

glittering in her eyes. “You said I could make a phone call. I want to make

it now, please.”

      “J. D.,” Terri repeated, with a warning note this time. “You can make

your call in a minute, Ms. Duchesne.”

      Her partner used his hand to grab Sable’s jaw and turn her face

back toward his. “Where did all this blood come from? How did you know

Marc LeClare? Why were you there? Who set the fire? Did you see who

hit you?”

      They were almost close enough to be kissing, Terri thought, but J.

D.’s voice hovered just below a shout.

      “I don’t remember.” Sable had her hands folded in her lap, so tightly

that all her tendons stood out like cables ready to snap. “Get your hands

off me.”

      Terri suppressed a sigh. “I think we need a break. J. D.?”

      He ignored her and clamped his other hand around the base of

Sable’s throat. “Vous me répondrez!”

      “Je ne peux pas vous aider,” she hissed back. “Laissez-moi seule.”
                                                                            377

      Terri knew a lot more about Sable Duchesne then, and it only added

to the problem. Since her partner wasn’t hearing a word she said, she

went around the table and kicked him in the shin. “Hey. Back off.”

      He straightened and let his hands fall away. Under his jacket, the

muscles in his arms and shoulders bunched. “I’m not going to hurt her.”

      “I don’t care.” She pointed to the door. “Take a walk, cool off. Do a

few laps around the building. Now.”

      J. D. gave Sable one last look, then left.

      Terri’s partner simply didn’t lose his temper. Ever. Seeing it happen

scared her, enough to make her drop her own guard for a moment.

“What is it with you two?”

      Sable averted her dark brown eyes, but not before Terri saw a

suspicious shimmer. “Nothing.”

      Terri swore under her breath. “Here.” She found a box of tissues,

and put it down on the table. “You’d better pull yourself together, lady.

That dead man was going to be our next governor. You are in for a full

course of trouble, and J. D. is only the appetizer.”

      Sable lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid of J. D.”

      “Yeah?” Slipping easily into the patois of her youth, Terri added,

“You think again. This ain’t no chinka-chinka dance, chère.” She nodded as

their witness gave her a shocked look. “That’s right. You ain’t on the
                                                                            378

bayou listening to no Dutch nightingales now. This for real bad – you think

about that, eh?”

        When Terri stepped outside the interview room, she found J. D.

leaning against the wall, staring at the ceiling tiles. How did a wealthy

Creole society son like him get involved with a backwater Cajun girl? Terri

wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “Want to take a shot at me now?”

        J. D. thrust his hands in his pockets. “Maybe.”

        Anger wasn’t something she was used to feeling around her

partner. She trusted J. D. with her life, and she wasn’t about to let him

screw up his. “I’m glad you’re getting a laugh out of this, because I’m not.”

        “You’re crowding me.”

        “Gee, I’m all broken up about that. Maybe you forgot, we don’t do

the bad cop/worse cop routine, and she’s not even a damn suspect.” She

shoved at his shoulder. “What were you thinking, putting your hands on

her?”

        He muttered something vile under his breath. “She won’t talk to me

in front of you. Give me five minutes alone with her. I’ll get the answers.”

        Her jaw sagged. “Do I really look that stupid to you? You want to

blow this whole case because you got a hard-on for her?”

        “It’s not that and you know it.” J. D. looked up at the ceiling, then

back at her. “Christ, Ter, I know her. She’s just scared.”
                                                                        379

      “Really. That woman is a witness – the only witness so far – to a

felony arson, and maybe a murder. The DA isn’t going to put up with her

little amnesia act for a second. Not even if she was your wife.” Then it hit

Terri, and she smacked her palm on her forehead. “That’s it, isn’t it? You

and her?”

      “It was a long time ago.” J. D.’s gaze never wavered. “I need time

alone with her. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

      “Shit.” Terri rubbed her eyes. In the five years they’d worked

together, J. D. had never asked her to bend the rules. The fact he wanted

to now only made things worse. But he was her partner. “All right, I’m

going to get some forms and bring her a phone. You’ve got ten minutes to

kiss and make up with your sweetheart.” When he would have gone back

into the room, she grabbed his sleeve. “And when I get back, I’m dusting

her for prints, so keep your hands in your pockets.”

      He nodded and went in. Terri walked down the corridor, glancing

back once to see him closing the blinds.

      J. D. Gamble in love with a Cajun girl. His mama must have had a

stroke. Well, at least things can’t get any worse. Terri saw J. D.’s

girlfriend standing at her desk, and groaned. Oh yes, they can.



“Into the Fire” by Jessica Hall will be released in March 2004.
                                                                         380

BioRescue by S.L. Viehl

To be released September 2004 by Ace Science Fiction



      Jadaira went still as a distress pulse she had not heard since her

childhood screamed through the water column. Onkar met her wide,

disbelieving eyes and released her at once. The pulse meant the pod was

being attacked, and there was only one thing on the planet that did that.

      Mogshrike.

      Dair swam back to Onkar and without another word took off with

him toward the URD.

      Why are they attacking? From the shrieking pulses being sent out

Dair knew it was more than one, but still she hoped she was wrong. They

never come in this far, even in the winter cycle. Then she saw the twin

massive fifty-foot forms cutting their way through the darting, frantic pod.

