Godsend by Greg Howell

GODSEND
PT I



	The rock was uncharted and unremarkable. Seven
kilometers of iron-nickel amalgam tumbling on its eccentric eons-
old orbit against a backdrop of  faint stars  and pale hydrogen
clouds.  The system's single  faded, swollen sun was a distant
speck among a myriad of others as the lump of ore and rock
continued its endless path around the hub of the tired system.
	When  the  flare  of actinic blue light  washed  across  the
pitted contours of the rock,  the shadows from metal struts and
towers reaching into space were thrown into harsh relief  against
the  barren  surface.  Again the light burned brighter  than  the
bloated  sun  as clusters of ion thrusters fired, nudging  the two-
kilometer bulk  of  the  miner ship Aspiration away  from  the
asteroid.
	In the heart of the ship, Hayes finally relaxed, watching
the rock recede through the glowing vector corridor
superimposed on his viewpoint.
	"Command: exit."
	The view snapped off, replaced with the interior of a
geodesic sphere, every facet labeled with an icon.  A wave of his
hand and the scene became vague, transparent, overlaid with
dayglo-green type: WAITING.
	He shucked the VR headset and rubbed at his eyes.
Kludge,  but that  antiquated hardware bugged him.  He'd been
using the  stuff for  a  lifetime  and it was tough and  reliable,  but
on the offside slow  and cumbersome.  Newer systems utilized
nano and bio tech: Microscopically small  interfaces linked into
the pilot's nervous system.  Just jack in and you ARE the ship; no
more video and audio linkups.
	"Proximity one hundred and fifty kilometers," chimed the
AI. Well,  the whole ship was old:  over two centuries old.  An
ancient  Nakuma  Corp. miner factory ship.  It'd  been  through
several wrecks,  a few minor wars,  mothballing, and more repairs
and  refurbishments  than  an octogenarian entertainer.  From  the
outside it resembled an old-time oil rig that'd been put through a
compactor and had other unhealthy things done to it:  A  cylinder
just  over two  klicks  in  length,  its exterior  was an angular and
lumpy landscape  of  shielding,  heat exchangers,  antenna and
sensor arrays, power modules, thrusters, aux. cargo and
equipment pods, locks, the grids of high-density gravimeter, and
kilometers of piping. Fully a  half of that mass was filled with
cargo holds while  the  rest was  split between factory and ore
processing,  the power  plant, and the drive modules. On the
whole vessel the only area intended for   human  habitation  was
the  crew  module;   minuscule   by comparison,  its  whiteness
contrasting with the darkness of  the rest of the miner, locked to
the front of the vessel like a leech to a whale by the mechanical
embrace of umbilicals and docking clamps.
	The  crew  of  this two kilometer long  mass  of  metal
and ceramic  was lounging back in his control couch,  monitoring
his vessel while nursing a bulb of chilled beer.
	Each  of  the windows in the main screen  was
displaying a different  view  or schematic.  160/+45 degrees to the
rear  the asteroid was growing visibly smaller, the refineries and
furnaces on  its surface already too small to be seen at  that
resolution. This'd been a juicy system,  with five class-four rocks
in  two months.  It didn't take long to drop a basic package on the
face of  an asteroid,  but you had to wait and make sure  the
systems were running bug-free;  also the Von Neumann servos
needed the fusion  plant  and  factory on the miner until  their
own  power plants went on-line.  If necessary,  stocks of
deuterium, tritium, hydrogen,  and helium were supplied from
onboard stores. When the process  was  well under way the miner
would  depart,  either  to search  out  new  lodes or return to a
Tincan  for  resupply, offloading  and trading.  In  a few months
the ore-rich asteroids would  fire  up their own newly constructed
plasma engines and stretch back to an inhabited  system where
the  whole unit would be sold and  slagged.  For  a  juicy profit, of
course.
	Hayes flicked from one external monitor to another,
scanning the exterior of the Aspiration. Some shielding bore
scratches from debris  strike,  otherwise  it was in as good a
condition  as  it was ever going to get.  Same story on a  random
scan  of  the interior. Repair servos scuttled through conduits like
glittering metal spiders. In the holds the heavy mining servos had
had their power  packs removed and now were stacked in their
bays,  almost indistinguishable  from  the  girders and  piping  and
machinery around  them.  The supply holds had been restocked;
the  hulking tanks of resources and reaction mass near-full.
	This  last  rock  had  been  a  profitable  one.
	With  the extraneous  materials strained from the rock
mantle,  there  was still a good core of iron,  nickel, zinc, and
copper. Any company would pay good chits for this stake.
	Hayes leaned back and took a good draught then
grinned.  Not far to go now and he'd have the installments paid off
and he'd  be running  his  own ship.  From there the next stop was
a  private business.  Christo,  who knew: perhaps then on to a
block back on terra, not some tincan or innertube.
	The  AI  chimed again: "Proximity  one  thousand
kilometres. Clearance.  Plasma  drive initialized.  Systems check
clearance, grids powered and chambers cleared. Drive engaging."
	At the rear of the miner,  in the power module,  a star
was squeezed,   the   magnetic  envelop  encasing  it  developing
a deliberate flaw.  More fields seized the outflow, channelling it,
accelerating it.  There was a subliminal rumble as massive  vents
to the rear of the vessel glowed,  then spewed pulses of  white-
hot gas at close to seven percent C, jets that narrowed and
focused  in their magnetic fields until the battered cylinder seemed
to be riding  a  nine kilometre long pencil of light.
	"Mass  interference  still critical.  Clear  to  stretch  in
thirty minutes."
	"Acknowledged," Hayes raised his bulb in the direction
of the main screens. "Thanks."
	"You're welcome."
	Most rock-hoppers changed their AI's voice,  usually to
that of a favourite vid star or singer,  usually of the opposite  sex.
Hayes had just stuck with the default one,  a feminine  alto.  He
just had never gotten around to changing it,  and the personality
had  grown on him.  Besides,  it was an artificial  intelligence, just
a  machine,  not an artificial  consciousness  which  could develop
its  own personality.  All the AIs were  were  glorified expert
databases.  They could learn,  but they simply mimicked  a
personality.  Artificial Consciousnesses on the other hand. . . ACs
WERE conscious, alive and aware.  They were  also  heavily
restricted:  only  the largest habitats and military  ships  used
them.
	He finished the rest of the beer,  belched,  and picked up
the headset again. It smelt of sweat and age. Familiar. A wave of
his hand and the WAITING prompt vanished.
	"Okay, Pan, course plot."
	It was a complex chart that appeared. He was floating
inside an arm of the galaxy, thousands of systems a multiclolored
myriad of points around him.  A twitch of an eye and he zoomed
in on his local, outlined with a glowing three-dimensional recticle.
A word and  the  database  conjured a web  of  colour-gradiated
spheres around significant masses: the contour lines of the
universe.
	It  was  virgin territory out here,  skirting the  edges  of
human  exploration.   No  matter  how  many  billions;  how  many
trillions of people there were,  there were never enough to  fill all
the spaces.  Old Terra was the hub of human expansion. It was
from  there  that five hundred years ago with the advent  of  the
Bausmer Breach that the first ships had exploded outwards.
	In  the  first two centuries over a thousand  solar
systems were colonised.  As mankind - humankind,  whatever -
finally  got the  keys to the car and left the home system behind,
he  spread everywhere.  Orbitals  financed by every conceivable
sort  of  organizations sprang up:  the central governments and
massive corporations were closely followed by sects,  cults, and
other fringe organizations seeking  freedom.  So many of those
small groups were  hopelessly underfunded and underequipped.
They relied on chartered carriers to  get  them to their destination
where they  settled  in  tiny, primitive tincans with inadequate
lifesupport and maybe a  single surplus insystem workhorse for
mining. More than a few didn't make it.
	There were a lot of ghoststations out there.
	However,  there  were  always other  successes.  The
mining corporation stations thrived as they specialised in refining
the raw  materials needed by everyone.  There were  the
agricultural innertubes with the monopolies on hydroponics,  the
Corporations producing technologies, others with biotech. . . the
list ran on.
	Of  course the Terran governments had seen these
colonies  as  its own personal sweatshops.  It demanded taxes
from wealthy, well-developed star systems that were totally self
sufficient. Inevitably, as in colonial revolution centuries earlier,
the fringe orbitals asked for, then demanded independence.
	Homeworld influence was strongest in the systems
nearest Terra. Nearly eighty percent of the orbitals were simply
residential or administration,  receiving their food,  minerals,  and
luxuries from Terra,  Mars,  and  the hundreds of other orbitals
already in  the  Sol system.  There  were  watch  stations and a
strong  military presence, but there was only so much territory
they could cover.
	Wiser  heads in  the  United  Nations  council realised
that there was no possible way a single planetary system could
dominate the infinity of space.  The fringe settlements had literally
unlimited resources and personnel and trade  embargoes were  a
ludicrous idea.  Declaring war was absolutely out of  the question,
so  therefore  the  Terran  government  -   privately reluctant -
gave its blessing.
	It proved to be a mutually beneficial arrangement.
	The  colonies - the tincans and innertubes - began to
yield surpluses  of raw  materials,  pharmaceuticals,  refined
metals, zero-gee composites,  and their own technology. These
they traded with the Terran zones,  for luxuries and more
technology, and the one exclusive thing the ancient Sol system
possessed.
	Life.
	In all the hundreds, the thousands of systems explored,
only Terra had indigenous life.  Mars and parts of Venus could
support humans without environment suits, but that was after
centuries of extensive and expensive terraforming. In  all  other
solar systems from the Barnad Group  out  to  the Salamander
Pearls,  mankind lived in sealed jars, hewing a living from dead
worlds and the rubble of space. There were few systems with
planets in the habital zone surrounding a sun.  There were  fewer
still where that planet was of an acceptable size.  Of these many
had  no atmosphere at all,  or that atmosphere was  of  something
interesting but lethal, such as compressed ammonia and methane.
Terraforming would take time on the best of these worlds,  on the
others. . . There  were  those  who said it just  wasn't  worth  the
effort.
	Why be planet bound when you have a whole system in
which to build?  Without the burden of gravity. Tuck in behind an
abundant gas  giant  and  you have protection from  solar  flares
and  an inexhaustible supply of hydrocarbons and volatiles.  Drop
a planet-breaker  on  a small  moon and harvest the pieces for raw
ore.  Use a linear accelerator  to lob  them across the system on
ballistic orbits to be  caught  by processing stations that would
churn out  machinery,  ships,  and even more habitats.
	People  could live just as well in an innertube  or  tincan,
and  they  were  far more comfortable  than  a  planet.  Climatic
control.  No  rain,  no wind,  no need for  housing.  No  natural
disasters.
	Build  your colony inside a planetesimal with hundred-
metre thick rock walls and a layer of collapsium plate and any
meterorite large  enough  to do any damage would be vaporised or
deflected by  any  halfway decent defence system.
	And  there  were always more systems.  For  fifteen
billion light years there were galaxies, each swimming with star
systems.  And Mankind had scarcely  scratched the surface of
even his own spiral arm.
	Hayes  was  running  calcs  through  the  AI,  scanning
the chart files he'd bought from remote probes of this quadrant.
There were a few MO types within easy stretch, also some GO,
but he was hunting  the older ones,  the swollen stellar geriatrics
that'd had time to collect a retinue of debris.  A single BO,
massing about  ten solar mass was a likely candidate.  He swung
the perspective into a schematic calculating distances,  power
consumption,  stresses, and gravity flux and the AI spat out a
course plot within a second.  It had definitely been worthwhile
splurging  to install the new system,  a Yamaha AICPU-1263 unit.
Cascaded three-dimensional matrix processors  and  molecular
memory modules.  Ten  terabytes  in  a casing the size of his head
and an access time of 3  nanoseconds. It  gave his old AI a great
deal more raw storage space and  enhanced the artificial
personality with an expert system based on a 3M learning array
model.  It was also able to interpolate the output of his clumsy
and outdated  General  Equipment  mass scanner, boosting the
resolution, making stretches safer and more economical.
	Once the old Aspiration was finally paid off he'd be able
to afford  one  of  the new SolTech  gravity  scanners,  boasting  a
resolution  more than five hundred times greater than the old  GE
module. With one of those he could skip into a system and do
deep scans of a rock on the other side.  He could do a detailed
survey of a system while still in stretch...
	But that was in the future.
	The chaos of woven lines and points of light surrounded
him in a cocoon of light,  a red line plotting a weaving course
onto the next system,  a good fifty light years out. He moved his
hand to  touch a menu and a data screen came up.  A  BO  system,
four planets,  three  of those gas giants the other one a  rock.
ETA: three days. Fuel consumption including initial boost: two
hundred tons. That was way within acceptable margins.
	"All right," Hayes said, nodding slightly. "Lock that
course."
	"Confirmed," acknowledged  the  AI.   Throughout  the
ship's superstructure the vibration of the engines changes as
thrusters again nudged the vessel,  lining  it  up  with  its   launch
window. "Time to stretch point is approximately three hours."
	Hayes moved his hand to pop the interface,  then
hesitated and moved his hand to wipe the navigation charts and
selected a main menu. A few blinks of  his eyes on subdirectories
and music started,  the primitive  beat  and strings  of  a  new
group from the  Terra  zone,  Zacharea Codo according to the
album label. Now he punched the exit marker.
	He  dropped the headset, leaving the visor hanging from
its umblilical. The  main screen  switched  to an image of a tropical
rainforest  back  on Terra,  filling an entire wall with greenery and
mist.  The music formed a lively background.  Humming along,
Hayes descended  the access tube to the living deck.
	The  machinery in the walls was concealed by chitite
panels of  light tans and greens.  Floor to ceiling holorals  gave
an illusion of french windows looking out across a panorama of
deep valleys and mountains.  Light came from glowpanels in the
ceiling and walls, casting a soft light mimicking sunlight. The floor
was carpeted  in  a cream gengineered  biograss,  a  horseshoe-
shaped sunken  area  lined  with  gel  cushions.  Around  the  rim
were terrariums  with heatlamps glowing on a multitude of
flourishing plants.  Moisture beaded on the glass like droplets of
sweat. Two other doors led out;  one to the galley,  the other to
the living quarters and the lift down to the service levels.
	Hayes  made  for the galley,  brushing his  hand  along
the plastic housing a bonsai. Over a centruy old, from old earth,
the gem of his collection. He'd have to clean the few dead leaves
off the meticulously kept sand under the tiny tree.
	The  galley  lights  coming on as  he  stepped  through
the door. "Hey,  Pan.  Break out a chicken,  potatoes, and
sweetpeas. Also flour, bread, butter, cooking oil, and the spice
rack."
	"Very well,  Samuel." The voice came from all around as
non-directional  speakers  vibrated the air of the  room  itself.
"How would you like it prepared?"
	"I don't," he  said  as  he  unfolded  workbenches  and   a
range. "I'm doing myself tonight."
	"All right," the  AI  said.  It took half  a  minute before
the ingredients were delivered from the stores. Cooking  for
himself  made a  welcome  diversion  from  the monotony of
shipboard routine,  he also enjoyed it.  While the AI was a
capable cook, it was by no means a chef. Its food was good, but
it lacked...flair.  Hayes enjoyed throwing on an  apron  and getting
his hands dirty.  He had flash-frozen and  vacuum-packed
vegetables  and  fruit from  habitat  hydroponics,  pro-ten  meat
substitue,  as  well as huge range of flavouring and  spices  and
ingredients.  After  a day in a hardsuit taking core  samples  it
relaxed  him  in the same way some others might wind  down  on  a
depstick.
	But unlike a drugstick you got something out of cooking.
Hayes  called up a real external view and turned the  lights off as
he carried his meal through. The infinite stars cast their cold light
across him as  propped his feet up and worked his  way through a
synthetic drumstick.

--\o/--


	The  plasma drives were finishing their  burn.  After
fourty-eight hours the twin jets - each five times hotter than the
surface of sol - were shutting down,  but their nuclear ghosts
lingered for  minutes after.  The louvered vents of collapsium and
ceramic alloy glowed with residual heat.
	Throughout the ship servos were skittering for the
safety of charging  ports  where they clamped into  place.
Bulkhead  seals slammed  into place.  Saftey grids and nets locked
over  movable  objects. Power  was  shunted  from  unnecessary
operations,  valves  were sealed.
	Like a spider in the centre of his web, Hayes watched as
the VR updated and areas of the intricate wireframe schematic
changed from amber to green. Hayes moved through the
structure, examining system  after  system.  There was a power
drain from  the  faulty flexors  on  the  third door in hold one and  a
slight  loss  of pressure  in  a  steam duct,  but both  of  those
problems  were negligible.  In fact the Aspiration was running
smoother than  she had for a long time.
	"Clear for stretch," the AI reported.
	There was a much larger power fluctuation as the fields
went up,  spinning  a web of reality around the ship,  then the
drive grids ripped space open.
	Hayes hated this bit.
	The stars imploded into a single white burst.
Superstructure squealed  before the fields compensated.  Hayes
felt his  stomach twist  and an unbelievable headache flash behind
his  eyes.  The external monitors and viewports faded to black.
	Seen  from  outside,  the Aspiration  rippled,  then
without fanfare, sank into the universe.


--\o/--


	Theoretically, faster-than-light travel wasn't impossible.
Cracking the lightspeed barrier was.  The faster to C you got, the
greater your mass became and the more energy you needed to
accelerate and the greater your mass became. . . Ad Infinitum. . .
	E=MC2 still ruled.
	Looking at it another way: as its velocity approached the
speed of light, the mass  of  an object  also  increased,
approaching  infinity. If you had a way to convert that mass to
energy, you'd have an unlimited supply.  And if  there  was
enough  energy available - from the collision of two particles for
example - it was possible to 'create' still more mass.
	So,  again  theoretically,  a ship could be  accelerated  to
near-lightspeed,  but  not beyond.  Still,  even at those  speeds
travel between stars would be painfully slow and it was
discovered that even at a crawl - say half-C -  things like electrons
and photons and especially neurons started doing strange and
unhealthy things.
	So  a lot of people were extremely happy when it was
proven that it was possible to circumvent that barrier.
	The  Bausmer  Breach went around space, ducking out of
this level of existence, then in again.  The most  that  was
generally understood about the process was that the drive sank a
warp through the  'fabric'  of space, opening a breach into a
subuniverse existing on a lower energy level. This subuniverse
existed in the same area as the normal one,  but within it space
was  distorted. If it were possible to simply step into a breach walk
a few metres,  you would emerge into real space several  thousand
kilometres from where you entered.
	A  was  of describing it was that universes existed like
rings in an onion,  with  our universe as  - it was supposed - the
outermost skin.  To  enter  the subuniverse was to move deeper in
directly towards the core.  Any movement made there would be
equivalent to a much greater distance out  on the surface.
	Of  course it was impossible to simply walk in.  It  took  a
ship  and  the  power requirements of a small city  to  form  the
breach  and maintain the shields needed to prevent the ship  from
being sucked into a local gravity well and first pulverised, then
fused with already existing matter with somewhat more
spectacular results. Nature's way of 'Keeping Our Universe
Beautiful'.
	Matter was not indigenous to the subuniverse.  There
were no planets,  moons,  suns,  space  debris,  or even the
hydrogen  so prevalent in the 'normal' level. Light, when
introduced in the form of navigation beacons on ships, crawled,
the speed of light being several thousand times slower.  A ship at
little more than  twice 1G  escape velicoty was travelling at a
significant percent of  C in the subspace.
	So for three days the Aspiration would be coasting that
void, in  a  sense being stretched out over an area  of  several
light days.  It could be tricky when attempting to enter a busy
system. In  such  cases  ships would drop out of  stretch  at
navigation beacons and ride the rest of the way in on
conventional drives.
	In the com couch Hayes unknoted his jaw muscles and
tried to relax as the screens cleared  again and  the external
pictures switched to the mass  scanner  images. When  in  stretch
the only ways to navigate were to  either  keep dropping  out of
stretch and taking a bearing in  real  space:  a process hideously
fuel-hungry,  or to use mass scanners. Like the hills  and  valleys
on a contour map the gravity wells  of  suns, planets,  moons,  and
planetisimals showed up.  A scanner  would produce a three
dimensional map depicting the gravity sinks.
	These  sinks  were the reefs of stellar travel.  If  a  ship
drifted  too  far into the gravitational sphere of  influence  it would
be  drawn in all the way to the core where it  would  drop back into
real space. . . in the centre of a planet. A quick - if very spectacular
- way to go.
	But the screens were showing the course plot:  a clear
line through  clear space.  Throughout the ship telltales read
green. There  were  a few sections where metal had  been
stressed,  but already servos were working on it.
	"Okay,  Pan," Hayes  told  the ship as he pulled the
headset off. "It's all yours."
	"Thank you, Samuel," the AI returned. The lights of the
bridge faded out behind him.


--\o/--



	Some  found boredom a problem in singleships.  Hayes
wasn't one of these; he'd always found something to keep him
busy. There were the CAD/ CAM programs where he worked at
redesigning and refining various servos. Coupled  with  computer
aided   manufacturing facilities  and a completely automated
factory it let him  design and  build practically anything he could
design himself or had the templates to. There was a gymnasium,
also  both holieo  and  VR  vids  and games downloaded from  his
last  port  call  at Tenington III, books, and music.
	There were his terrariums to tend to.  With classical
music and freshner in the ventilation systems it was something he
could lose  himself  in.  He also spent time  in  the  galley,  working
through old recipes and inventing his own.
	The   ship  could  run  itself.   The  servos  carried   out
maintenance,  even repairing themselves, all centrally controlled
by  subroutines in the AI.  So while in stretch there was  really
little for the pilot to do.
	Except  when the computer came across something it
couldn't handle.
	The alarm buzzed. "Samuel,  could you come to the
bridge?" the AI requested in calm tones. He was already on his
way.
	The  screens  were lit when he entered. There was too
much red and it  only  took  a glance to see what was wrong.
"Shit! Where'd that come from?!"
	It was a system. A whole kluding system and they'd skim
well within its gravity sink. Not a problem; just unexpected.
	"I don't have that information, Samuel," the AI said.
"The scanner just picked up a single planet. The rest have only
just appeared."
	Hayes   sank   down  on  the  couch  and   stared   at   the
monitor. "There's nothing wrong with the scanner?"
	"No." A pause. "All systems nominal."
	"That system WASN'T on the database?"
	"No."
	"Then there was something interfering with the probe of
this quadrant. Where  is  that sonofa. . . Ah!" Haye leaned
forward  and tapped at the monitor. "How about a closeup here."
	The AI obliged.
	"Ah,  okay.  Do a deep scan here,  this sector. . . forty-
five, seventy-three degrees."
	Outside, on the hull of the ship the seventy-meter
antenna  arrays pivoted and realigned themselves.  The streams of
individual particles launched down  the arrays could be deflected
by the slightest  fluctuation in a gravity field. The computer
registered this deflection. From the ten odd antenna it built up a
map,  at this range accurate to a few hundred kilometres.  Quite
enough to map the major  objects in  a  solar  system and more
accurate  than  the  vastly  higher resolution probes used at much
greater distances by Survey.
	He  found  the problem.  It was on the maps as  NSR  275.
A pulsar: a spinning neutron star of about six solar masses.
About as big as they come without going the one step further to
black hole. Probably drew the survey scope's attention so they
forgot what they were supposed to be doing. Also, the emmisions
geyser from those things played merry fuck with all kinds of
scanners. "Christo, Pan, why didn't you compensate for this?"
	"There was no reason to suppose a system was  there,"
replied the AI.
	Ah...Hayes shook his head. If there was no ambiguous
data to arouse   its  'suspicions'  then  an  AI   wouldn't
investigate further. "Scheisskopf! Pan, next time, triple-check any
area with a high-density object for interference, okay?"
	"Logged, Samuel." The voice was a unperturbed as ever.
	Well,  anyway,  it was a whole unmapped system.
Interesting. By the scan its star was at least the mass of a GO
type,  maybe slightly larger and brighter than  the  sun.  There was
still  some  interference.  That  damn pulsar again.
	Hayes  leaned  back and considered.  It was right  on
their course, so why not?
	"Pan, give me navigation," he said, already reaching for
the headset.


--\o/--


	Whole  sections  were  shut down as  the  generators
pulsed again. Jagged discharges of energy crackled around the
stanchions bracing the field grids.
	Vibrations rang through the entire ship as space was
twisted around  it.  Gravity  was  warped into a  hyperdense  tube
-  an impossible black hole - then into a Klein bottle.
	Hayes felt the headache blossom again and his stomach
twist, then the Aspiration broke into realspace.
	Stars  rippled and were eclipsed as the bulk of  the
vessel solidified.
	Almost  instantly  the  Aspiration  rang  like  a  gong, a
2.6 million tonne gong.  Klaxons began howling. Bulkhead seals
remained closed.  Strobes  flashed red throughout the vessel.  In
the  VR interface a model of the ship appeared, the power module
flashing red.
	"What the futz was that?!" Hayes screamed.
	"Collision impact in power module,  "the AI reported.
"There is  oscillation in the fusion containment bottle.
Attempting  to compensate.  Shields  under  heavy strain.
Increasing  power  to forward shields."
	"Collision? That's impo..."
	Another strike rang against the ship,  more muted this
time. Hayes swore and accessed external scan.
	Debris  was  everywhere:  dust and rocks  flaring  past
the sheilds.  A larger object struck, sending visible ripples
running across  the  shields.  Those impacts,  they would have
been  big pieces  that got through.  There was a scar of molten
metal  and vitrified  rock  down  the  flank of his  ship  where
where  the meteroid had impacted with limited effect against the
collapsium armour. It looked impressive, but was superficial.
Hayes switched perspectives to see the power module.
	He stared.
	The starboard unit was all right, but the port...
	Armour plates were buckled,  the superstructure beneath
rent and  twisted  like string.  Despite the vaccum there  were  fires
burning  in  there, along with the mist of escaping gasses.
Electrical sparks  showered  from  shattered conduits.  The tiny
motes that were repair servos scuttled around like ants defending
their hive.
	Damage reports started coming through.
	The  rock  was  inside the shields when  the  Aspiration
had materialised, going the other way. Their relative velocities
were a  good five percent the speed of light.  That in itself may
not have been enough to breach the armour, but a combination of
angle and  velocity  meant  it struck an achillies heel.  A  one  in  a
billion  chance.  It came in low and fast,  striking a  hatchway,
fireballing  into  the  power module in a blast  that  split  the
module  open  like an overripe fruit,  taking with  it  the  port
stabiliser for the fusion reactor bottle along with the backup.
	The main fusion reactor!  Without that stabiliser the
bottle would  break up.  The other five could only hold it so  long
and despite  the AI's efforts it was already beginning  to  oscillate
wildly. Alarms and red lights blinked up right across the board,
screens flashing options and readouts until Hayes shut them
down.
	Without  the main power plant he'd have to fall back on
the backup plasma containment units in the command module and
factory areas,  but  there was no way they could supply sustained
power. And there was no way he could stretch out of here safely.
	Indicators  were  stretching up into the  red.  More
alarms joined  the  klaxons.  In the power module the  housing  for
the fusion  bottle  glowed  from  the  heat  escaping  the
weakened containment   field.   Servos  scurried  around  madly  as
the system tried desperately to repair the assembly.  A gout of
white  heat erupted from the star in the centre of the reactor,
fusing metal and spewing out into space.
	Even over the artificial gravity Hayes felt the ship yaw  in
reaction to the blast. Alarms raved anew.
	PLASMA BREACH! PLASMA BREACH!
	OVERHEAT IN POWER MODULE! MAJOR
STRUCTURAL DAMAGE! BULKHEAD TWELVE INTERGRITY
BREACHED!
	"Jettison!" Hayes snapped. "Blow the unit!" But the AI
was seconds ahead of him. Explosive  bolts detonated.  Fragments
of metal sprayed  out into  space  as  corridors,   girders,
conduits,   cabling  and fibrelines were severed.  Umbilicals and
massive gantry clamps shifted, locking bolts retracting or being
shorn away. In a flash of flame the stern began  to drift  away.  A
hundred thousand tons of titanium/ceramic  alloy, collapsium
plate, and steel poderously separated from the rest of the
Aspiration:  the heart torn out of the monolith.  The distance
between them increased,  slowly at first,  but picking up  speed.
When it left the lee of the Aspiration the debris began  impacting
on it.  It had little effect on the outer shell,  but  inevitably dust
struck  the exposed guts.  Sparkles of light  flared  where kinetic
energy was converted to light and heat and  globules  of metal.
	In  the VR the telemetry from the engine module flashed
red at the peak of its graph. CONTAINMENT FIELD COLLAPSE:
97%
	A sun-hot gout of liquid gasses vented from a segment
of the module, setting it tumbling like a gargantuan cathrine
wheel.
	98%
	"Bring rear shields to max," Hayes snapped.
	"With foward shields functioning there is insuffi..."
	"Then CUT the forwards! NOW!"
	The hull could take it. . . he hoped.  Provided nothing too
big met him coming the other way. Even as he hoped the sounds
of rock meeting metal penetrated from the distant  hull.  The  field
metres for the rear screens were up in the green.
	On the rear screens the tiny point that was the power
module turned  into  a star,  then into a sun,  then into a  glare
that filled the whole screen.
	The sleet of radiation hit first.  A wash of  heat,  light,
electromagnetic,  and hard radiation washed across the
Aspiration, slipping around the screens like water off a
frictionless  globe. Without  the  shields that deluge alone would
have  shorted  all inadequately shielded circuitry in the
Aspiration,  and there  was enough of that floating around back
there.  In the control module he was probably safe, but he wasn't
taking any chances.
	The  shockwave was  lagging  behind, seconds behind
the radiation.  The spherical wavefront of expanding gasses and
space debris burst past the Aspiration, rocking the vehicle even
through the  shielding.  Solid particles struck the fields, energy
flaring out like raindrops on a pond.
	Then the blast was past. The remnants of the short-lived
sun dying into a red glow that slowly dissapated in the monitors.
	"Default shields," Hayes ordered, then sagged. "Mother
of Mary.  Damage report."
	A window flashed up on the screen and a list began
scrolling down. There were too many to list vocally, even visually
the list seemed to go on for a long time.  Even the survey module
had taken a battering.  Without the shields the whole forward
section had been sandblasted by debris, effectively taking out the
forward optical array. He'd lost the primary optical scope as well
as a couple  of low gain antenna and camera arrays:  scoured
away by the dust. It wasn't too bad  a  drawback:  he  could still
use  the  mainship's  optical assemblies.  Perhaps they were old
and didn't have quite the  res, but they would suffice.
	He  was still sorting through the red-highlighted  items
in the  list when the AI chimed, reporting a change in the exterior
conditions: "External debris has reduced sixty three percent."
	Sure  enough  the sound of dust whispering on the  hull
had abated.  Hayes  swung  the heavily shielded old opticals  on
the mainship  to  face  forward.  Illumination  from  running  lights
reflected  from the occasional fleck or rock,  but  besides  that
there was nothing. Hayes cut the outside lamps.
	A single star glowed in the distance.  A step up in the
gain showed  a  couple  more faint ones  beyond  it.  Likely
planets, reflecting  sunlight.  There  were none of the other  stars
that should be visible.
	The whole system was tucked away inside a dust cloud!
	It was the only explanation. That was why the scanner
probes had been so unreliable.  That was why no stars were
visible  from here.
	Ha!  He leaned back in the couch,  the gel contouring to
his every  move.  He  could make a profit out  of  this
astronomical anomoly.  Single  systems in a clear bubble inside a
dust  cloud weren't  common.  There  was  bound to  be  some
research  group interested in this,  or a Corporation.  If you could
find a  safe route in and out of here,  it would be a great place to
build in. Clear a single channel and defending it would be a cinch.
	The interface opened and he powered the chair up to see
the main screen.  Despite the ventilation in the interface, it seemed
stiffling.  He plucked a bulb of beer from the seat's cooler  and
snapped the top. So he could turn a profit here.
	Provided he could ever get out.
	Power was okay for the moment.  The Plasma
Containment Units were  still  well charged.  It was enough to use
ion  thrusters; sparingly.  With the plasma drive gone, he had to
find some other way to dump velocity.
	"Pan, can you get a good scan of this system?"
	"Yes.  There are eight planets.  The outermost two are
small Neptune-type ice worlds.  Infrared probe of the nearest
shows  an atmosphere of methane-ice."
	A computer enhanced graphic of a blue,  cold-looking
sphere rotated  on the screens.  Spectroanalysis charts scrolled
across the  screen.  There were trace elements,  but not  detectable
in large amounts.
	"The next three are gas giants of varying  mass,  none
larger  than  Jupiter.   The  outermost  two  have  debris  rings
spiralling   out  to  the  dust  cloud.  I  recommend further
investigation of these in respect to repairs."
	Hayes  blinked at the screen.  Planets with leashes
leading out  into space.  He had a go at the orbital mechanics
involved, then gave up. It would take years by hand.
	The  analysis of these was more promising,  but those
rings made them risky for what he had in mind.
	The  next two were better.  Both were rocks,  the
outermost with  two  moonlets and a small cloud  of  large
asteroids,  the innermost with none.  However only the outermost
one would be  in the right position anytime in the next eight
months.
	The second planet from the sun was looking much
better.  Of slightly less than Earth mass,  with  an atmosphere,
three moons and  coming  into  line  nicely  with  the  outermost
Rock.   It was. . . Hayes blinked and leaned leaned forward to do a
double-take of  the data.  Distance from sun:  one hundred and
seventy  nine million. . . It was well within the habital belt.
	A prime candidate for terraforming.
	Now  he  had all the reason more to get back to
civilization.  A system  with  a world that could possibly be
terraformed would make his  fortune. He  could stake his claim and
name his price.  A  new  ship,  new equipment,  state  of  the art
stuff.  He could float  a  private enterprise!
	But first he needed a good look at that planet. From
halfway across  the system the data he could collect  was  limited.
From closer in, or with the planet eclipsing the sun, he would be
able to  get a spectrograph of the atmosphere.  The ships optics
were old,  but they were enough to obtain infra-red, UV, and
detailed spectrographs.  The AI could collate  this,  compare
differences  in direct solar radiations and the reflections  from
planetary atmospheres. It could produce a full spectrum
breakdown of an atmosphere,  from 300 to 800 nanometres.
Certain elements would  absorb  certain wavelengths,  producing
blank  absorption lines  in the spectrum.  It was a simple,  cheap,
and  effective procedure,  used for centuries, but of course the
closer you were , the more accurate it was.
	The  Aspiration  had the velocity to make the centre  of
the system  in  a  matter of days,  the problem  would  be
stopping. However,  even without the main engines there were
still  options open.
	Hayes leaned forward to study the screen,  scratching at
his ear. "Do we have enough juice in the PCUs for orbital
insertion around the second planet?"
	"Yes,  but  it would require using plasma from the
refinery reserves."
	"How would that affect repairs?"
	"The  smallest  moon has standard gravity of  .32
standard. There  would be insufficient fuel to soft-land the
processing  servos and initiate mining operations."
	"Okay.  What  about the fourth planet.  If we went  into
an elliptical  orbit  around that and went after  the  rocks  around
there, would there be fuel left over?"
	"If a broad elliptical orbit was used:  yes, it would save a
great deal more mass."
	That should be close enough for a good reading.  On
impulse he asked, "Would there be enough to send the command
module on  to the second planet while the main body proceeded
with repairs?"
	"If   the  module  was  launched  enroute  on  an
unpowered  ballistic intercept trajectory, there would be enough.
The module has ample charge to maneuver to a standard orbit.
Charge would be insufficient to return to mainship."
	Hayes nodded. "Alright,  make the course correction
needed to get  us  to the fourth planet.  I'll let you know if  I  want
to separate the comm module."

--\o/--


	The  corridor  ended  abruptly,  dropping  away  into
black infinity  in  all directions.  Titanium, SpunSteel, synthetic
and  collapsium  forests  of twisted  decking  and  beams
stretched  out  toward  the   dark. Fiberoptic  cables sparkled and
threw pinpoints  of  multicolored laserlight against jet metal.
Stancions and umbilicals that  had deliberately severed to jettison
the power module strobed warning lights.
	A faint jet of escaping oxy misted the vacuum before
boiling away.
	Somewhere  an electrical source was arcing out,
throwing  a harsh glare against cold metal like distant lightning
reflecting from stormclouds. Every time it flashed it threw a snap
of static through Hayes' headset.
	The  Agie plates in this sector were out.  He floated  fifty
metres or so away from the ship, his line stickywadded to a wall.
The twin beams from the worklamps mounted on his shoulder
harness played  across the kiblitzed rear of his ship.  It looked like
a demolished section of apartment building:  huge,  with the
naked interior exposed.
	He'd spent the best of a day surveying the damage.  The
ship was able to handle situations like this; it was the reason it
had been designed in modular sections. If that fusion plant had
blown before  he'd ejected it,  the damage would have been a  fair
bit worse. Perhaps some of  the  collapsium  plating  of the outer
hull would  have survived, but it would have been an empty husk
drifting forever. He sighed  into the helmet of his  hardsuit,  then
double-blinked at the glowing green icon that began reeling the
suit  in again.  The  winch located where the suit's navel would be
began winding on braided molecular fibre.
	It  would  take a LONG time to repair and  replace  this.  A
suitable rock or rocks would have to be found. Mining servos
would have to land,  excavate  ore and  fissionables, construct
processors and begin  processing,  then shuttle  it to the ship.  If
there was  insufficient  power,  the Factory  would  have to build
makeshift fission  plants, use them to jumpstart a fusion plant to
power the operations.
	Once power was secured, the work would proceed
rapidly. Part of the factory would produce more servos that'd seek
out  another asteroid and begin work there,  changing its orbit if
need be  to make  it more accessible.  This process would repeat
until  there could  be  a dozen asteroids swarming around the
mining  vessel. Automated factories would start churning out the
material necessary for the rebuilding of the vessel.
	There was a faint shock as he hit, the bright red
hardsuit's powered limbs absorbing almost all of the impact.
Impluse jets in the suit pulsed gas and he drifted toward the mass
of grey  metal and  yellow  and  black warning legends  that  was
the  bulkhead lock."Hey, Pan! Open Sesame."
	The lock swung open.
	That  was the advantage with the old model  AIs he
mused. They  were cheap,  well-tested,  and they'd usually picked
up  an incredible  database of miscellaneous vernacular.
	The  lock sealed with a heavy thud he felt through the
suit. Atmosphere and gravity came up to standard. The inner
hatch cycled and he popped the seal on the faceplate. External
noises and smells flooded in: the groan of the lifesupport, burnt
insulation, the clattering as unseen  servos laboured on whatever
repairs could  be  done.  The deck grids rang under the three
hundred and fity kilo suit as Hayes walked back to the main
external hatch. He had to duck in places: these areas of the ship
weren't built to accommodate the bulk  of a hardsuit.
	"Not to good," he sighed. "Any  estimates on how long
its going to take to rebuild?"
	The Aspiration's AI's reply was echoed through both the
ship intercom  and the suit's. "With optimum conditions my
estimate  is thirty months."
	Great! Futzing Great! Optimum conditions. Well, Murphy
still ruled,  so  give  it  thirty six months,  perhaps  more.  Three
years orbiting a dead rock, digging away without even turning a
profit. Kludge take it! He had expenses.
	Well, there was a choice he mused as he backed the suit
into its  bay and the clamps took hold.  He fumbled after  the
safety releases and popped them,  then keyed in the sequence on
the  arm pad.  Hermetic  seals hissed as they depressurized and
the  upper chest shell swung open.
	He didn't have to hang around. The ship was quite
capable of carrying on with mining proceedures by itself. He
could go on and check out that planet in the comm module. It was
only a few weeks away.  All  he'd have to do would be to break
away from the  main body  and make a classic Hohmann transfer
to   the  Second,  then insert into a loose elliptical orbit.  That'd let
the AI get some good  mapping shots and all the data he'd need
to stake a  claim. He  could sleep the transfer out in a slowsleep
and be awoken  by the AI to take a look at his motherlode.
	Hayes caught hold of the sweat-stained,  chamois-lined
hand grips  above the suit and hauled himself out of  the  shell.
The suit  sagged into the clamps and standby beads began to
glow  on the  limbs and around the faceplate rim.  With no-one
inside  it, the  hardsuit  was  a hulking inanimate red  shell  of
composite laminate.  Hayes  made a final check of the status panel
on  the wrist, then started back to the comm module.
	"Pan!"
	"Yes, Samuel?"
	"Get  the  comm module prepped for separation and  plot
the most fuel-efficient approach to the second planet.  Transfer
the necessary  fuel  and  allow an eight  percent  safety
margin."He ducked through a hatch and slid down a ladder.
"Yeah, also get the med unit in my quarters ready. I'm going to
sleep this one out."
	"Acknowledged,"the AI said.
	"Do you see any problems?"
	"There is a great deal of debris in this system. The
command module's shields could be overtaxed by a large strike."
	"What're the odds?"
	"Approximately two to the seventh against."
	Hayes  shrugged  and stepped aside to  dodge  a  spider-
like servo scuttling along the corridor,  it's legs clattering against
the deck grating. "I can live with that.  Go ahead. Oh," he stopped
and  tapped his jaw. "Would there be enough fuel for a  controlled
landing?"
	"Unknown," the  AI  said. "Course alterations enroute
may  be required.  Fuel will be required for orbital manuevering
systems. Basic life support requires minimal amounts.
Maintenance requires one point seven kilowatts.
	"In  an  emergency  the module is capable  of  an
unpowered landing.  However the module has sustained damage.
Avionics have been compromised and there is a chance of further
damage, perhaps destruction  of the module.  Return to orbit
would be  impossible until the mainship arrived to ferry fuel,
which would necessitate the construction of at least one lander."
	"Just  asking," said Hayes.  The main lift was located  in
a storage  bay.  The  battered bins around the  walls  were
crammed with junk,  working and nonfunctional parts.  There was
a status panel with too many lights burning amber.  The
elevator's doors rumbled open when Hayes palmed the call
button, then closed behind him with a hollow clang and the hiss
of a vacuum seal. The lift was designed to carry thirty ton mining
servos: it dwarfed a single human. When the mechanism began
moving upwards there was a slight  lurch  as  the agies
compensated  and  a  vibration  felt through the feet. It should've
been completely smooth: there must have been some damage to
the superconducting magnetic bearings.
	"Pan, how long until the launch window opens?"
	"Four days and seventeen hours."
	"Okay,  that  gives  me time to work out  a  shopping  list.
Anything you need."
	"A  gravitic and magnetic compression fusion power
core and mutistaged reactor system. Preferrably a Nikoma 270."
	Hayes sighed. "I was joking, Pan."
	"So was I."
	Hayes shook his head. Where'd it got that respose from?
Some of its previous owners must have been real exotics.