Duo, there are two of them.

      No. There are three. Onkar caught her and made her circle to a

halt. By the dome.

      A third ‘shrike, the largest, was battering the exposed transparent

wall with its head. Its open mouth resembled a cave, lined with thousands

of teeth, each one as big as Dair’s head.

      Two were highly unlikely, but there had never been a report of three

‘shrikes attacking simultaneously. Given the nature of the vicious, solitary
                                                                         381

creatures, they commanded huge areas of territory out in the deep water

and gave each other a wide berth. Yet here were three, in the same

space. Not attacking each other, not drawn by some catastrophe that

had bloodied the water so as to drive them to madness, but apparently

cooperatively hunting together. In water too shallow and warm, according

to Teresa, for their primitive circulatory systems to tolerate.

      We have to draw them off. Frantically she scanned the other

‘Zangians, but the biggest males were busy protecting the females and

pups and darting around the third behemoth attacking the dome. The

‘shrikes would never abandon so many to come after her and Onkar.

Teresa might be able to signal topside for help, but it would take too long

for the submersibles to reach them.

      There’s no blood in the water yet. Onkar bumped into her, and when

he had her attention, showed her the gleaming sharp curve of his fin hook.

After I lead them off, get the mouth-breathers to shore.

      Only in the worst circumstances did a male cut into his own hide

with his hook and use the bleeding wound to lure ‘shrikes away. It was

considered the bravest – and stupidest – thing a ‘Zangian male could do.

      You can’t spill enough blood by yourself and still get away from them.

Dair brought his fin hook down to the soft flesh on the inside of her thigh.

      He resisted, but the scent of his seminal glands heated the water

around them. I’m not risking you.
                                                                         382

      Breeding instincts were still muddling his thoughts. Which, she

realized, she could use. He would come after her. They could lure them to

the breeding caverns at the edge of the sublittoral zone, where she and

Onkar could take refuge and wait them out.

      Don’t you want to catch me anymore? She forcibly dragged the end

of his hook across her inner thigh, creating a thin, deep gash. Come on.

As her blood welled out into the current, she moved back a few meters.

Come and get me.

      As soon as she saw him gash his own thigh, Dair darted away, diving

down deep until she entered the strongest, widest current within the

column flowing toward the URD. The channel would give her as extra

boost of speed, but it would also take her very close to where the two

‘shrikes were among the pod.

      She knew they had picked up the scent of their blood when the

sound of the big one ramming the dome ceased, and the two shadows

went still. Blood was like an aphrodisiac to the enormous killers; it drove

them insane with feeding lust. It was said that they would pursue even the

tiniest aquatic for miles while it bled into the water.

      Which was exactly what she was counting on.

      ‘Zangians streamed past them as Dair and Onkar approached the

two hovering, now almost motionless, outside the dome. The third had

turned and was also giving its full attention to the taste of the water. A
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few hundred yards from the ‘skrikes, she pulled away from Onkar and

swam around them to the right while he did the same on the left.

      Being so close to the only predators her kind feared made Dair sick,

but no one had ever become fond of mogshrikes. They weren’t just the

largest aquatic on the planet; they had been designed by evolution to

inspire instant terror. Their bodies were the color of old silt with short,

spiny black denticles covering every centimeter of their hide. Hundreds of

mvrey clung to their bloated underbellies and backs, far away from the

‘shrikes’ cavernous mouths. The eight fins on their bodies were tipped

with pointed plating that was even sharper than their serrated teeth, and

the two elongated, segmented claspers extruding from their bellies were

filled with a paralyzing toxin, which they whipped through large schools of

fish to stun several hundred at the same time.

      If she or Onkar caught even the tip of one clasper, they would be

rendered helpless within seconds.

      ‘Shrike couldn’t swim backward, so as she passed them they had to

turn to follow the scent of her blood. She streaked past Onkar and

glanced back over her shoulder to see the third rejoining its two

companions. They’re taking the bait.

      Despite their size, mogshrikes could swim as fast as a ‘Zangian, and

within seconds the three had eliminated half the distance between them.
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      Onkar was coming up quickly behind her. Hurry.

      If they didn’t reach the breeding caverns before the ‘shrikes caught

up to them, they were both dead.

      Dair’s muscles burned as she poured every ounce of energy into her

pace. Swimming this fast blurred the light and colors around her and she

could no longer navigate by sight. She pulsed out a stream of sound and

used the echoes that bounced off solid objects as directional signals.

Swiftly she located the large network of rock formations and caverns that

formed a wide, labyrinthine network at the end of the coastal pod’s

territory, and altered her direction toward one end of it.

      Dair couldn’t look back, but she could feel one of the ‘shrikes

snapping at her wake. She altered her approach, drawing closer to Onkar

so that they left a trail of mingled blood behind them. A final pulse

confirmed that she was only a few yards from an entrance to the caves,

and as the ominous sound of gnashing teeth drew closer, she plummeted

downward, hurtling herself toward that small gap in the rock.




“BioRescue” by S.L. Viehl will be released in September 2004.