--\o/--



	Four days gone.
	Hayes  tugged  off his boots and stowed them  then sat
on the bunk, propped elbows upon knees and  rubbed  his eyes,
carrying his fingers up and through his hair. His quarters were
secured:  the desk clamped down,  bookcase doors closed  and
sealed.  He'd  triple  checked the plants in the  terrariums  and
assigned  a  couple  of servos to  look  after  them.  He'd  done
everything he could; the AI would take care of the rest.
	With a sigh he lay back on the bunk watching the lights
dim to a pale imitation of twilight. A small hatch in the wall on his
right  slid silently open and and a segmented metal  arm  unfolded.
When it touched his right arm it felt cold, then the cold was all
over his body.
	Status beads blinked gently to themselves in the dark
room. A  single  monitor displayed the vital signs  of  the
motionless figure  on  the bunk,  but there was nobody to read  it.
With  a gentle whine the padded bars of the safety restraint
closed  over the bunk.
	The  part  of the AI watching over Hayes  was  vigilant
and eternally  patient.  It would never leave the bunkside,  but  the
rest of it had other work to do.


--\o/--



	Attitude  jets  fired  and with the  ponderous  grace  of  a
pregnant  whale,  the Aspiration rolled along  its  Z  axis.  Heavy
mechanical noises sounded through the pressurized sections of
the hull as huge clamps and umbilicals retracted. Puffs of
atmosphere jetted into space,  glittering in the pale light of a
distant sun filtered through seven hundred million kilometres of
dust.
	Almost delicately for an object massing over three
thousand tons the sharp-angled elongated wedge that was the
command module eased away from enveloping nest of metals and
ceramics. Seen from inside  the  module,  the  main ship would
have  been  a  twisted landscape of cold metal hanging impossibly
overhead. Against that dark  hull,  the  whiteness  of the command
module  was  a  stark contrast.
	A  flattened  white wedge the size of  an  ancient
seagoing destroyer. Engine vents were scorched black. Its dorsal
tower ran from  amidships  to the stern and was a change  from
the  smooth metal  that  the rest of the hull  consisted  of,  instead
being covered  with  the  pipes and  gantries  of  umbilicals,
antenna arrays, docking clamps, and access tubes.
	There  was a series of blue flashes as the ion
manoeuvering units  pulsed.  Rapidly  the distance between  the
two  vehicles increased as their courses diverged.  A single, long,
fuel hungry burn from the module's thrusters then the engines fell
quiescent, not to be used again until the final days of its voyage.
The only sound inside was the soft whisper of dust against the
shields.
	In both vessels the presence of the AI maintained a
constant vigil.  It wasn't difficult for it to duplicate its functions
and store  a  copy  in each vessel,  but the  primary  backups  still
resided in the command module.  The duplicate in the mainship
was slightly slower,  because of its smaller memory,  dumber,
simply because  it  didn't have the hardware available  in  the
module. Nevertheless,  it  was still quite capable of doing  its  job.
A pulsed gravity tightbeam of binary bursts linked the two
vessels, a  system that didn't suffer from the time-lag posed by
standard radio,  but like the stretch drive,  it couldn't be used near
any object  of great mass.  If the mainship encountered a problem
it couldn't handle by itself, the module could download a section
of memory to help it.
	But  for  the next few weeks the only problem likely  to
be posed  came  from stray  rocks.  Until  something  happened,
the machine/s  were  content to watch over and  maintain  their
dark vessels,  deserted of organics, only the multitudes of  servos
scurrying about their mechanical ways.


--\o/--



	First there was the cold, then close on its heels the
aching of pins and needles through his limbs.
	Where?       He groped after the elusive thought,
struggling with ideas as sluggish as bubbles in molasses.
	Who?
	Hayes, uhnnn...Samuels Mason. Privateer. ID
GRMC1067...uh...488,   running the   class  five  miner   TMC   172
Aspiration. Why was it so difficult to think?
	The answer was there, it was just beyond reach...
	There  was a cool touch on his arm and a slight sting and
a throbbing.  A  warmth  suffused  his  arm.  For  a  time  he  lay
twitching, as helpless as a babe
	Oh...suspension.
	He  opened  his eyes to a glaring light  and  pink  floaters
spinning. He blinked several times, hard, and his vision cleared.
His quarters,  with the lights dim and comfortable,  the
psuedowooden panelling glowing warmly, the globular gunmetal
shape of a hovering servo grasping a cup in one manipulator.
	It  was  a  few minutes more before  Hayes  was  capable
of sitting  up to drink.  The AI was familiar with  the  dehydrating
effects  coma  had on the body and its mechanical  extension  had
prepared  water laced with a glucose supplement.  Hayes  took  it
gratefully.
	"Murphy! I hate coma!" grated Hayes. Still, the
discomfort of waking was still preferable to the long days of
insystem  travel. Strange  that to travel from planet to planet took
longer than  a stretch from on sun to another.
	The water helped.
	"Samuel, you are recovered?"
	"Uh-huh. Thanks, Pan. We there yet?"
	"No."
	"What?" Hayes looked up in surprise. "Why?"
	"Remote surveys on the second planet have been
completed and pilot intervention is required."
	Hayes  sat upright.  Autonomous units rarely required
human assistance. When they did, it was for a damn good reason.
	"Okay, what's going on?"
	"The  primary  survey reported a planet orbiting at  a
mean distance of 160.37 million kilometres. The equatorial diameter
is 11,412 kilometres.  Polar diameter is 11,386.  Mass estimated  at
4.9837x10^24 kilograms. Atmosphere consists mainly of nitrogen,
76 percent, and oxygen 23 percent. The remaining percentage
consists of various noble gases, water vapour, and carbon
dioxide."
	It  had  taken  a few seconds to  percolate  through
Hayes' skull.  Now it hit him,  but still it took a second for his brain
to engage the gears to his jaws.
	"Th...That's earth norm."
	"Not exactly. There is a fluc..."
	"Burn it!" Hayes exploded. "It's close enough!" He
swung out of the   bunk  and  lurched  to  his  feet,   cursing  as
he   wove unsteadily. "Pan, put the data up on the screen in here."
	On  the  other  side of the room the mirror  above  the  old
wooden desktop turned mat black and graphics and text filled  the
space.  Hayes  wobbled over and dropped into the chair  to  begin
reading.
	"...Average pressure an estimated 915 millibars.
Temperature 15  degrees.  A  well-developed  atmosphere, ozone
layer...ionosphere...This isn't happening."
	The  information continued to scroll through the  screen
as Hayes flopped back in the chair and stared in disbelief.


--\o/--



	In the five centuries after mankind had left his
motherworld he  had ranged far and wide across his galactic arm.
Probes  and huge exploration ships had stretched thousands of
light years  in all direction,  on journeys that had taken decades.
On charts the bubble that indicated the settled, civilized areas of
human space was  hundreds  of light years in radius and  still
infinitesimal against the area that represented explored space.
	In all that time,  in spite of all the expenditure of effort
and  resources,  no planet capable of supporting  humans  without
artificial   support  had  been  discovered.   There   were
	the terraforming  projects:  very  expensive and time
consuming  and artificial.  Mars  was a garden paradise,  catering
only  to  the obscenely  affluent,  but  it was simply  an  imitation,
another earth, with imported terran flora and fauna.
	Here,  before  Hayes' eyes,  was a world that would
require little - if any - work.  The brilliant blue,  green,  brown,  and
white promised a world abundant in water,  with seas and  sunsets
and wind and rain...all the natural phenomena Hayes had only
ever seen simulated in a habitat. And the greens...
	He spent hours at the screens watching the  world,
studying the surface through every instrument at his disposal.
Those green patterns  and the amounts of nitrogen and carbon
dioxide  in  the atmosphere  could only mean life.  Prolific life in
the  form  of plants,  perhaps  some lower animals too. Unless
some terran seedship he didn't know about had visited here, it
was alien life.  Pure  and exotic.
	Aside form intense natural atmospheric discharges, there
were  no electrical emanations of any  kind  that  he could  detect,
nor any sign of city lights or  aerial  activity. There  was  nothing
in orbit that might pass  for  any  kind  of spacecraft so there was
no unknown colony there, no civilisations.
	Uncharted and unclaimed and uninhabited. It was his
fortune, something  he'd  never dared to even dream.  Seen  from
space  a sunrise  takes on a glory all its own,  the dark  shield
burning like  a  crescent of fire-gold as the sun rose  from  beyond
the curve of the horizon.  Its three moons arrayed in stately rings,
like necklaces, the two smaller satellites on a much closer orbit
than their larger companion. A gem. An oasis in a desert.
	It was his future.
	"Hayes, when you strike it lucky, you don't kludge
around!" For  this  he  could name his  price.  He'd  have
companies throwing  themselves at his feet for the rights to the
claim.  A bit of careful playing and he'd be set for life.
	It  couldn't  be  that easy.  There had  to  be  a  drawback
somewhere:  perhaps  severe  tectonic activity or  solar  flares,
probably new kinds of bacteria that would prove inimical.  If so,
selling  out  would  be  the best  way.  A  corporation  had  the
wherewithall to cope with such things.  However if,  on the other
hand,  it was clean,  perhaps he could develop it himself,  lease the
land out to companies. In the long run that would work out to be
far more lucrative. The place wouldn't be worth much as far as
mining went: it was far cheaper to hunt rocks. But as a resort, a
toy-town, it had definite possibilities.
	Could he do that?
	Again  he turned his eyes to the glowing gem on the
screen. It  pained him to look on such a thing,  a thing of  beauty,
and picture it as a tourist trap.  Hell,  people would pay a  fortune
just  to live in an orbital overlooking a world like  this.  What
would  this  picture look like with the glitter  of  hundreds  of
tincans swinging around the planet?
	The  rim of fire around the planet  was  spreading,
washing across  oceans  and continent until a cresent  glowed
blue-green with  white  clouds  swirling in patterns  dictated  by
coriolis force.
	Hayes  breathed  out  in reverence as  he  watched  the
day spreading  across  the planet.  Softly he  murmured, "I  dub
thee Illuminatus."
	"Registered," the AI said.


--\o/--



	Days later and more details were visible.  Without the
main telescope  the  AI was restricted,  but still  the  database  had
collated  large  amounts  of  data  with  just  the  limited  low
resolution optical,  gravitational,  and electromagnetic  sensors
available.  Like Terra,  the planet was mostly water:  62 percent
water  to 38 percent land.  Most of that land went into one  huge
continent  stretching  across two hemispheres.  Aside  from  that
there  were  two polar land masses as well  as  numerous  islands
scattered about the vast ocean.
	The continent was impresseve, Hayes concluded.
Covering over 70  million square kilometres,  an area far greater
than any  one continent  on  Terra.  Its westernmost seaboard was
gentle  land climbing  to  a formidible mountain range  forming  the
backbone running the length of the landmass.
	But  compared with the crater on the eastern  seaboard
they were inconsequential.
	Hayes whistled as he watched the graphic the computer
traced on  the screen. "That must've been one mother of a bang
when  that one hit."
	It  was ancient,  incredibly so,  and distorted by  tectonic
drift,  but  it was still recognisable.  Two thousand  kilometres
across it was still roughly circular except where the ocean  took a
semi-circular bite out of it. The crater wall had deteriorated. On
the  landward side it was now white-capped  mountain  ranges,
ranks  of huge mountains that joined with the chain running
down the centre of the continent.  Even part of the rim that had
been breached by the ocean survived as an arc of islands
separated  by narrow  channels.  The crater floor was landscaped
with  rolling plains.  Doubtless  the asteroid had fused vast
expanses  of  the ground to glass when it had struck,  however
natural process  had prevailed and now there was plant life,
showing green and  gold. The glittering threads of rivers twisted
their way to the sea and
Hayes could just make out the lighter wash where they
discharged sediment.
	Murphy,  how he wished for the high power optics!  He'd
have been able to count the trees in a forest. As the situation
stood, he could either make do with these low -quality pictures,
or get closer...
	Was it possible?


--\o/--



	The AI hemmed and hawed for a while, reminding Hayes
that if the  module  grounded it would have to wait for the
mainship  to arrive before it could lift again.
	"I  know," he  shrugged. "But why sit in orbit  doing
nothing when I might as well be down there looking around. Even
if I have to do it in a hardsuit."
	"The planet is an unknown. There could be dangers..."
	Hayes snorted. "Can you name anything down there
that'd  have a hope of penetrating a collapsium hull?"
	That  got  it.   The  computer  hesitated  a  second,   then
confessed,  "Nothing that would have a greater than a five and  a
half million chance of happening.  Also there would be a  problem
in  maintaining  communications with the  mainship.  There  is  a
choice between radio contact or launching a relay satellite."
	"Go  with  the sat," Hayes said. "Do we have a  power
sat  on board?"
	"No.  The  only units in the bays are three Boeing NJVC
MK6 communication relays."
	They would have been useful for a little extra power, but
no matter.  Hayes  ran  a demographic program for a forecast  if  he
continued to consume fuel at the current rate and spent a  minute
studying the results.  No problem.  A smooth landing would
leave more  than ample mass in the containment fields  for
lifesupport and other basic functions.
	The final approach he would make at a shallow  angle;
still more  savings  on  fuel.  That would enable the  module  to
make several  orbits of Illuminatus,  altitude decaying all the  time,
during  which  the  cameras  could  take  more  detailed   survey
pictures.
	He pondered over a landing zone.
	In  the electronic web of the VR interface he spun  a
three dimensional simulation of Illuminatus in full colour and
floated above it.  From forty-thousand kilometres the land was
shades  of green,  the  white-capped mountains looking like paper
crumpled, then  spread out again.  A twitch of an eye and the
planet  spun beneath him,  thousands of kilometres of sea and
islands blurring past.  The coastline appeared as a streak of white
clouds on  the horizon  then was below him.  Another twitch and
it slowed  to  a crawl.  Hayes flicked a sequence of command
signals, as fluent as a  virtuoso on a lightboard,  and the eastern
seaboard  began  to drift beneath him.
	Where?
	The  land  was  mind-bogglingly huge!  He'd  never  been
on anything larger than a planetoid that he could circumnavigate
in a standard day...on foot.  Here there were plains that would take
weeks to cross. Or mountains ten kilometres high.
	The crater drifted into view.
	An  area  small enough to be covered  by  drones.  A
varied topology and - hopefully - biology. Again, why not?
	Hayes wondered what the seaside was like.


--\o/--



	High  above  the blue-white curve of the planet  the
ship's engines fired, nudging the module from its orbit. Sunlight
glared from white surfaces as the vehicle rolled,  turning its belly
to the planet.
The window was open. The command module began its descent.
	From  the  cocoon of the VR interface  Hayes  monitored
the entry.  There was little he could do, the AI was quite capable
of controlling the ship and could respond far faster than he
could. The  Aspiration's  AI  had a vast battery of  sensors
feeding  it information.  There  was a database larger than the
libraries  of earth  it could use to cross-reference the data,  then
cables  of laser  light transmitted its reactions.  All done in the
time  a Human  was deciding something was wrong.  With one of
the  neural networks  a human could match a computer for
reaction  time,  but not  for  the accuracy.  There was a far greater
chance  of  the jellyware making a mistake than the hardware.
	So  Hayes watched as the planet spun around  him,
inverting until  he hung over it.  This was realtime,  the cameras on
full resolution.  Off to the sides green displays flickered,  denoting
altitude,  speed  relative to the planet,  angle of  attack,  and
various beads showing the condition of ship's systems.
	Then more indicators flashed to life as the ship skimmed
the outer exosphere at Mach 27.
	All cameras were rolling, probbing the planet in the
visible spectrum,  infrared, ultraviolet, X-ray. As the module eased
into a descent angle at -45 degrees latitude the AI set aside a
block of memory for sorting and storing the influx of information.
What it was especially interested in was the landing zone.
	Illuminatus  sped by beneath as the ship's speed
decreased.
	On  the horizon a brilliant smear of  white  appeared,
resolving into a swirling cloud formation covering a swatch of the
western seaboard.  The  cameras could pick up flashes of
lightning  among the thunderheads. Scans of the terrain below
went to shit.
	Hayes cursed.
	Minutes later and it was past them,  but the AI had
gathered enough to confirm the landing zone.
	A hundred kilometres up.  Braking. The ship shuddering
as it began  to enter atmosphere proper.  Stubby flanges unfolded
from the flanks of the ship and twisted, disrupting the airflow
around the superheated hull.
	Speed was sliced to Mach 15.
	The sea was below them.  Sub-tropical waters stretched
away blue and serene.  Reefs - or something analogous to them -
became obvious  as they interfered with currents around the
islands  and atols.  If  there was coral,  Hayes knew,  there was at
the  very least life beyond plants. By the looks of the reefs they
were big enough,  old  enough,  that something considerably
more  complex should have evolved.
	Still  there  was no sign of  any  electrical  activity.  No
lights beyond natural fires and volcanic vents.
	Hours later and again the continent was creeping up
over the horizon  to the east.  This time the sharp edge of
darkness  was spreading across the face of the land.
	Mach 10 as the module crossed the dark ranges down
the heart of the continent.
	At ten kilometres there was air enough to generate a  thin
whine  around  the stubby fins of the module and  send  wisps  of
superheated vapour curling away as the ship bellied in.
	Aeronautically speaking,  the Aspiration was a brick.  A
very heavy  brick.  The stubby control surfaces were  for
directional control, with no hope of keeping the vehicle aloft. As
the crater wall approached they came into play,  slewing the ship
into an  S shaped approach. Velocity dropped on every turn, as
did altitude.
	Now there was a cushion of white hot air washing
against the module's  underside.  Streams of fire fled back from
the  stubby wings  as the final mountain passed and it was above
the  crater rim,  the  terrain hidden by bank upon bank  of  clouds,
glowing silver in the light of the three moons.  In the distance
lighting flickered.
	Louvered  slots opened in the module's  underbelly:
ramjets venting short bursts of high-velocity superheated air.
The ship levelled, banked, describing  a  slow  spiral  down  to
five, then two kilometres.  Hayes  was  transfixed,  the first wisps
of  cirrus clouds  flashing  past,  turned to phosphorescent  glory
by  the moonlight.  A...bird.  He'd seen some of them once in a
reckhab: colourful  feathered things fluttering around the
lightcore  and fouling the airplant.
	"Two minutes to wing deployment," the AI informed
him.
	Barely above Mach 2, the ship levelled and lined  itself
up, then flared.  The entire vessel shuddered,  superdense metal
booming as  the airflow  buffeted  it,  wrenching at the  control
surfaces.  Air brakes  sprang  from  the  hull and the  plasma
retros  fired  a controlled burst. Numerics in the pilot's display
flickered madly as the vehicle gained altitude, slowing to the point
of a stall.
	The  AI  timed  it as only a  machine  can.  With  faultless
precision the parafoil exploded and unfolded from its pod on  the
dorsal  ridge.  Like  a  vast jellyfish  the  transparent  canopy
snapped  into shape with a boom to drown the thunder as the
slipstream caught it.  The two  and  a half  square kilometres of
monomolecular compressed Singlex  that composed the parafoil
was pulled taut, but in no danger of tearing despite the thousands
of tonnes it was supporting.
	Now it had wings. Almost silently,  with an occasional jet
of fire from  a thruster,  the module dipped and spiraled down  into
the grey cotton of the thunderheads.


--\o/--



	The video screens were blotted out by the clouds,
displaying only  swirling  mists and droplets of moisture
punctuated  by  a flash  as  lighting  rippled through a  cloud.  The
entire  ship trembled  slightly  as  it ran  through  severe
turbulence.  The external  broad-band  monitors  - IF,  UV,  etc -
were hindered, periodically   dissolving  into white-out as
electrical discharges crackled around them.
	Silently  the  Aspiration's command module flashed
across  a breach in the clouds,  the ground below clear for a split
second, then plunged into the cloud banks again.
	Hayes' watched the green bar of the artificial horizon  tilt
then  level  off again as the ship's inertial  navigation  system
homed  in on the designated landing zone.  Altitude continued  to
drop, below 5,000, the airspeed at just over 700 klicks.
	They  dropped out from the low cloud cover and the
starlite cameras flicked in. Flat plains were passing below the ship.
Once they  crossed  what looked like a long line  of  forest.
Growing along a river? Hayes looked around with fascination,
seeing as if the bulk of the ship wasn't there. The plains seemed to
stretched off  to  the horizon,  to merge with the dark wall  of
mountains supporting the roof of clouds.
	Long minutes passed in silence.
	When it came,  the AI's voice startled him,  saying,
"Landing may be rough."
	The altimeter was counting down, the final couple of
hundred feet flashing by too quickly. Speed was 267 klicks.
Altitude into two digits...
	Shallow gullies flashed by,  then an impact that rattled
his teeth  and pounded him against the restraint  web.  Anti-
inertial systems fluctuated under the strain.  Cameras went dark.
hull and structural supports boomed and screamed. At the rear of
the craft struts  integral to the ship's docking facilities were  bent
and crumpled  as it hit stern-first,  gouging a huge rut through  the
alien earth.
	The  sound  of  wind and rain in grass  was  joined  by
the ticking and groaning of cooling metal.


--\o/--



	A  thermal  lance  glared like  a  miniature  sun,  throwing
dancing shadows and sparks as the servos swarmed over the
damaged section of inner hull, cutting wreckage apart. Other units
carted the scrap away.
	Hayes  blinked  away  the afterimages and  shook  his
head, sending the beam of his lamp bobbing around the
crawlspace.  Not good.  The collapsium section of the hull had
held well,  but  in this section of the stern, standard
titanium/collapsium composite structural supports inside the hull
had failed.  It would take  a while to replace them.  There was other
damage,  mostly  minimal: here a cracked coolant pipe, a strap
breaking and sending a piece of equipment careening and
smashing a console.  The parafoil  was being salvaged, ready for
recycling.
	The crawlways riddled the ship behind the walls,  under
the floors,  in the ceilings.  They were close,  cramped,  and  dark.
Hayes  hated  them.  He  swore  as a  servo  scuttled  past  him,
clattering along the wall on its six legs.  He hated these damned
places and his mild claustrophobia - unusual in a spacer - didn't
make it easier, but he made a point of eyeballing things himself.
	He  paused  to  open an inspection  panel,  spending  a
few seconds  to trace the optical connection inside,  then  pulled
a cable  from  his  wrist Nexus and jacked  it  into  a  port.  The
holographic  display  glowed to life above the Nexus  and  Hayes'
fingers played across the lists of files, selecting a diagnostics
program.  Circuit after circuit was tested by the wrist unit, all
coming up green.
	While the program ran,  Hayes leaned back and sighed.
Wedged into a stuffy tube while a whole planet waited outside...
	"Hey! Pan!"
	The  intercomm  indicator  on  the  Nexus  flashed  on.
"Yes, Samuel?"
	"Are the tests done yet?"
	"The  medical  systems  are examining  samples  as  fast
as possible.  I  have dispatched a pair of remote servos to  collect
samples from remote areas.  So far no inimical bacteria have been
found,  however at least another day of testing is required to be
reasonably  certain a human can survive without  protection.  The
longer  the  testing period the  better.
	"Preliminary  soil analysis reveals an abundance of
silicates, also large quantities of lead,  gold, silver, zinc, copper,
mercury, and tin. There are low trace readings of iron, nickle. Rare
earth elements..."
	"Hold it," Hayes raised a hand to interrupt. "That's not a
representative  sampling, is it."
	"That is just in this area."
	"Well,  get  some  more  servos out to  take  more
samples. There're two geoprobes on board:  use em and get back
to me  with the results." The diagnostics had come up clean.  He
unjacked  the plug and closed the inspection panel. "Now, what
I'm interested in is if I can live out there."
	The  AI hesitated.  It was designed to protect its
operator and  it  was old enough that it had had experience  with  a
wide sampling of humans. That experience told it they would
often take risks  a  machine would deem unnecessary.  At the
moment  it  was seventy-three  percent certain a human could
survive  unaided.  A human might decided to risk it, therefore...
	"Insufficient data."


--\o/--



	This day the view in the holorals was real. Hayes tended
his plants with panoramas of seemingly endless plains around
him. The grasses were golden,  blending to a slight purple where
they  met the  sky.  Patterns of light changed as wind riffled
through  the stalks. He spread some more nutrient on the plant
beds and turned the  sprinkler  system  on low.  The  transparent
display  cases housing the plants filled with mist.
	Was that what those distant cloud-topped mountains
would  be like? Massive peaks enshrouded in mists?
	Murphy,  but he longed to be out there.  Fifteen years
he'd spent in this ship, but suddenly it seemed close. A new world
and it  was just beyond those walls.  The holorals weren't  the
same thing at all.
	Out  of  idle interest he called up a window in one  of  the
holorals,  listing the data coming in.  Some of it was beyond his
ken.  Molecular biology,  complex organic chemistry.  The AI  was
recording EVERYTHING.
	Hayes  shook  his  head and went across to  open  a
storage cabinet.  The  small package he pulled out was of genuine
tooled leather,  the tiny blades and trimmers inside shiny, razor
sharp. He  spread  it out on the biograss beside him as he  set
himself down tailor-fashion,  selected a pair of tiny clippers and
began trimming the delicate branches and needles away.
	"Samuel."
	"Hmmm?"He didn't look up from his work.
	"A servo has caught a local animal.  It's being brought
back to the module now."
	Now he looked up."What is it? What kind?"
	"A  small  herbivore.  Quadraped.  Perhaps analogous  to
an terran rabbit."
	"A what?"
	An  archive  picture appeared on a holoral.  A  small
furry creature  with  long pointed ears and big hind  legs.  It
hopped around the screen,  looking harmless.  Beside it the AI
showed  a computer reconstruction of the Illuminatus equivalent:
round ears like furry radar dishes, bulbous black eyes, black nose,
and long whiskers. It ran, didn't hop.
	When  the  servo  scurried back to a  service  lock  it  was
carrying a limp bundle with a laser burn through the base of  its
skull.  More servos met it to seal the prize into a cannister and cart
the package into the heart of the ship.
	Hayes  leaned  against the transparent  plex  isolating
the sterile medical bay watching the multiple lenses and
manipulators of surgical servos hovering over the small carcass
on the  table. Already there were more probes and sensors stuck
onto and into it than any human patient would warrant.  When the
scalpels came out he watched for a second,  then grimaced and
turned away. "Christo! People used to EAT that?"
	He  walked back to the elevator and leaned against the
back wall,  watching  the  door  close: "Main  deck."  The  lift
moved smoothly. "Pan, how are the tests going?"
	The AIs voice came back as unperturbed as ever. "The
creature is a female, warm blooded and marsupial-"
	"Marsupial?"
	"A  mammal of the order Marsupialia.  The young are
ejected from  the womb before they are completely developed and
complete their  term  in  an  external  pouch.   On  Terra  these
include kangaroos, wallabies, bandicoots,  opossums, and
wombats. Found principally in the Australian region and South
and central America."
	"Right. Thanks."
	"Warm  blooded  and marsupial  with  a  rapid,  carbon-
based metabolism.   Blood  temperature  is  approximately  twenty-
seven degrees  with  a probable pressure of  about  30/20.  Amino
acid groups have been broken down into - "
	"Hey! Just a second!"The elevator stopped, the doors
opening and  Hayes exiting. "Look,  I just want to know,  can I
live  out there?"
	The  hesitation  was so slight Hayes never  noticed. "So
far tissue  biopsies  have detected no  inimical  bacteria.  However,
there  are proportionally large amounts of lead and potassium  in
the animal's system.  Ingesting native fauna or water would prove
hazardous or fatal in the long term."
	Hayes  entered the living area where his pruning tools
were still  spread out on the floor.  He knelt to pack them back
into their  places and rolled the kit up.  The plants were  beautiful,
organic masterpieces of life,  but still the terrariums were poor
mockeries  of  the verdant excesses outside.  Standing  before  a
holoral  he could see the wind in the grasses,  he could see  the
clouds and mountains,  all as clear as if they were just beyond a
window. But it wasn't even that satisfying.
	He stared into the holoral for a while longer,  tapping  his
hand indecisively against his leg, then spun on his heel and made
for the lift.

--\o/--


	Metal decking grids rang under his feet when he stepped
from the  lift,  drowning the hum as the door  closed.  Low
intensity worklamps  powered  up as he entered,  illuminating a
room  with cargo  doors running off to bays and the heavy seals
of the dorsal access  hatch.  Normally  used  when docking with  a
habitat  or another ship, it was now dogged tight.
	The walls were white chitite, battered but clean,
convoluted with  the  molded doors of lockers and storage  bins
with  their bright legends and warning logos.  Hayes pressed his
right  wrist against a locker,  the imbedded chip popping the door.
There was an  assortment of equipment inside,  from packs to
work  lights, including four suits:  a fairly recent model red-shelled
hardsuit and three softsuits:  two of those Kisuki-Ford models
over  fifty years  old,  their  green pectoral armour  and  smartseal
fabric scarred.  The  last was an Altair Fabrications  softsuit,
barely three years old,  gleaming white.  Hayes checked the
diagnostic, then unplugged it from the support systems.
	As light as an off-the-rack standard suit,  highly flexible,
it  was  his suit of preference for areas too restricting  for  a
hardsuit.  It  had  damned effective life-support  and  recycling
facilities,  chameleon capabilities, and best of all the Flexlink outer
layer  was  impact  armour:  for  all  intensive  purposes puncture
proof.
	Hayes separated the suit into its components,  then
stripped off his boots,  pants,  underwear,  and nexus, leaving his
tunic, and pulled the suit's lower half on.  There was an
uncomfortable moment  as the catheters lodged themselves in
place.  The  inside lining  inflated  to hug his legs.  The boots
with  their  nearindestructable high-grip soles bonded with the
leggings, the seam almost imperceptible.  As with the leggings,
the padded jacket's lining adjusted itself to fit.
	"Samuel."
	Hayes  picked a set of gauntlets off their rack and
stuffed them into a pocket. There was no point in trying to ignore
an AI: If  they  wanted  to talk they'd generate a  subroutine  to
keep trying  until they got your attention.  You'd go mad before
they got bored.
	"Yeah?"
	"You are intending to leave the ship?"
	"Uh-huh."
	"That is not wise.  There are still tests to be completed. I
do not have the facilities to be entirely-"
	"Pan, you have the specs for this suit."
	"Yes."
	"What  are  the  chances of  bacteria  penetrating  if  it's
sealed?"
	"Close to zero."
	"Fine.  Sas.  Then I'm going out. No more debate...that's
an order."
	"Acknowledged."
	Hayes grunted and pulled a helmet from its charging
sockets. He pressed the TEST stud and the status beads glowed
green. Power cells full,  respirator cycling perfectly,  software
diagnostics reading 100%.
	From  another  locker he withdrew a  canteen  and
ratcakes, packing  the  canteen  into  its  place  in  his  suit  and
the concentrates into an empty pouch. He hesitated over the
emergency flares,  then shrugged,  grabbed a handful of thermal
flares  and seismic  charges  and  stuffed them into  the  suit's
dispenser.
	He sealed the locker, then pondered for a second and
crossed the room to another bin. His Personal Ident Chip
unlocked it. The  thing they'd  found,  the  psuedo-rabbit...pabbit?
had over-developed eyes and ears.  It had powerful legs for
running. It  burrowed.  That meant there was something it had
evolved  to flee and hide from.
	Predators.
	And perhaps there were things that didn't make these
little pabbits their exclusive diet.
	The universe was a dangerous place,  a place it was not
wise to  journey in unless prepared.  Asides from  nature,  there
was always  the human factor.  Privateers and Jumpers lurked  in
the outermost  regions of human habitation and on the fringes of
the space lanes.  Skirmishes between systems and habitats did
happen. A century ago the Aspiration had been involved in a
minor war, the old  miner being commandeered and fitted with
missile,  railgun, and  plasma cannon pods to blockade a
stretchpoint.  She had  one kill - an old heavy carrier retrofitted to
transport batteries of thermonuke pulse-bombs.
	Those  old  railguns were still there:  seven  pods  on  the
mainship  still harboured the turrets with their coiled  gravitic
accelerators.  They  were used for destroying any rocks that  may
wander too close to a mining installations,  also for  persuading
privateers to keep their distance.
	Risk  didn't only travel outside the  habitats.  There  were
places,  especially  the refineries and Markets,  where only  the
incredibly  brave  or  foolish went without  some  form  of  life
assurance. Hayes preferred the type with a barrel or blade.
	The  locker was filled with a clutter of weaponry
collected by Hayes and previous ships owners,  from Bowies to
old  chemical firearms to more recent plasma sprayers.  Most of
them were antipersonnel:  effective against humans but of little
effect against a vital bulkhead or life-support equipment. They
were all in mint condition, the servos breaking them down to clean
regularly.
	He wanted something lightweight,  with enough punch
to  stop anything that might have a chance of doing him some
damage, even in the skinsuit. Something that also made an
impressive bang.  He choose  an electrothermochemical  handgun
with  an  explosive  load.   Big, angular,  and black,  the tribarreled
weapon was  psychologically reassuring,  but  the water cylinder
needed replacing,  as did  the battery.  It took a while to hunt
down the replacements, but when installed they worked perfectly.
	Clipped  to  his  belt  the  weight  of  the  weapon  was  a
reassurance.

--\o/--

	Through  its  multitude  of eyes and other  sensors  the
AI watched Hayes prepping the suit. Through suit monitors it
saw his elevated pulse and blood pressure,  his accelerated
breathing. In its own way,  the machine too felt concern,  part of it
compelled to  persuade him to stop and wait,  but countermanded
by  Hayes' order.  Again  it scanned the ship's perimeter with
every  local sensor  available,  then  it switched to the drones  and
servos, sections of its personality monitoring over twenty eyes
scuttling though the grass or skimming the plains nearby.
	Pabbits  dived for their burrows as the shadow of an
aerial passed overhead. Large herbivores stopped grazing and
stared at a servo from bulbous eyes,  but nowhere did it detect
anything that would warrant overriding Hayes' order for
noninterference.
	Still  it 'felt' anxiety.  Submolecular gateways rippled  in
indecision,  the arrays favouring overriding Hayes' order  losing
out.  It needed more data before it could sway the balance. There
were  discrepancies in the final aerial images,  so  the  machine
allocated more processing time to analysing these.  If there  was
something there, it would find it.

--\o/--


	The  decontamination spray smelt like pine needles  and
sea air  and  tingled  as  it touched  the  skin  then  dried  almost
instantly.  The light in the battered whiteness of the main  lock
increased  to an uncomfortable level,  then faded back to  normal
intensity.
	Hayes  blinked,  rubbed  his eyes and pulled  the
faceplate down.  With  a hiss it sealed and double-locked.
Pressure in  the  lock dropped  and the suit expanded as the
atmosphere  was  evacuated, pumped  back  into the ship.  For a
second the lock was  in  hard vacuum, then the pressure returned
as air was pumped back in, air from the outside.
	Atmosphere inside and out equalized.  Warning legends
lit up and  strobes flashed.  Locking bolts rotated  and  withdrew.
The seals  on the door cracked and the massive hatch slid  out,
then sideways.
	Helmet polarisors came on as sunlight flooded into the
dock. It wasn't the raw,  searing stuff of near-stellar space,
unfiltered light that could blind eyes and sear skin tissues. This
light was slightly  harsher than the illumination in the  Aspiration;
maybe moderately  uncomfortable  to  human  eyes,   but  not
terminal.
	Hayes  stepped out of the lock:  cautiously.  The  ramp
and docking  umbilicals that would be available at a habitat
weren't there and the hatch opened onto the port side of the  hull,
high up,  so it was a long way down. Cautiously he was picking
his way across  exposed conduits and connections,  then he
froze,  eyes widening in awe.
	The  horizon was endless,  greens and dusty golds  and
hazy purples,  the  sky...it  was  nothing like the  depth  of  space,
nothing like the sharp pinpoints of the stars as seen from a cold
rock:  a boundless blue emptiness that captured the eye and  drew
it in, deeper and deeper.
	Hayes swayed and caught at a flex pipe to steady
himself.  A glance down and he swallowed.  Beyond the docking
clamps was  the platform  of the external lift and beyond that the
hull  dropped away, straight down.
	He  couldn't count the times he'd stepped out of  this
very lock  when going EVA,  but this was so different,  so
impossibly different.  Of course he wasn't afraid of heights: no
deep spacer was.  He  could hang from a belt clamp over a five
hundred  metre deep cargo hold without a qualm,  but this wasn't
normal. Perhaps it  was the wind,  winding its way around the
grounded  ship  and upsetting his sense of balance.
	Anyway,  he  kept  a  hand on the control box  as  the  lift
platform  swung out,  then began crawling down the sheer face  of
the white hull, now marked with carbon-scoring. The module's ID -
TMC-172  - stencilled in black letters three times Hayes'  height
passed behind him, his shadow becoming invisible against the
dark surface then reappearing against the white collapsium skin.
	Despite the parafoil the ship had struck hard. It lay in the
remains  of a hill shattered when a vessel massing more  than  it
did impacted and tore the top off.  That rubble now lay banked up
around the ship,  covering perhaps two metres of the lower  hull;
more towards the stern.  It was onto this mess of torn loam, sod,
and boulders that Hayes dropped.
	And promptly landed on his ass.
	"Samuel?"The   AI's   voice  sounded   in   his
	ears."Your biomonitors show..."
	"I'm  fine,"he  spat,	sitting  up  and  slapping  a
	palm disgustedly down on the dirt. "Just slipped."
	Of all the possible drawbacks he'd been  expecting,
walking wasn't one of them.  It was the combination of near full
gravity and the treacherous footing; his life of smooth decks in
habitats and  ships  and micro-gravity on rocks hadn't  prepared
him  for
this.  It  took  him a while to clamber across the  loose  rubble
lying  around the Aspiration and he nearly twisted his ankle  more
than  once as an unstable rock rolled underfoot.  A  small  servo
scuttled  to the top of a knoll to watch him as he clambered  out of
the rut the ship had left.
	The grasses around the landing site were burned,
charring a great black, lopsided streak across the countryside.
The rains on the  night of the drop were a blessing,  otherwise  the
wildfire would have raced across the grasses, wiping the slate
clean.

Every  time  Hayes' boot touched it raised a  puff  of  dark soot.  It
reminded him of the obsidian ash found on some  larger asteroids,
but this stuff, instead of slowly drifting back to the surface, was
wafted away. Stolen by the wind.

--\o/--


	He  was still occasionally stumbling over tussocks of
grass and  an  odd,  low-lying  type  of  bush over-endowed  with
long creeping branches that seemed intent on tripping him.
	It was on a broad,  windswept hilltop that Hayes stopped
to survey his world, his breath hissing in his helmet. The
Aspiration was  behind him,  now only the top of the hull and a
few  sensor array stacks visible above the gullies and hills.  Far,
far away to  the  west the hazy purple-blue-grey of the  mountains
merged with low, dark clouds. Other points of the compass bore
hills and grass and long stretches of greenery sprawled across the
skyline. He  dialed  up the magnification in his helmet and  the
greenery resolved  into banks of bushes and larger  plants.  Trees,
Hayes guessed.
	Slowly he sank down into a crouch, arms resting on
knees. So much, so big.
	"And it's all mine!" he grinned.
	"What?"
	"Forget it,  Pan,"Hayes replied then tapped the sequence
on the Nexus to disable the communicator.
	For  several minutes he watched the clouds  drifting
slowly across the landscape,  the wind rippling across the
grasses, then he raised hands to twist the seals on his helmet. The
faintest of hisses sounded as the visor swung up. The air outside
was cool, a sharp shock against his skin.  There were smells and
scents, damp coolness,  a  rich tang.  He reached down to pluck a
single  leaf from a plant and held it up to his nose,  crushing it
between his fingers: almost a pine-scent, like his bonsai.
	Standing,  he popped the seals again,  turning the neck
ring to  lift the whole helmet off and clip it to his belt.  The  wind
caught at his close-cropped blonde hair like a live thing.
	On  his  wrist  the Nesxus' comm light blinked  on  and
on, unheeded.

--\o/--


	It  was  perhaps three kilometres before the  servo
dogging Hayes'  footsteps  began to falter.  It was  a  localised
repair robot,  not really designed for long distance travel across
this type of terrain.  With the Aspiration out of sight it had
reached the limits of its effective range.
	It hesitated once with a delicate metallic leg poised,  then
turned and began scuttling back along its tracks.

--\o/--


	So, what now?
	By  now acquainted with the uneven ground Hayes was
able  to let his thoughts drift off on tangents.  With a warm sun
and cool air it was pleasant.  Strange how perspectives change. . .
in  space it was a star, on a planet it was a sun, the sun.
	He could get used to this, he mused. Well, why not? He
could take this time as a vacation.  The years it would take to
rebuild the Aspiration he could use as a vacation,  explore this
world  at his leisure.  Perhaps try skiing,  or surfing, hang gliding.
He'd tried the latter once before,  in a habitat,  but here,  with the
unlimited skies, it would be very different: Huge monomolecular
wings and foamed framework and you could soar forever.
	He resettled the helmet in the crook of his arm.
	And he'd have to get a beacon installed somewhere. His
claim marker.  He  could  even start construction on a fusion plant
downside.  That'd give  him  a reliable power source so he could
begin work on a power plant for repressurising the module's
containment unit.
	But  before  then there was so much more  to  explore.
He'd break  a  surface rover out of stowage to get  a  little  further
afield. There were some pictures taken on the descent that looked
interesting. Some of those big rivers for instance. . .
	Speaking of which. . .
	There  was a glittering about a kilometre ahead that
caught his eye. The optics in the helmet resolved it into water;
perhaps a small lake. Hmm. . .
	He  lifted  the  helmet off and angled  his  route  in  that
direction.
	The  ground changed as he approached.  The grasses
thinned, turning  to clay and gravel.  Cracks ran across the terrain
like fissures in fractured glass:  some shallow,  others metres
deep. Those he could he jumped across,  others he had to skirt
around. Erosion,  he guessed,  water running through here.  It
must be  a seasonal thing, dry now.
	It was water that had caught his eye:  a small lake of
grey water  with  few  stunted  plants  growing  around  it.
Rivulets trickled down from converging gullies and cracks.  Those
would be from  the rain the previous night.  Steep banks led down
to  the lake  in  several  places  where  the  water  had  dug  away
the surrounding soil.
	There was something else:
	Along the edge of the lake was a strip of land with
parallel ruts in it. Animal tracks? They didn't look like it. Hayes
jumped across  a small ravine and cautiously made his way along
the  rim of  a steep eroded bank,  almost a small cliff,  to get a
better look. He crouched down and touched his nexus:
	"Pan, what do those tracks look like?"
	"They  resemble vehicle tracks," the AI replied. "Or
possibly animal  trails.  An  exact statement is impossible  without
more information. . ." There  was  a pause:  then," Samuel,  a
servo  has detected objects in your vicinity, moving towards
you."

	"What? Animals?"
	"Visual range is extreme.  Enhancing: Objects are
vehicles. . ."
	"WHAT!"
	"Samuel! Behind. . . "
	But he had already seen the shadow,  spinning and
clambering to his feet.
	Gaping jaws and amber eyes locked on him.  Light
glittering from metal,  a scrabble of feet launched it forward, a long
blade raised and gleaming like copper. The piercing scream that
hit his eardrums  like an icepick.  Automatically his hand darted to
his holster.
	The clay beneath his feet crumbled away.
	He yelled, his arms windmilled for balance as he teetered
on the  crumbling brink of the cliff.  The blade hovering  over  him
hesitated  and he stared into eyes that widened as they met  his,
then  he  went over backwards,  the world  spinning,  his  helmet
flying. His suit went rigid as steel as he hit stone and clay and
slid, dropped again, his head striking rock once, then again. The
sun flared in his head then the world faded...
	A shower of small stones,  dirt,  and dust spilled down
over the white suit as he slid to a halt.  His gun clattered down
and splashed  into  the  water.  Slowly the  dust  settled  over  the
motionless heap at the foot of the cliff.

--\o/--

PART II
	In times of need,
	What better recourse than war?
		-From 'Observations of the Blind'
	The city was burning.
	Above the rooftops of the western quarter the night sky
was glowing as fires raged.  That would be the area around the
breach in  the city's curtain wall,  the gatehouse  perhaps.  There
was already the distant sounds of fighting in the streets around
him, house to house as the Chrsty Rim soldiery advanced.
	Sekher  nervously licked his jowls and clutched  tighter
at sword  and shield.  The hilt of his Shern'ae blade was damp
with perspiration,  causing his fur to cling to the binding. His
heart was hammering in his chest,  the reek of his fear and
excitement rank upon the air in the dark doorway.  Where in the
names of the Gods was he? In the excitement - dodging enemy
troops and mobs of fleeing  citizens  - he'd twisted and turned like
a ribbon  in  a river,  completely losing himself in the strange town.
For now he tried to get his bearings.  Over there to the north,  the
wall of the  female  quarters loomed,  its  whitewashed  planes
ethereal against  the dark sky.  Eastwards was the inner wall,  the
final line of defence surrounding the palace grounds.
	The K'streth Plain militia and guard would need all the
help they could muster.
	Pulling  his  shield  close  he ducked  his  head  from  the
doorway,  making sure the coast was clear,  then began  following
the road north at a steady jog,  hugging the shadows, tail rigid.
He'd  try  to reach the main thoroughfare below the  white  wall.
From there it wasn't far to the walls and the fighting.
	An  explosion thumped.  Sekher's ears and ruff folded
flat. That  came  from the direction of the  temple.  The  priests.  He
shuddered,  refusing to imagine the conflict taking place  there.
With what Gifts were the shaved Rim priests possessed?
	Gods!  Being  enbroiled in a full-blooded war was  not
what he'd  imagined  his tour of the  bordering  principalities
would entail.  His sire had decided it was now time for him to see
more of  the world and at the same time make a gesture of goodwill
to his  allies  and neighbours by sending his son  as  emissary.  It
would  be  an  opportunity to make new  acquaintances  and  learn
something about protocol,  diplomacy,  and the idiosyncrasies  of
other lands in one stroke.
	Copulating  great timing!  he snarled to himself as his
toe claws clattered on wet cobblestones. Bless the damp plains
night, it  would  make fires harder to start.  There  had  been
ominous rumblings  from  the  south for some time  now,  but
nobody  had expected it to flare into all-out war.
	He dodged around a wagon sitting abandoned in the
middle  of the lane,  the draft shen ululating lowly and rolling their
eyes nervously, nearly ran into the enemy.
	A trio of them in their errie red,  orange, and black armour
were backing a warrior in K'streth cream livery and visored  helm
up against a wall.  The lone soldier's blade was wavering  before
him,  tip flicking from foe to foe as he tried to watch them  all at
once. An impossible effort.
	And the stink of Sekher's fear redoubled. He'd been
trained, had drilled many long hours with weapons of many sorts,
but this was no game where the loser would lose some fur,
perhaps gain  a bruise.
	And that training held fast where his consciousness
failed. Still  holding the Shern'ae his hand slipped behind  the
shield, finding  one of the four flat blades fastened  there,  rose,
and snapped down.  One of the three Rim soldiers screamed in
pain and just  had time to try to clasp a hand to the flat  blade
jutting from the opening in his armpit, then collapsed.
	As  his  comrades  automatically  turned  to  his  cry,  the
K'streth guard took advantage of the opening.  His sword
slashed and  opened the neck of a Rim trooper beneath the helmet
flange. Blood  fountained in a dark spray.  The remaining one
howled  and flung himself upon Sekher. He barely had time to
fling his shield up before it rang with the resounding clang of
swordstrike.
	He struck out with the shield and danced back,
whipping his own  sword around,  but the Rim soldier was fleeing
back  towards his own lines. Panting from shock and exertion
Sekher lowered his sword.
	Across  the  street  the K'streth guard  was  also
gasping, looking  up at Sekher with the most incredible gold eyes
showing above the visor.  With one hand he reached up and
stripped  aside the  mask to catch a mouthful of air and Sekher's
ears wilted  in shock. Not a he...she.
	A female!  He gaped in foolish wonder. A pelt of a grey-
blue so deep it faded into the night,  making her sand-coloured
armour seem to float unsupported. She returned the stare with a
slightly amused smile, raised her sword in salute to him. Small
Guard, she had to be:  the females who kept order in their part of
the  city where males were forbidden.  What was she doing here?
in the male sector?
	Only one reason.
	He saw it. Beyond the White Wall was the glow of
flames.
	The female followed his gaze,  then gave a wry grimace.
She had beautiful little teeth.
	There was a commotion behind him as a mass of soldiery
burst into the street.  The light cream armour of K'streth troops
this time,  some smeared with soot, others bleeding from minor
wounds. Sekher  flattened back against the wall as they ran  past,
metal jingling,  headed for the palace.  Beyond them he saw the
female join them.
	"Wait!" he began to start after her.
	"Hai! Outsider! Hold!" another voice hailed him.
	"What?" he  jumped as a grizzled mass of red-brown fur
in  an officer's  helm  and  armour clamped a hand  over  his
shoulder, forestalling  him.  "You  Sekher Che,  right?" A squad
of  weary looking  guards had halted behind their  leader,
watching  their surroundings with nervous eyes. "Orders from the
High Lord. We're to get you out of the city and away in one
piece."
	"But the city..."
	"A lost cause,"the officer growled. The designs on all
their shields  were scratched and scared.  They'd seen action and
from the looks of them had barely gotten away with their pelts
intact. "Come on. There's a postern gate to the river on the west
wall."
Behind them another explosion rolled across the city.  Balls of fire
rose from seige engines,  then fell in graceful arcs into the packed
mass of buildings.

--\o/--


	The tiny postern gate did open into the river; by way of
the storm drains.  By the time they reached the grill at the far end,
the  small band was covered in the filth that congealed in  those
tunnels. Sekher coughed and spat in disgust, gagging at the reek.
	In  the cloudless sky the Hole was a brilliant mass of
dots in  the  night,  turning  the  river  into  a  rippling  mass  of
blackness.  There was a small boat well concealed near the  drain
and within a minute the soldiers had it upright and in the water.
Before they boarded,  the troopers all smeared their armour  with
mud,  hiding the tell-tale whiteness, although after the filth of the
sewers there was little to cover.  Sekher in his  green  and brown
blotched livery was dark enough to be exempt.  For this  he
had  cause to be grateful:  the mud had the thick stench  of  bad
flatulence.
	The  muffled  oars  made little noise as  the  two  troopers
rowing  moved them out into the current.  Another pair  sat  with
arrows on their bowstrings; ready.
	They  could all see the dark mass that was the walls of
the city  moving  away behind them.  The orange glow in the  sky
was brighter. The Lightbringer rising or a more mundane fire?
	"Where do we go from here?" Sekher asked.
	"Shut it!" the elder warrior hissed, cuffing his ears.
	Ears stinging,  Sekher bristled,  about to reply when a
hand was  clamped  over his mouth. "Silence!" the officer
repeated  his hiss, directing Sekher's head.
	The younger one's eyes widened as the bridged
appeared,  the troops  on  it silhouetted against the  sky.  Silently
the  boat drifted  past,  its passengers holding their breath.  They
could hear the conversation of the guard above, the laughter.
Then they were past.
	When  they were out of earshot Sekher felt the the
pressure on  his jaws lessen,  but then there was a painful tweak
on  his ears. "Cub,"  the officer snarled. "When I tell you to  be
shut your face, you obey.  Without question. I have my orders to
protect you, but I  swear  by all that's scared I shall put you off at
the  first town if you endanger the rest of us! Understand?"
	Sekher  gaped,  feeling the heat rising in  his  ears,  then
swallowed. "Yes...Sir. Understand."
	"Good."
	"Ah, Sir?"
	"Huhhnn?"
	"What is your name?"
	The warrior grinned,  his teeth flashing beneath the
fringe of his moustache. "Twistfur.  But they," he jerked a finger
towards the other troopers crowded into the small craft, "usually
call  me Furball."
	None of the others said a word.
	"But never to my face," Twistfur concluded with a
glistening grin. "Now stay down and quiet."
	Sekher crouched down low.  There was water in the
bottom  of the boat,  wet on his feet.  He grimaced in distaste at
the feel, water was something he never felt comfortable around.
Still,  he tried to find a spot where he could wait out a long ride
without cramping up.
	They  moved as silently as they could,  the only sounds
the water  flowing past the gunwhales and dripping from the
paddles. In  the remote distance,  from beyond the mountains
bounding  the realms of the Trenalbi,  the Lightbringer was
stirring,  the  sky bleeding  in  his honour,  while the twin
Daughters  of  darkness danced into the sea.
	And  ahead of them,  against the rising  light,  four  boats
moved out into the river, archers standing to draw their bows.
	Twistfur saw them also. "Down!" he screamed,  throwing
himself on  Sekher before the younger male had time to react.  He
landed face  down with the warrior on top of him and there were
screams of pain and the weight on his back spasmed,  then went
lax with a gurgling  sigh  and  the  boat  tipped,  spilling  him  into
the water.
	He sank, of course, the armour weighing him down.
	He tried to cry out;  cold tendrils wound their way into
his nostrils and down his throat.  With frantic desperation he
clawed and  scrabbled at the encompassing liquid,  fighting
toward  the light above.
	Coughing streamers of water, Sekher broke the surface.
	"Hai! Here's one!"
	Claws  caught  at  his  ruff before  he  could  sink  again,
dragging him through the water to finally dump him on soft  sand.
He twitched,  shuddered,  then vomited.  	Someone rolled him
over.
	Voices:
	"Others are dead. What about this? He'll live?" "Huh,
just tried breathing some water. He'll live."
	"Look. The others were all K'streth Plain. He's Che
Plain."
	"Well, well. Do we throw him back?"
	"Nah, keep him.  Looks like a prize catch to me. Here,
look at his sword." Hands touched the Shern'ae blade pulling it
from  his belt.  Sekher  batted  out feebly but a foot was planted
on  his throat, claws biting.
	"A prize!  Look!  The crest!  It's the Che crest. Gods! He's
Highborn."
	A  face leaned close to Sekher and hands caught at  his
jaw and jerked his head around to hiss in his face, "Highborn,
Huh? I know someone who's going to be very pleased to see
you."

--\o/--

	Sekher ached; inside and out.
	He  huddled inside his cage,  a box of heavywood and
expensive metal scarcely  twice his length and barely high enough
to sit  upright in.  It  filled  most of the back of a goods  wagon.
There  were always guards.
	He'd been stripped of his armour and weapons, then
shuttled, naked,  through a Ch'sty Rim encampment to an
occupied town  that was  now  being used as a supply staging
post  for  the  invading army.  There was no telling how long he'd
been locked in a  half-flooded  cellar before they dragged him out,
chained  him,  then threw him into his little cage.
	The wagon was part of a convoy. Southbound for the
foothills of the Ch'sty Rim. The other wagons carried supplies and
troopers bound  for home.  Also they carried the loot of the
countryside. Near  priceless  silver and jade ornaments mixed  with
the  more mundane gold and diamonds. Sekher had witnessed
troopers gambling away  earrings,  armlets,  statuets,  and small
utensils  they'd 'liberated'.  He'd  seen  villages and quiet  towns
with  burned buildings and Rim warriors in the streets.
	Would this be the fate of his land?
	He  felt his claws twitch, winced, and spread his  hands.
Projecting from  the  ends of his fingers were the remaining
stumps  of  his claws.
	His  land  was not one of the most  prosperous.  The
city's walls  were  still undergoing extension,  as they  had  been
for decades.  A little added now and then as budgeting allowed.
There were problems with the guard:  their equipment was old and
worn.
	Gods, anyone could find that out. He knew more.
	Such as the fact that the grain warehouses stood near
empty after the last failed harvest.  Many, too many young
warriors had been forced to find employment in other,  wealthier
realms, hence the low muster of the few garrison towns.
	Also, there was no doubt he'd be held as a hostage.
	Sekher clamped his other hand over his ruined claws,
wishing he could take them to his own throat. Perhaps he would
be able to escape,  but the closer he came to  the  Ch'sty  Rim,  the
slimmer that hope grew.
	He  pulled  his  legs up and curled into  a  furry  ball  of
despair.

--\o/--


	A  strange cry echoed outside,  followed by the shouting
of Trenalbi  and the clattering of equipment as wagons rolled  to  a
halt.
	Sekher  lookep up and blinked,  then shook  his  head
violently.  Outside his cage he saw troopers in armour and others
in only fur and kilts running towards the disturbance at the head
of the column. Bandits? He saw no weapons being readied.
	On  all  fours  he crawled to the  heavy  bronze  grill  and
twisted his head up against it,  trying to see what was going on.
	There was a knot of soldiers gathered around a white
lump at  the foot of a small cliff.  An outrider atop the bluff was
cautiously leaning over,  shouting something down to the others.
What was going  on?
	A  couple of the Rim troopers were bending over the
object, poking at it with their swords, then examining it more
intensely. They picked up a few bits and pieces,  pondering  over
them with much bemusement and scratching of heads.
	There was also an argument taking place, with the white
lump the object of the disagreement.  Finally a solution was
reached, one which caused an uproar of snarling laughter that
Sekher liked not in the least. Four warriors took up the burden
which appeared to  have arms and legs.  As they hauled the thing
back along  the line of wagons and draught beasts, Sekher got a
good glimpse of it and stared in astonishment.
	Then guards were in front of his cage, slapping the flats
of their blades against the bars where his fingers had been a  split
second before.  "All right!  Get back there, high one! You've got a
house guest!" The last was delivered in a derisive bark.
	Sekher snarled back at them,  then scrambled madly
backwards in  a rattling of chains as swords and spears jabbed
through  the bars at him.  Again he crouched in the back of the
cage. Outside, the  guards  were watching with amusement
something  he  couldn't see,  then they rattled around with the
lock on the cage, sliding the door up. Then Sekher understood.
	"Hai! No, you can't!" he cried in panic. "Not in here!"
	They  beat him back with spearpoints while several  of
them pushed the white thing inside. The door rattled down behind
it.
	Sekher  crouched in his corner,  panting,  the smell of  his
fear overpowering in the confinement.  The thing in the cage with
him  gave  vent to a low noise,  then raised a head caked with
impossibly red blood and saw him.
	It gave a yelp,  tried to leap to its feet, cracked its head
against the overhead, tried to fall forward and was yanked
backwards to collapse in a heap,  clutching at its skull and making
low noises.  Now Sekher saw the dull  bronze collar  about its neck
and the very short chain tying it  to  the cage hatch.
	And his captors found this hilarious.
	So,  it  couldn't reach him if he stayed at the back of  the
cage.  They weren't about to risk their prisoner being torn  limb
from  limb,  but it meant his tiny box had just grown  that  much
smaller.  Sekher  snarled  silently but  relaxed  a  little,  his bristling
tail subsiding.  He warily studied the  semi-conscious creature.
	His houseguest was not attractive. That hairless face
looked like it had been struck by the flat of a shovel. The short fur
covering the top of its skull was a light,  dusty brown.  However
that whiteness covering it was  not hide by any stretch of the
imagination.  Clothing;  like none  he had ever seen before,  but
clothing nevertheless.  Even its  feet were  covered.  Another little
point to  puzzle:  the  creature's furless flat face,  fur,  and
forepaws were coated with dust  and a red liquid that could only
be blood,  but  its apparel - the white  tunic-like  thing  and
peculiar breeches - were spotless.
	Its shoulders were broad,  not sloped as a  Trenalbi's,
and its  broad chest and narrower waist gave its torso  a
marginally triangular shape.  Those forepaws, they certainly
looked to be at least as dexterous as Sekher's own,  despite their
apparent  lack of claws.  That face was flat, muzzle-less, with a
small, pointed nose and eyes of a piercing grey, like stone, with
round pupils.
	What was this thing?

--\o/--


	Chenuk  sat  apart from the others gathered about  the
warm glow  of the campfire,  half-listening to their conversation
and jokes  while  turning the strange artifact over and over  in  his
hands.
	That peculiar creature that'd fallen from the cliff that day
had  dropped it.  It'd tumbled and rolled down rocks and a  scree
slope,  bounced  across the road,  and come to lie at the  waters
edge. And the thing didn't have a scratch on it.
	Again  Chenuk raised it to his nose and  sniffed
carefully: the  thing bore a lingering,  indefinable odour;  faintly
salty, faintly musky, like old armour.
	It  was larger than his head, rounded, like a bowl of some
kind. In fact it reminded Chenuk of a battle helmet  more than
anything,  but there were no  ear  holes.  Also there was that thing
that could be a visor:  from the outside  it was opaque, black, but
by tilting it in his hands Chenuk found he could see through
without obstruction. The inside was also padded and lined with
curious little projections.  Outside it was a  mat white, thin blue
lines running laterally around the back, two red C shapes on either
side.
	With a claw Chenuk tried to scratch the black, one-way
glass on	the  front.   	Nothing.   A  bluesteel dagger was
equally ineffective.
	Chenuk weighed the thing in one hand, then impulsively
tried it on.
	His  muzzle  almost  brushed the glass  and  his  ears
were uncomfortably pressed back against his ruff,  then slowly,
almost imperceptibly,  the  discomfort faded.  He realised with a
start that the thing was moving,  shifting, reconfiguring itself to fit
his  head.  In  front of his eyes the  night  landscape  abruptly
flared into brilliant relief,  the fire,  the warriors around it, and
dozens  of specks in the grasslands  beyond  glowing  white,
shades of grey.
	"Gods!" With  a muffled curse of fear and disgust he tore
it off.  Twice it bounced,  then lay still.  He stared at the thing,
heart hammering.
	"Hai! Chenuk," a comrade hailed him from the fire.
"Problem?"
	"Ahhh," he   eyed   the   cursed   thing,   then
cautiously replied, "No...no problems."
	"The spirits wandering tonight, huh?" There was
laughter.
	No,  it wasn't tales told to frighten cubs that had his  fur
standing on end.  It was lying like the oversized egg of a
coldblood  in  the light of the moons.  Not  without  trepidation  he
picked it up again. This time it was still.
	The  guards  around  the cage pricked up their  ears  as
he approached. "Hai! What do you want?"
	"Just looking," Chenuk said. "What've they been up
to?"
	"Not  much.  I  thought we'd get a little  more  excitement.
Still, that thing scared the fur off our highborn guest, all that
banging on the bars and grunting at us.  Seems to have
quietened down now."
	Chenuk moved so he could see into the dark box. The
Highborn captive was sitting against the far wall, Drifting, eyes
watching the beyond.  He shuddered and focused on Chenuk
when he moved  in front of the bars,  watching him warily. The
creature was slumped against a wall, head bowed and eyes
closed, unmoving.
	Creature?  Demon!
	And that thing in his hand had to be a helmet.  That head
would fit it like a sword fits a  sheath!  A demon-made  tool!  The
fear rose from him,  almost swamping  the scent that came from the
cage. The guards looked at him curiously as  he backed away from
the cage,  then spun and bolted  for  the commanders' pavilion.

--\o/--


	The rise of the Lightbringer roused Sekher from drift.
Several times he blinked into the light seeping into his cage before
he actually began  seeing.  From  outside came the sights and
sounds  of  the Ch'sty Rimmers preparing to move onwards. He
stretched as well as he could,  then scratched and spent a while
chasing small  biters through his fur. Gods, but he stank.
	At the other end of the cage the creature was still
slumped in  the corner with its eyes closed.  Occasionally it
twitched  a foot  or hand and made a small sound.  Was it ill?  The
previous evening  it had growled and tried to scratch lines on  the
floor for some time before howling,  pounding its head against the
wall and finally curling up in its corner.
	Even  last night,  when that Ch'sty Rim trooper had come
so close to stare at it,  the thing hadn't moved.  Still,  for  some
reason that trooper had been terrified, taking off as if his tail were
alight.
	Beyond  the  bars the Lightbringer was eclipsed as  a
guard crouched  to  peer  into  the gloom  of  the  cage. "Your
friend all right?" he grinned.
	"Gods," Sekher  hissed, "get that thrice-cursed thing
OUT  of here!"
	"Sorry,  "the other said,  looking anything but,  "no
spare cages.  Here's your meal.  Enjoy." So saying he pushed
pieces  of meat through the bars.  They fell to the floor at the
creature's feet.
	"There you go," the guard chittered in amusement.
"Prime stuff too. Perhaps it'll share."
	"You're not fit to give your seed to a riding  beast!"
Sekher snarled after him as light once again strained through the
bars. His stomach growled to him and he shifted his gaze  to the
steaks,  running his tongue around his salivating mouth.  How
was he going to accomplish this?
	As gods-be carefully as possible.
	The creature didn't move as he crept forward one finger
span at a time on all fours, eyes flicking from the prize to the thing
and  back  again.  Stretch out an arm under the  creature's  leg.
Almost. Not quite. A little further. . . There!
	He attempted to hook a piece,  belatedly remembered  his
claws were gone, then tried to grab it. . . At the instant the wagon
started off with a jolt.
	Off  balance  he fell flat on his face,  slamming  his  nose
against  the floor.  Pain blew a white hole in his face.  He  lay still
until the haze cleared,  then shook his head and looked  up into
the open eyes of the creature.
	With  a  howl,  Sekher threw himself backward  and
crouched panting in his corner.  Too close. . . and he'd dropped
the meat. It still lay there.
	A hairless hand scooped the slabs up and raised them to
the face  as the creature sniffed at the steaks.  Sekher  groaned  in
despair. There went his meal, and he'd been so close!
	And the creature made a low noise, then held out the
meat to him.  Sekher froze in astonishment,  then gazed longingly
at  the food.  The  thing shook it,  then beckoned with its  other
hand. Come.
	Slowly Sekher did so. Reaching out carefully, then
snatching the meat and scrambling back to his corner.  The
creature  hadn't moved and watched as he tore into the meat,
bolting it.  Cold it was,  he'd have preferred it warm,  barely living,
but still the tangy juices flowed over his tongue and chin.  He was
growling as he polished it off, licked his fingers clean, and
belched.
	The creature was watching him with head cocked to one
side.
	"Thanks," Sekher said, then felt foolish.
	Its  mouth twitched,  then it reached down to its  side
and fiddled  around with a formerly concealed flap in  its  clothing,
producing  a small rectangle of some dusty-colored material  that
it then proceeded to eat: slowly, with no great relish.
	Why?  It'd had perfectly good food right there in its
hand. Sekher watched,  not understanding,  while it  ate,
ridiculously tiny  mouthfuls  and much chewing.  Then,  from  that
pouch,  it produced a silvery thing like a wineskin that it raised
and drank from.
	Sekher smelled water,  licked his lips again,  aware of
how thirsty he was...
	"Hai," he said, feeling incredibly foolish.
	The  creature glanced at him.
	"That's water?" Sekher asked, then hesitantly pointed at
the flask. "Water?"
	The thing looked down at it's hand, then slowly offered
him  the skin.
	Just as slowly he took it, surprised at its weight. A skin it
wasn't; something else thin and flexible.  And he couldn't get a
drop out of it.  Again the creature  beckoned  him and its long
slender fingers  showed  him where to press the neck of the flask.
The water that came out was the freshest he'd ever tasted, and as
cold as if it had just come from a mountain spring.
	He  drank his fill:  there was an impossible amount for
the size  of the receptacle.  The creature took it  back,  making  it
disappear again,  but for an instant Sekher's fingertips  brushed its
hand: the flesh was warm, soft, and silky smooth. He absently
stroked his own coarse fur.
	It sat there, staring out through the bars.
	"Hai," Sekher began.
	It turned its head.  Eyes lost in their shadows,  but  there
was a spark there...
	"You're not an animal, are you," Sekher murmured.
	The strips of fur above its eyes drew together.
	What then?

--\o/--


	Jai'stra, seat of power of the Ch'sty Rim domain, nestled
in the south-western foothills with its back to the grey,  cloud-
capped wall of the Rampart mountains.  The rolling hills
surrounding  it were  dotted  with  farming  communities,  their
fields  mottled yellow-gold,  light  and  dark  chasing  each  other
across  the countryside.
	The  city  engulfed five hills on the southern bank  of
the She'ng River,  one of the none-too-modest tributaries feeding
the distant  Daycross river,  then the still more distant Torn  Teeth
Sea.  Dark, stocky, granite walls and docks faced the river, high
above  the  water mark to guard against the floods  the  mountain
thaws   brought.   Watchtowers   loomed  over  the	walls   like
overprotective  dams.  On several towers were  the  skeleton-like
structures  of semaphore stations,  their  outlying  counterparts
mere  sticks wandering off across the plains to the  horizon.  In the
river,  barges and skips lined the quays in the shelter of  a
breakwater  while workers moved bales and  barrels,  loading  and
unloading.  The  covered  bridge that crossed the  She'ng  was  a
wonder  of engineering:  five arches supporting the weight  of  a
thousand-span  wide  mass of stone,  wide enough  for  two
goods wagons to pass.  There were three more like it.  Beyond
them  the walls  loomed,  a massive gatehouse warding gates  of
Heavywood, bronze, and iron.
	It  looked too massive to Sekher.  You could fit  the  royal
palace  of Tsuba into the temple grounds of  this  place.  Crowds
began  to  gather  around the convoy as it  crossed  the  bridge.
Sekher's  fur bristled to a chill wind as the gatehouse's  shadow
swallowed him.
	An  hour out from the city he had been taken from the
cage, his fur stinking, plastered to his body, and had his arms tied
to the framework intended for a canopy.  He was forced to stand
with arms  spread high and wide as if supplicating  the
Lightbringer. Every  muscle  in  his upper torso now  ached  from
holding  the impossible position.
	Despite the absence of many males off fighting in the
north the  main  street was bustling with  activity.  The  smell of
animals  and body wastes was just as oppressive as  they  had
been  in any other city Sekher had visited.  The  buildings  were
strange, with their high-gabled roofs and red and orange trimming
contrasting with the black slate of roof tiles.
	Stalls  and shops lined the thoroughfare,  as did carts
and traps from which signs and scents advertised the wares.
Outside a prospering  armourer  a troop of Wanderers,  their  long
leather roadcoats dusty from riding, waited on their mounts,
watching him alertly but disinterestedly from under their floppy,
wide-brimmed hats.  Sekher saw this,  these Trenalbi living their
lives  while half  a  world away he had seen their counterparts
fighting  for their homes and their lives.
	Merchants,  soldiers,  professionals,  mercs, and even a
cluster of females in colourful veils with their entourage watched
the caravan,  jesting with the guards,  swapping  news,  exclaiming
in  astonishment  and  mock bravado  at  the creature in the cage,
jeering at  the  tattered prisoner.  Sekher lolled his head back,
staring at the dark azure vault of the sky above. Gods, why me?
	The  main street of Jai'stra was aligned west  to  east,  to
follow  the  path  of  the Lightbringer.  It  ended  in  a  plaza
dominated  by the royal palace:  a vast,  tiered  disk  squatting
behind its walls,  towers jutting up from the top like the spikes on
a  northern  warhelm.  Unlike  the  subtle  white  and  cream
stonework  that  would  be employed by  the  masons  of  northern
realms,  the Rim palace was built of a dark material that endowed
nothing  of  the airy grace and coolness of  northern  buildings.
Instead  it  was solid,  indomitable,  an  edifices  designed  to
withstand  the winter storms of the southern climes.  Behind  it,
the  north-south  wall separating the female quarter was  also  a
dark grey.
	Royal  mounted guards moved to escort their single
wagon  as it  separated  from the rest,  their  shaggy Shens
stamping  and tugging at their reings as they led the prisoner's
wagon  through the inner gates into the the palace courtyard.  He
was cut  down, manacled, and dragged from the wagon.
	"Sir? Where can we put that thing?" one of the caravan
guards asked, jabbing a thumb at the cage.
	Palace   troopers   peered  into  the  cage   and   recoiled
slightly. "What in the hells is that thing?!" a sergeant demanded.
"This ain't a zoo! Where'd you find it anyhows?"
	"Just sort of dropped in." There was some laughter.
	"Ahhh!" the sergeant growled. "Dangerous?"
	"Doesn't  seem  to be.  No  claws.  Doesn't  like  meat...or
plants.  Gods know what it eats.  We've had it in with our friend
here. Keeping him company."
	"Well, what do you expect us to do with the wretched
thing?! Huh? There's not much room down there at the moment."
He made a noise of disgust and waved at the guards, "Ah, stick it
in with him again for the time being.  Until  we see what the Lord
wants done with it, just make sure it doesn't eat him. Lower level:
the royal suites."
	His guards seized him by the scruff and arms and hauled
him off.  Behind  him the cage was being opened and  animal
handlers with restraints moved in.

--\o/--


	Sekher sat quietly while the guards fastened the
creature's chain  to a ring in the cell wall,  two others holding it at
bay with  noses on poles looped around its neck;  they seemed  to
be half-strangling the thing if that bluish color it was turning was
anything to judge by. Sekher really had no choice, the sword
resting on his throat made sure he behaved.
	Once the chain was fastened securely,  the handlers
flipped the ropes off with practiced twitches and withdrew from
the cell. The  heavy door swung to with a dull boom and the light
was  gone but for the faint glow from around the edges of the
door,  barely enough  to  see by.  A key turned in the lock and
there  was  the muffled sound of voices outside, footsteps
receding.
	Then  there was silence,  and an emptiness that clutched
at Sekher's chest.  Alone!
	 "Roommates again, huh?" Sekher said, trying to cover
the quaver in his voice.  The creature looked  up from where it was
hungrily sucking air, rubbing at the collar around its neck and
bared square teeth in a warning grin.
	"Just  trying to be sociable," Sekher sighed.  Talking  to
a beast. Gods! was he losing it already? He muttered a hasty
prayer that  they  wouldn't  leave  him  waiting  for  long.  He'd
seen convicted criminals who'd been sentenced to solitary before,
and it wasn't a pretty sight.
	Trying  to banish thoughts like that Sekher stood  and
went across to the door, trying to peep through a crack. He could
see a chink  of corridor and blank wall.  He sighed and leaned
against the  damp  wood. "Don't  suppose  you've got  a  key
tucked  away somewhere?" he asked the creature.  It just stared at
him. "Didn't think so."
	Twenty-five spans by the same again:  a featureless
cubical of  cold stone.  Palatial  in comparison with his previous
accomodations, but still small.  A stinking slit  in a corner was the
depository for  bodily  wastes.  Sekher made  use of it,  reflecting
that for the eight days they'd  been locked  in that box,  not once
had he seen the  creature  relieve itself.  Did it not shit like
everything else? Urinate? Gods, was it male or female?
	At  the moment it had opened that concealed pouch
again  and was laying upon its lap those little bricks it ate every
now  and then.  There  were  three left.  What did  that  portend?
Sekher wondered. What happened when they ran out?
	He settled himself and watched the creature nibble a
little of a brick and wondered when something would happen.

--\o/--


	The door slammed open, startling Sekher out of his drift.
	"You! Out!"
	Hulking guards in full body armour decorated with the
royal Ch'sty  crest  glared down at him,  short  swords  in  hand.
The creature stirred from where it had been curled up in a corner
and blinked tired grey eyes at the disturbance.
	"Move it! The High Lord wants a chat with you."
	Sekher  groaned  and hauled himself  to  his  feet.
"Alright, alright."
	He knew what was coming.
	Still,  he  was surprised they let him get through the  door
before  an  armoured forearm cracked into the back of  his  head.
They had their fun bouncing him off the walls for a while  before
bodily dragging him off down the corridor.
	"By the hells! He stinks worse than Feshi shit!"
	"Huh! His lordship would have our tails for dropping
this at his feet. I think he needs a bath."
	"You reckon all Che royalty looks like this?"
	"Huh! Compared with most of them he probably looks
elegant." There was a nasty laugh.
	Sekher  was  hauled upstairs into the lower  levels  of  the
palace  and  tossed  into a small chamber,  little  more  than  a
closet,  with slimy wooden grating on the floor, smelling of water.
He dragged himself  to  his knees and shook his head,  wondering
where  the water  was if this was a bath.  Then he screamed as  the
ceiling opened and he was deluged. It was scalding hot!
	Frantically he twisted and turned, beating at the door,
then huddling  in  a corner with his arms over his head as  the
water poured on and on.
	Finally it stopped,  the guards opened the door to drag
him sopping and dripping from the cubicle.
	"Smelling better, huh?"
	"Probably used the hot water for the entire wing," the
other laughed. "Still, he's presentable now."
	"Burn you!" Sekher spat. "Shave your clan!"
	"Talkative, isn't he," one of them observed as he rammed
an elbow into Sekher's head. "Save it for his Lordship!"

--\o/--


	Sheer size made the room cool,  colder still for Sekher
and his still-damp fur.
	In another place the style of the room may have been
called gothic,  with peaked archways and ribbed  vaulting,  subtle-
cross vistas, dramatic screens of fluted columns framing arched
windows filled with coloured glass shedding kaleidoscopes of
light across polychromatic marble veneers.  It was an
extravagantly  beautiful sight,  a room designed to overawe and
impress,  and that it did, bringing Sekher's head up despite
himself. The craftsmanship, the skill, the expense! His father's
great hall, the pride of the Che clan, was but a hovel in contrast.
	Before  a great circular window of  gold,  orange,  and
red glass  that  splintered  light as though  it  were fragmented
eveninglight, was the dais of the High Lord of the Ch'Sty Rim.
	The  guards half-dragged him across the fine white  sand
of the floor, gouging twin furrows, and deposited him at the foot
of the  dais.  Behind him a menial scuttled across the floor with  a
hand rake, smoothing the way. Courtiers, sycophants, and
hangerson  in gaudy gowns and robes gathered around behind a
cordon  of alert royal guards, muttering and twittering amongst
themselves.
	This  was  the conqueror of  three  kingdoms?  was
Sekher's thought upon seeing the one resting on the cushions
and furs atop the steps.
	A  thin,  nearly skeletal Trenalbi turned slowly to look  at
him,  letting a sheaf of papers fall to a lacquered table at  his side.
His fur was a deep brown, like loam, his expansive ruff the same
but with grey streaks.  Nothing to do with  age.  His  head looked
too big for that body, and the eyes...
	Sekher felt his hackles rise,  claws extruded in fear. Gods,
they   burned  yellow  with  an  intensity  like  that   of   the
Lightbringer. Madness? And those furs...
	The chill of fear tickled his back,  twitching his tail, his
anal  scent  glands.  Those  furs still had the  heads  of  their
previous owners attached,  glass eyes glittering lifelessly. With
difficulty Sekher tore his eyes away from the glassy stare of one
of the Lord's former enemies.
	A  nearly imperceptible flick of a wiry hand  made
Sekher's expressionless guards retreat a couple of steps.  Kissaki
Ch'sty leaned forward:
	"Sekher She'at Che Youngest?"
	Sekher said nothing.
	Kissaki  sat back and hissed. "Yes.  Of course you  are.
You are,  you know,  a very pleasing catch. You will undoubtedly
save me some time and trouble.  You are hungry?" Another twitch
of his hand  and  a servitor scurried forwards with a small  tray
laden with chunks of meat, pastries, and berries.
	Sekher glanced at the tray and felt his mouth betray him
by salivating. He clamped his jaws shut.
	"Huh! Yes, very hungry." The High Lord's ears twitched
and he beckoned Sekher go ahead: "You look like you need it,
young one."
	"You...you have no right," Sekher finally blurted.
"Holding me here like this.  You know my father..." Sekher
stumbled to a halt, woefully  aware of how pitiful this sounded to
this lord  in  the centre of his domain.
	"No right?" Kissaki leant forward, his lips peeling back in
a glistening grin. "Cub, here your rights are my will, here my will is
law.  I did not have you brought before me just to listen  to your
ridiculous bluffs.
	"Now,  young  one.  I  know you must care  deeply  for
your homeland,  your people,  your clan.  Correct? Yes. If you had
the opportunity  to save the lives of untold numbers of  your
people would you take it?"
	Sekher   ducked   his   muzzle,   ears   folding   back   in
wariness. "Perhaps," he breathed. "And how would I do that?"
	"Very  simple." Kissaki  rose  to  his  feet  and
continued, punctuating his words with emphatic gestures. "All
you would  have to do would be provide me with a little
information,  just answer a few questions."
	"Such as?"
	"Simple matters:  how well prepared is Tsuba to
withstand  a seige?  Are there any alternative routes into the city?
In  what towns  are the largest garrisons stationed?  What steps
would  be taken in event of an invasion?"
	Sekher barked in outright disbelief at that. "Gods! You
would expect  ME to tell you that?  While I'm at it,  why don't I
just give you the keys to the city's gates?!"
	Kissaki laughed at that. "And how grateful I would be.  I
may even  give you a town of your own to watch over." Then he
stopped laughing, "or I could simply use the persuasion of pain
to give me what I want, just trample over Che as if it weren't even
there."
	"That  you  would  not do!" Sekher spat. "There  is  a
treaty amongst Che, Taiska, and Fhel. Fight one, you challenge
them all. I think that even your forces would be hard pressed."
	The High Lord regarded him calmly with what could have
been amusement, then turned to face the crowd of courtiers:
"Heicko!"
	A single figure stepped to the fore.  Sekher's heart
lapsed into  a  triple  beat  as  he  recognised  the  dust-grey
robes, differing  only  marginally  from the northlands  to  the
south. Priest!
	The elderly male studied Sekher with mild yellow eyes for
a breath.  Sekher desperately tried to hold onto his thoughts, and
it was probably his imagination, but he was sure he felt a chill
wind touch his mind; just for a beat. The Priest blinked, then
smiled  and turned to Kissaki  and  bowed: "Highest,  he  is lying."
	Again Kissaki snarled his laughter. "Cub,  you waste my
time! I give you some time alone to think things over, then I will
have you here again to see if you will be more cooperative." In
turning his  back he waved his hand negligently at his guards:
"Take  him. Shave him.  The usually treatment,  but nothing too
permanent;  I may want him again."
	They  seized  him.  Sekher howled in pain as  his  tail  was
grabbed and he was dragged towards the door.  Laughter rose
from the  court.  He  scrambled to his feet and  was  promptly
forcemarched from the room.
	The  huge doors swung shut behind him and again  the
menial scuttled out to rake the light-stained sands smooth again.

--\o/--


	Kicking and thrashing,  Sekher was dragged down to the
lower levels  again,  to a room with walls hung with  blades,
needles, vices, irons, bludgeons, and a host of other instruments
designed to inflict pain.  He tried to break free, but now the guards
beat him into submission.
	Half-conscious  they  hoisted him bodily onto  a  table
and strapped  him  down whilst a mangy male in an apron  mapped
with stains of gods-only-knew-what laid out a gleaming array of
sharp utensils.
	Fingers  knotted into his ruff,  pulled it  taught,  then  a
knife  blade  hacked through it,  stripping it  away.  A  pot  of
steaming  water was brought over from a brazier and  near-boiling
liquid splashed on his face.  He howled,  tried to bite. Deftly a
muzzle  was flicked over his face,  straps tightened.  The  white
edge of a knife came close.
	Sekher  trembled  in dazed humiliation  as  they
delicately shaved him,  turning him over like meat on a spit to
remove every last tuft of fur.

--\o/--


	He hit the floor hard, tumbling to lie in a heap against the
wall.  The  cell door closed with a dull thunder  that  resonated
along the corridors and the guards' laughter faded into distance.
	Sekher lay still for a time,  then groaned,  trying to  stir
himself.  His battered body rebelled, dumped him back on the
damp flagstones.  There was a deep growling from across the cell.
With cheek pressed against the floor,  he saw the creature staring
at him,  at his naked grey skin,  bruised and cut,  his tail looking
absolutely ridiculous; like a twitching piece of grey rope.
	He moaned again and closed his eyes.
	After  his shaving he'd been paraded through the  town
with other criminals and prisoners of war,  then had been left in
the pilories for public humiliation until the Daughters were high  in
the  sky.  Never  before had he understood what it  meant  to  be
naked;  completely  and  utterly exposed.  He felt  every  breeze
against  his skin,  every chill,  every thrown  stone,  piece  of
rotting  fruit and  excrement  as he had  never  felt  anything
before. It was a terrible feeling to be so...so vulnerable.
	Now there was a dull aching in his bones.  Gods,  but he
was COLD!  He huddled into a small ball,  as if trying to squeeze
the warmth  from his body,  a part of him yearing for the comfort
of his dam's pouch.
	There was the growling again.  He looked up at the
creature making its noises, as if trying to tell him something. It
reached up to its collar and fiddled with the catch at the back.
	A click and the bronze collar and chain fell away.
	Sekher suddenly forgot his discomfort.  His nostrils
flared, his fear beginning to permeate the cell.  The thing moved
closer and  Sekher  retreated  until a corner at his  back  halted
him. Crouching,  spreading his arms to defend himself,  the
remains of his claws poked from his fingertips,  his toes. Standing
upright, the creature was taller than he by almost a full head, albeit
not nearly as broad. Sekher snarled, jaws gaping.
	It  stopped where it was,  the corners of its  mobile
mouth curling  up.  Then it crouched,  kneeling before him.  A
slender finger with the odd,  flat claws traced a path down the
middle of its torso,  then it shrugged out of its spotless white
covering, offering  it to him in the same way it had offered food
on  that first night.
	It was trying to be friendly.
	Beneath that outer layer was yet more clothing,
something of a  light  grey  almost the same hue as his  own  skin
with  blue piping. Decorations? Gingerly, Sekher reached out to
touch the white  jerkin;  it was padded on the inside,  lined with
more unfamiliar  materials, smooth  and soft,  still warm.  The
creature pressed it into  his hands.
	Awkwardly Sekher put it on.  It smelt strange;  of salt
and damp grass,  felt even stranger against his skin, slick, actually
exuding a soft warmth.  Parts of it seemed to have things  buried
in the material,  strange lumps that weighed oddly upon  Sekher's
shoulders.  It was also much too large, allowing him to huddle up
and pull it around his legs.
	Again the creature's mouth curved up and it reached
over to pat  Sekher's shoulder.  Nonplussed for a  second,  he
belatedly returned the gesture. It gave one of those deeps growls
again, so deep  that  it seemed to be more felt than heard, and
moved  to inspect the door.
	"What  are you?" Sekher again asked the creature's
back.  It didn't turn, gave no sign of hearing.

--\o/--


	Chenuk hastily straightened his gleaming bronze cuirass
and cuisse,  settled his sword sheath and gauntlets more
comfortably upon his belt, and entered the audience hall.
	He  had been here before,  of course,  standing sentry
duty when the high Lord was absent, but this was the first time he
had ever  been summoned directly.  His commander had kicked his
tail from  the  tavern  where he had been partaking  in  a
homecoming celebration to the Palace and hustled him into his
armour. Chenuk had a nasty foreboding of what was wanted of
him,  but he brushed his  ruff flat and prayed to any deities that
might be  listening that nobody would smell his nervousness.
	Of the two Royal Guards who flanked him either  side,
their ornate armour making his standard infantry issue appear
scruffy, no  scent betrayed them.  They'd had their glands
removed.  That thought  always made the the base of Chenuk's
own tail clench  in sympathy,  but that self-mutilation was
something they were proud of, making them  difficult  to  scent,
and  also somewhat inscrutable.
	Sand  warmed  by sunlight pushed betwen his toes  as
Chenuk walked  the length of the audience to the foot of the High
Lord's dais,  where  the  Highest  reclined in  a  nest  of  intricately
embroidered fabrics. "Milord," he knelt.  The guards moved off to
a respectful distance.
	Unusually,  Kissaki was almost alone. Of his regular
retinue only a few now stood around their lord,  all five of them
huddled in their grey robes.  Chenuk sniffed curiously. What were
priests doing here? He thought he recognised one: Sare, expert
alchemist. They  were  all  gathered about a small  table  on  which
rested several odd objects, one of which was all too familiar to
Chenuk.
	"You recognise that?" Kissaki asked without any further
ado. "Ahh, yes sire," Chenuk hesitantly replied.
	"Do you have any idea of what it is?"
	"No, sire."
	"That was not what you told your commander."
	Chenuk  licked  his  lips,   feeling  his  tail  stiffen  in
alarm."Sir,  I...I did say I thought it was a helmet, but I'm not
sure..."
	"A helmet," Kissaki regarded him with an assessing  eye.
"That is a most interesting observation.  Tell me,  how did you
come by that line of thought?"
	"It...it  looked a little like a war helm,  especially  that
visor."
	"You tried it on?"
	"Yes Sir."
	"Why did you do that?"
	"I...I do not really know,  Sir.  I was puzzled over what it
was and just put it on out of curiosity. That was when the cursed
thing  moved."
	"Yes,  we are  familiar  with  that,"Kissaki mused."Also,
you claimed this thing belonged to the creature that was found in
the plains."
	"Ah,  yes  Sir.  It was carrying it and it did seem to be  a
perfect fit for its head."
	"I have yet to see this beast," Kissaki said.
	A  guard stepped forward and bowed. "It is being
brought  to you now, milord."
	"Ah,  excellent." Kissaki rose from his  cushions,
stretched and stepped down to the sandy floor,  walking over to
the tray of demon artifacts. "Here," he beckoned Chenuk. "Do
you recognise  any of these?"
	He did, the creature had been carrying all of them, but
they were  all utterly alien to Chenuk.  There were parts that
looked like  metal,  and other parts that were of something he
couldn't identify.  Kissaki  picked  up an object that resembled  a
lower cannon,  a piece of armour intended to protect the forearm,
save that the thicker, flattened face of the thing was engraved
with a pattern  of small squares and circles.  Chenuk  blinked.
Perhaps some of those projections DID look familiar.
	"Uh, no my lord."
	Kissaki  returned the artifact,  then took up the  helm-like
object  and moved over to confer with the priests in muted  tones
that  Chenuk didn't even try to eavesdrop on.  All the while  the
Lord  was turning the device over and around in his hands with  a
lack  of  caution that made Chenuk's  ears  flick  backwards.  He
hastily  caught  himself  from that breach  of  etiquette  before
Kissaki returned his attention to him.
	Which Kissaki now did. Briskly he marched over to
Chenuk and thrust the helmet-thing at him: "Put it on."
	"Mi...milord?" Chenuk stammered.  By sheer dint of
effort  he kept  his ears from wilting,  but he couldn't restrain his
fearscent.
	"I  said,  put it on," Kissaki repeated in what could
almost have  been a bored tone,  but again there was that keen
glint  in his eyes, like the edge of the knife Chenuk could find
himself up against  if he disobeyed a direct command from the
apex of  power itself.
	"Yessir," he  croaked,  and mumbled a prayer as he  took
the demon  device  in his own hands.  His was  not  an
inordinately religious upbringing, yet it was at time like this that
the faith took him, and if ever he needed a god, now was that time.
	This  time  there  was far less reshaping  of  the  helmet's
interior,  but still air whispered around his face and the  visor
flared,  transforming the room into a hellish scene. There seemed
to  be no light,  no shadows,  the walls a shade of grey and  the
sun-warmed  sand a lighter shade.  Torches in their sconces  were
the  brightest of all.  When Chenuk turned to look at Kissaki  he
almost screamed.
	The High Lord's visage was that of a demon,  with a
whitehot  mouth  and grey eyes and ears.  The shape of his  skull
was visible  beneath  the pale halo of fur.  Not just  him,  all  the
Trenalbi,  nobility and guards alike,  glowed white where fur and
flesh was exposed,  slighly darker where there was clothing,  and
darkest  of  all  where there was metal.  Chenuk  could  see  the
outline  of  daggers and darters concealed beneath  the  priest's
robes and that shook him still more. Priests were not supposed to
carry weapons.
	And  they  were  not  the  only  concealed  things.
Behind tapestries  hanging around the edge of the room Chenuk
spied  the glowing  outlines of hidden guards,  also door-sized
patches  of wall that didn't match their surroundings.
	"Hai,  soldier." One  of  the  priests  was  addressing
him. Looking  at  the priest was a mistake.  It did something  to  his
stomach  to  be  addressed  by a creature  with  a  glowing  head
breathing clouds of glowing steam with every sentence.  "You
are alright?"
	"Uhhnn, yes." Chenuk's own voice startled him, deadend
in the helm instead of reverberating as it would have in a normal
one. "I think so."
	"You  see," the priest declared triumphantly. "It can be
used by anyone.  The shape changing proves it.  It is intended to
fit heads of varying shapes and sizes.  It does not necessarily
have to belong to that creature."
	"Then  who does it belong to?" another  interjected.
"Can  you name  a craftsman with the skill to produce something
like  that? And  I have never heard of any priest with the skill to
devise  a visor such as that."
	They  were using him as a test subject.  Although  the
helm didn't actually seem to be dangerous,  he would still much
rather prefer  to  be back in the tavern with a chilled ale  and  a
few friends, cracking jokes about climbing the wall.
	"Alright soldier,  you can take it off now." Kissaki
returned to his seat.
	A relieved Chenuk hastily pulled the helm off, depositing
it on the tray with the other devices.  If a helmet had that kind of
power,  what  capabilities were the others  bestowed  with?  That
small  box with the little glass window and still more  of  those
engraved squares, what powers was that gifted with?
	The  double  doors  at the far end of the  hall  swung
open again,  admitting  entrance  to a squad of Royal  Guard  and
the burden they carried between them.  	Forgotten for the
time, Chenuk stood quietly at ease as the priests scurried forward
to  inspect the  stretcher that was deposited at the foot of the
dais.  Even the  High Lord craned foward to look down upon it
from his  seat. Chenuk  caught a glimpse as the surrounding
priests  parted:  the demon;  eyes  closed and unmoving,
strapped down on the cot  by heavy restraints about chest, arms,
and legs.
	The sergeant responsible for the squad delivering the
thing snapped  to respectful attention before the High  Lord. "Sir,
I'm afraid it got loose from its chains. We had to use force."
	"So I see," murmured Kissaki. "It's not damaged too
badly?"
	"Nosir."
	"Very  good." The guards were dismissed.  With a
clatter  of arms  and  armour they left the hall,  the  doors
swinging  shut behind them on well-oiled hinges.  A menial
scuttled from another concealed door to attend to the churned
sand.
	Kissaki stepped down to stand above the creature with
hands clasped behind his back,  then he knelt and took  two
handfuls of the creature's clothing and pulled;  hard, lifting the cot
partly off  the  ground  before  dropping  it  back.  The  cloth
didn't part. "Huh," he snorted. "Very well.  Hai, Neric, you're the
expert. Can you tell us anything about this?"
	One  of the priests,  a young one,  burly and well
groomed, obviously uncomfortable in his robes, stepped forward
to give the creature  a  cursory  examination. "I have never  seen
its  likes anywhere...and I am familiar with all the animals of the
plains, lowlands, and mountains. Nor is it described in any of my
texts."
	"Perhaps from beyond the mountains?" another
suggested.
	"Don't be ridiculous," he retorted,  running fingers
through the  golden  fur  on  the thing's  head.  There  were  traces
of unnaturally red blood there. "Still, it bleeds."
	"A minor demon?" There was uneasy stirring.
	"Huh!  And I am a female!  Well, we can settle the matter
of where it comes from!"
	A  hush settled over the hall as the priest settled  himself
crosslegged  at the head of the cot,  his hands on the  creatures
head.  Slowly he bowed his own head until his breath was stirring
the fine fur, his eyes closed.
	Many heartbeats passed.
	The creature twitched;  once,  then again, then spasmed,
the straps holding it fast creaking under the strain. Cords stood
out on  its neck as lips fleered back from square teeth.  A
rumbling howl shook through the hall.
	And  Neric screamed also,  mouth gaping and eyes
staring  in absolute  terror  as his own body was wracked  with
convulsions. Blood  began  to flow from the corners of  his  eyes,
his  ears, spreading  through  his  fur  in  dark  rivulets  as  the
scream continued to force itself from his lungs.  There was an
explosive stench as he voided his scent gland and bowels
simultaneously.
	"Gods! Separate them!"
	"I don't..."
	"DO IT!"
	Guards were throwing the hall's doors open,  pouring in
from doors on all sides,  but the priests were already prising
Neric's hands  from the creature's skull,  throwing him back to the
sand and holding him as he threshed and bucked,  foaming and
bleeding, eyes staring into nothing.
	Slowly he subsided,  winding down like a clockwork
machine, sheer  exhaustion  subduing  him  until  he  lay
whimpering  and gasping.
	" Neric?" a priest cautiously spoke the name.
	There was no flicker in the eyes. Neric was no longer
there.

--\o/--


	Sekher's  ears  perked up at the commotion in  the
corridor outside.  At last;  already the solitude was beginning to
gnaw at his consciousness.  Keys rattled and the door swung
open.  Beyond it  the  hall was packed with guards,  all  with
drawn  weapons, enough raw steel to outfit an army. They
pressed back against the walls as more came through, carrying the
stretcher.
	The creature,  still unconscious, looked a lot the worse
for wear  than when they'd carted it away,  despite the battering  it
had  taken.  There  was blood coating its face and the  scent  of
terror was a palpable aura around it.
	Without  further ado the guards clamped the chain about
its neck then slashed the bonds holding it down and dumped it
off the stretcher, retreating in haste.
"Hai!" Sekher called. "What happened?! What's going on?"
	But the door slammed shut,  not quite blocking out the
fear rolling  from  the guards.  In the dimness Sekher stared  at  the
prostrate  from  of  the creature lying in the  spread  of  light
seeping under the door.
	"Hai, you alright?"
	At a push it flopped over onto its back and Sekher stared
at its face,  the closest he'd been. There was blood on its forehead
and what seemed to be a fine layer of fur sprouting on its  chin.
Hardly daring,  he reached out, stroked the face. Yes, there were
bristles there.  Strange that in captivity he should lose his fur and
this  creature  grow more.  That  hairless  hide  was  soft,
incredibly fine,  and that fur...  He stroked it gently.  At  his touch
the  creature twitched,  gave an  unmistakable  moan,  and curled
up into a peculiar little ball,  arms wrapped about  knees hugged
against its chest, head tucked down.
	Sekher looked from it to the closed door.  What had
happened out there?

--\o/--


	Was it showing some sign of recovering?
	The  rumble,  as low as that of the mighty sheets of
bronze used  to  signal  prayer,  stirred the air in  the  cell  as  the
creature stirred.
	"Feeling better?" Sekher asked, looking up.
	It  didn't pay him any heed;  struggled to sit  up,
slumped against the wall clasping its head in its hands,
contorting  its features in a hideous grimace.
	"Obviously  not," Sekher said. "You want  some  water?
You're going to have to get it yourself. I still haven't figured out
how you  open this..." He shut up.  He was babbling.  Gods!  How
much longer  would  they leave him alone in  here.  Solitude  was
not something  that any Trenalbi handled well.  Give him a  few
more days and he'd be a gibbering ball in a corner.
	He  scrambled  across  to  the  door,   pounded  against
it shouting, "Hai!  Anyone!  Say something!  Gods,  answer me!"
Not  a whisper from the far side, just the oppressive nothingness
of the dungeons.   Sekher  leaned  his  head  against  the  wood.
"Say something," he moaned.
	And the creature growled at him.
	"And YOU close your face!"he snarled back at the top of
his voice, ears flattening.
	The  creature cringed at his shout,  shutting its  eyes
and holding its head,  then it rose unsteadily to its feet,  the wall
its support, and growled again.
	"Why  by all that's holy did they have to stick me  in
here with YOU?!" Sekher howled, impotently furious.
	It winced again,  then roared back at him.  Sekher stared
in mute shock,  the cell echoing. Gods! The thing was LOUD. His
ears were still humming. He awkwardly tried to pat his nonexistant
fur flat  again,  stroking  only  skin covered  in  tiny  bumps,  and
coughed. What was the use of shouting at that thing?
	"Sorry," he muttered.  It stared at him,  head tilted to  one
side,  then beckoned him.  Sekher flinched,  but the thing  mimed
drinking so Sekher allowed it to touch him,  to open that  hidden
pocket on the jerkin. It drank deeply from the flask, then poured a
little  over  its  face and proffered  the  flask  to  Sekher. Gratefully
he  also partook,  it was a welcome change  from  the metallic-
tasting stuff in the pitcher the guards had provided. When
finished, the flask was slipped back into its pocket in Sekher's
right side,  and the creature returned to  its  corner, curling up on
the floor and closing its eyes.
	Time passed.
	Its breathing slowed, the only movement was the
twitching of its eyelids,  then that stopped. Unconscious. Sekher
crept close. It  was as it had done at nights in the cage.  Perhaps a
way  to avoid boredom? Why did it not just Drift?
	He  shook his head violently,  rubbed at  his  muzzle,
then flopped  down in his corner and slowly sank into  Drift
himself, mulling over this little enigma...

--\o/--


	Door? A noise, movement, shifting light.
	Sekher slowly returned, withdrawing nictating
membranes from across his eyes. What was it...?
	There! Again. Metal scraping on metal as a key was
fitted to the lock.  Sekher groaned;  now what? Which of them had
they come for  this time.  Over there the creature was  still
unconscious, oblivious.
	Keys rattled again.  There was a muttering outside,  then
a voice hissing: "Che? Sekher Che?"
	"Huh?" His ears pricked up curiously.  The warden
losing  the keys? Not likely. "Who?"
	"Friends," the voice hissed back.  Again metal rattled in
the lock and there was muffled cursing.  Sekher scrambled to his
feet to listen at the door. At least two of them, arguing.
	"Friends? Who?"
	"We're here to get you out."
	To  trust his ears?  Sekher gaped at the door in  disbelief,
then pressed up against it,  hands spread against the wood.
Again metal rattled in the lock. "Gods!" he hissed. "Hurry!"
	There was a pause. "The key! It's not here!"
	"WHAT?!" Sekher slammed his hand against the door.
Hard.  It didn't budge a finger.
	"Calm down!" the voice hissed. "We'll get a pry bar."
	"No time!" the other voice growled.
	"Then  what in all the gods-blasted wastes ARE you
going  to do?!" Sekher screamed.
	"Quiet  yourself!" came the desperate hiss and the
sound  of metal scratching at the lock.
	And from behind him came another sound,  a
questioning growl as  the creature stirred and blinked strangely
coloured  eyes  at him.  Sekher  sank to a squat and shook his
head ruefully at  the thing. "Even if you could understand, you
wouldn't believe it," he said.
	The  scratching stopped. "What?" came from the other
side  of the door.
	"Nothing," he spat back. "I was talking to a friend.
	"Two of them?" he heard through the thick wood.  Two
of them? Huh, sort of...Now what was it doing? Growling and
pointing at the door. "Someone's trying to get us out," Sekher
told it. "Idiots got the wrong key and I don't need any trouble
from you."
	"What's going on in there?"
	"Local entertainment," Sekher shot back, and even that
little exchange excited the creature.  Frantically, it pointed at
Sekher again,  indicating the jerkin,  that it wanted to touch him.
This time it opened another concealed pouch low down on
Sekher's  hip, removing  a couple of slender little silver  cylinders,
each  no larger than a finger,  some coloured with red and white
stripes, others  yellow and black,  others with even more peculiar
colour combinations.  Only one it selected,  blue and white
checks.  It fiddled  with  this,  slipped it into  the  keyhole,  and
seized Sekher's arm.  The Trenalbi squalled,  automatically slashed
out and connected with useless claws,  but the creature was
amazingly strong and hauled him into the corner furthest from the
door.
Again not hurting him.  It was gesturing at the door  again,
making pushing movments, move back.
	"Back!" Sekher  shouted at his amateurish  liberators
beyond the door. "Get away from the door!"
	A  couple of beats later the lock exploded into a shower
of red  sparks,  then a brilliant scarlet  light  flared.  Sekher
squeaked  and threw his arms over his face.  Heat seared  against
his hands, arms, legs, ears; all exposed skin.
	An  acrid  smell was hanging heavy in the cell,  a  haze
of smoke  obscuring  the  door.  The lock was  a  formless  mass
of glowing, heated slag dribbling down the blackened wood. A
charred hole the size of a head and a half had been bitten from the
door. The  lock had been welded to the frame,  but was  no  longer
attached to the wood.  Nose and eyes running,  fanning smoke
away from his face, Sekher tugged the recalcitrant door open. For
once the hinges chose not to squeal.
	Air  in the dungeons was heavy,  static,  slow  moving.
The smoke  hung  like a heavy veil over  the  doorway,  stinging
his nostrils as he stepped through it.  How long until somebody
else smelled it, raised the alarm?
	His saviours were also wreathed in smoke,  blurring but
not concealing  the arrays of multicolored veils and  gossamar
robes adorning  their  bodies.  Females?  By all the  denziens  of
the Ramparts! Why did they...
	And Sekher knew that exotic pelt of blue-grey, the eyes
that glittered gold.
	"You," he croaked.
	She  and her companion were both staring past  him,  at
the door, with confounded expressions. "How did you do that?"
the dark furred one breathed: awed. Her voice...With the exception
of his dam and some others when he was no more than a cub,  still
in her pouch,  he had never spoken with a female,  had never
grasped the subtle differences in their speech.
	Sekher's  ears wilted." Ah,  my companion," he  began,
then winced. Gods! What would they do when they saw...
	He  knew when their eyes went wide and arms spasmed
as  they brought  claws up.  The creature had appeared in  the
smoke,  an apparition  from  the farthest hell.  It halted in  the
doorway, looming in the moving torchlight, eyeing the females
warily while they began to back away.
	"Hai! No, it's alright," Sekher hastened to reassure them.
"It won't hurt you." I hope, he added under his breath.
	"What...is it!" the dark furred one hissed, eyes wild.
	"I have not the tiniest idea," he confessed."But it seems
to be on our side."
	They stared again." You cannot expect to take it with
us?"
	"Why..."
	"Think of it, male! That thing? It would be more
conspicuous than a shen in a bed!"
	"We can't just leave it. It appeared when I most needed
it..."
	"A sending, you believe," she looked doubtful.
	"What else?" he asked.
	She   stepped  towards  the  creature,   examining
without touching. "It understands you?"
	"I  think not," he admitted. "Sometimes I don't  think the
thhing even hears me. Nevertheless, it's more than a simple
beast."
	"What  must  be  done,   must  be  done," she  finally
spat, obviously  not relishing the idea. "Bring it and let's get out
of this stink."
	Sekher  touched the creature's arm,  tugging  it. "Come,"
he said and it followed him, docile as a well-trained shen.
	The  sight  that  awaited  him  in  the  torchlight  of  the
guardroom to their level was not entirely unexpected. There was a
lot of blood. All three of the soldiers on guard there were naked
and dead,  two sprawled on thin pallets, slit open from crotch to
chest,  chin  to breastbone,  the other lying twisted as if he  was
trying to clutch at the pair of throwing daggers that caught  him in
the back just before he reached the door.
	"Males," the darkfur grinned. Almost a warning.
	"Huh!" Sekher looked around at the carnage. Such
ruthlessness was something he'd never expected in a female.
	The creature was hovering in the background,  staring at
the corpses  and  both  females were regarding him  in  the
brighter light. "You know, Sekher," the dark one said, "you look a
great deal different without your fur. And where did you get that
tunic?"
He  ignored that. "You know my name.  Do you happen  to  have
one?"
	Dark  fur stroked at one of her squared  little  ears,  then
grinned. "Alright,  Sekher  Che.  Call me Chaiila,  my  friend  is
Nersi."
	"I think I owe you."
	"Not this time, male," Chaiila said. "I'm repaying a debt."
	"You came all this way for that?!"
	"I had other business as well," she muttered.  Then:
"Alright. Now we get out of here."

--\o/--


	"This isn't going to work,"Sekher grumbled.
	In full battle armour, holding the twisted leather leash, he
followed Chaiila and the creature. He was beginning to appreciate
the effectiveness of shaving prisoners.
	He was forced to wear every piece of armour he could
find to cover  his furlessness,  a dead givaway to anyone they
might  run into. His tail had been a major concern. No trooper
would put his tail  into  the  sheath  built  into  the  back  of  the
armour specifically  for that purpose unless battle  was  imminent,
and there  was  no  way  Sekher  could  leave  his  pathetic,
shaved appendage  wave around like a flag advertising to all and
sundry that here was a shaved Trenalbi; a prisoner.
	Chaiila had solved that problem in a straightforward
manner. She'd grabbed the tail of one of the dead guards, cut a
ring around the base,  slit it laterally, then just peeled it off with a
wet,  tearing  sound.  They  tied  it  in  place  with  thread
unravelled from an undergarment.
	Now Sekher's tail twitched at the feel of the dead pelt tied
to it.  There was blood or something leaking from  it,  dribbling
between  Sekher's buttocks.  Gods!  It looked  almost  real,  but
surely someone would smell the gods bedamned thing!
	The  creature was another problem of epic  proportions,
but Sekher was adamant: it would go with them. Now it walked in
front of him,  once more wearing its tunic sealed up,  a leather
collar around its neck again, the strap in Sekher's hand while his
other grasped his sword.  The creature had balked when they first
tried to put the collar and leashes on, but Sekher patted its
shoulder, making encouraging noises and eventually it
acquiesced.
	One beside him,  one leading in front of the  creature.
The two females were anonymous in their liberated armour,  the
masks and visors concealing their features. If anyone stopped
them they were  taking the creature to the temple.  Orders of the
priests. Nobody was going to interfere with that.
	Hopefully.
	"Quiet,  male!"  Nersi hissed,  her armoured elbow
thudding into his arm. "And stop that fear-scent!"
	"What am I supposed to do!" he hissed back. "Cut them
off?!"
	"That can be arranged!"
	The  creature,  who  had been watching this  tirade
avidly, abruptly faltered. "Hai!" Sekher began, "What's..."
	He trailed off. Trenalbi were approaching them from
down the corridor:  a trio of warriors in light leather armour and
breeks. They froze at the sight of the procession heading towards
them.
	Sekher prodded the creature with his sword to get it
walking again,  somehow  keeping his own legs moving.  The  Rim
Trenalbi drifted to the side of the corridor.
	"Hai!" one of them hailed Chaiila as she passed. "What
in  the name of all that's holy is that thing?!"
	Sekher's heart plummeted into his bowels.  Surely they
would notice!
	The leather mask across her mouth muffled her voice.
Not by much:  she still sounded a little strange for a male. "A
guest  of his Highest," she said with a hint of a snort. "We're to
deliver it to  the temple.  I don't know. . . perhaps they want to cut
it  open and see how it works."
	The guard eyed the gangling, tufted head speculatively
while grey eyes stared back. "Huh,  can't possibly look any worse
on the inside."
	Chaiila's laugh sounded genuine.
	"Well, if the priests are waiting I won't keep you," the
guard waved them on.  As Sekher passed,  the guard's  muzzle
wrinkled  slightly,  as though trying to follow a  scent.  Sekher
tried to master his fear.
	As soon as they were around the corner: "See," Chaiila
hissed in triumph, "nothing to it!"
	"Sure!" Sekher spat back. "Now how do we get out?!
Just  walk out through the gates then through the town?"
	"Why not?" she replied,  again staring at the creature as
it stared back. "It's night out there you know. We slip out the
gate, then through the town, over the walls...nothing to it!"
	Gods  preserve his hide!  They were lunatics!  Here was
he, escaping with a thing that defied description from a dungeon
with the aid of two mad females!
	"It'll work!" she assured him.
	The  palace  was  quieter at night,  but  still  there  were
Trenalbi  about.  The stairs leading from the servants  level  to
ground were well-travelled routes,  with untold scores of menials
scurrying  to and fro between their masters and duties.  The  few
who  saw them paused only to stare at the bizarre prisoner  being
escorted by three armoured guards.  It was none of their  concern
so  they  simply  kept  out of the  way  then  went  about  their
business.
	It was dark out.
	The  chamber that opened upon the front courtyard  was
vast space,  a  rectangular  cleft in the side of  the  palace.  Three
floors  over their head strongstone vaulting supported the  roof.
Around  the walls,  over a hundred paces apart,  torches  burned,
tiny mites throwing small pools of light. More glows spilled from
arrow loopholes and doorways:  stables,   guardrooms,
storerooms. Trenalbi waded through these puddles of light,
dwarfed by  their own  works,  went about their business;  here
individual  guards lounging against their pole arms, a courier
scurrying on his way, there  a  group  of males back from  the
town,  their  barks  of laughter echoing.
	Beyond  the huge archway the sand of the courtyard
was  blue beneath  the  light of the Daughters and the  Palace
walls  were distant  black  ribbons.  Past  them the peaks  of
rooftops  and chimneys.
	Beyond that...
	Sekher raised his muzzle,  unable to scent properly for
the mask across his face that blocked the night breeze.  Freedom,
so close now. To remove the mask would be sheer folly.
	The creature was rubbernecking wildly,  obviously trying
to cope  with something it had no comprehension of.  How  could
it? Whatever  it was,  wherever it had come from,  how could it
have encountered  anything that could possibly compare with the
scale of this.
	The females were both silent now.  Trying to hold
themselves like  males,  and doing a creditable job.  It was
working!  They could bluff their way past the guards, then...
	Then an outcry sounded.  As one the four fugitives
looked to where that group of down-shift troopers were
struggling with  one of their number who was straining against
their  grasp,  pointing across the space at them.  His screaming
carried: ". . . Demon!  It killed a priest! Stop them!"
	Guards were beginning to look interested now.
	"Alarm!  Sound  the  alarm!"  the  male  screamed.
"They're escaping!"
	That did it.  Guards began to appear in doors, moved
towards them with weapons in hand.
	"Oh Gods!" Sekher breathed.
	"Don't pray!" Chaiila hissed.  "Move!" So saying,  she
bolted for  the  closest door with Sekher and Nersi  close  behind.
The creature,  demon  the Rimmer had called it,  took a look at  the
charging   guards  and  followed  them  with  leashes   dragging.
Something  whirred  and rang against the wall  as  Sekher  ducked
through the door: someone had a crossbow.
	It  was the creature that slammed the door,  rammed the
bar into place.  The door was sturdy,  intended to keep things on
the other side of it,  but it wouldn't take long for their pursuers  to
move  to  cut them off.  All this door boasted behind  it  was  a
spiral staircase,  leading upwards. Already Sekher could hear the
females clattering their way up ahead of him.  He paused to  help
the creature unfasten its collar, then swatted its arm: "Come on!"
	Its  peculiar foot coverings pounded the steps close
behind as Sekher scrambled up the staircase.
	The  females  were waiting in a door way at the top  of
the stair.  "Move  your  tail,  male!" Chaiila  hissed.  They'd  both
stripped  away their masks and now Sekher did the  same,
gasping air.  He  was  about  to  speak when  Chaiila  gave  his
helm  a resounding slap and snarled,  "Don't say it! Don't even
think it. Come on."
	Again  the  females took off.  Sekher gave  his  creature  a
resigned look: "Well it didn't work, did it."
	It growled, then slapped Sekher's shoulder to get him
moving after the females who'd paused at the intersection at the
end  of the corridor.  Somewhere alarm gongs were sounding.
"Where now?" he gasped.
	Chaiila twisted uncertainly,  turning left and  right,  then
she  cursed and tore the helmet off and bounced it off the  wall.
"This way," she snarled, choosing the left corridor.
	They  were lived in,  these levels.  The wooden floors
were worn smooth,  there were tapestries,  simple black and white
line compositions on the walls, covering the grey stonework. A
servant stepped out of a door and promptly dropped his armload
of laundry as he cringed at the sight of a grotesque gargoyle and
a bevy  of armed  and armour warriors bearing down on him.  They
swept  past him, then a guard appeared from around a corner.
	It  was  the  creature who received the full  brunt  of  his
attack.  The  trooper's sword flared torchlight as it swung in  a
brutal arc.  If the creature had been of average height the slash
would have taken it in the neck,  as it was the sword hit it  its
upper arm.
	And, impossibly, snapped.
	All the Trenalbi:  the females,  Sekher, the Rim guard
gaped at  the  shattered  blade  as it  rang  against  the  wall,  then
clattered to the floor.  Then the creature struck out,  a  single blow
from a fist sending the trooper reeling,  then came a  kick that
connected with the audible crackle of ribs breaking.
	They  left the trooper hugging himself and  coughing
blood. Now Sekher stared nervously at his creature.  So easily it
could have killed him in the cell. So easily it could have escaped!
Why had it waited?
	Another  door  at the end of the  corridor.  Another
spiral staircase.  Easy  to defend and space-efficient.  They'd
started moving downwards when the sounds of shouting, feet,
and equipment jangling drifted up. "Back!  Back!" Sekher cried as
he turned.  The creature  lagged behind them,  pulling out another
of the  little cylinders.  It  fiddled with it,  then hurled it back
downstairs where it clattered out of sight.  Heartbeats later the
walls were lit with a brilliant red glow.
	Cries and screams of terror sounded.
	"Come  on!" Sekher urged his creature.  It seemed  even
more tired than they were,  gasping hard. He caught its arm to pull
it upwards and was surprised at its weight.  It wasn't as broad as a
Trenalbi,  but that was deceptive.  It was solidly built. The way it
had handled that guard...
	They  caught up with the females again on a landing a
floor up just as they opened the door.
	The  hall beyond was full of guards charging  towards
them, spears lowered, swords drawn.
	"GODS!"
	Chaiila slammed the door. There was no bar on this one,
just a lock.  Then the creature pushed through them,  ramming a
small cylinder  into  the keyhole then frantically pushing  them
back, herding the Trenalbi upstairs.
	They'd  gone a couple of revolutions up the stairs when
the shouts  sounded  behind them.  A vicious snarl  twisted
Sekher's muzzle.  He  wished  he  could  have  witnessed  that:  the
door exploding in demonic fire just as they reached to open it.
	When  the  stair  ran out,  there  was  another  heavy
door blocking the way. Unlocked, it was, hinges squalling loudly
as it was pushed open.  Sekher rammed the bar into place,  then
leaned his back against the door, praying for his trembling legs to
hold him.
	This corridor, leading left-right, was a barrel vault, tiled in
dark blue with the wooden floor stained a dried-blood purple.
	"Alright," Sekher said. "Now where? There's no more
up."
	"Uh...This   way," Chaiila  pointed  left. "There  should
be another stair down."
	"Which will have a hundred warriors on it by this time,"
said Sekher.
	"You perhaps have a better idea?"she snarled back.
	No, he didn't.
	From  somewhere  on  that level came the  sound  of  a
door slamming open. Voices echoed from the hard tiles.
	Wearily,  the  fugitives once again began  running.  At
one intersection  they were spotted by a pair of guards,  who
howled the alarm and immediately gave chase.  The creature threw
another of those fire-cylinders behind it and the resulting small
orange sun  that  flared  in  the centre  of  the  corridor  effectively
discouraged pursuit.
	"This...is...hopeless," Sekher gasped.  The Sh'sty Rim
forces knew they were on this level.  It was but a matter of time
before they  found them,  and then...How many of those little
cylinders did his creature have? An escape? Huh ! A farce! The
Rim troopers were doubtless enjoying the hunt.
	Nersi  poked  her head out to check the next  corridor
they approached,   then  she  signalled  'all  clear'.   It  was  more
conventional,  this passage:  Plastered stonework with murals  of
gods and deities depicted in bas reliefs.  Long,  also.  They had
traversed perhaps half the length when the squad of Rim  warriors
in full battledress rounded the corner at the far end. Several of
them  raised  crossbows and the flat snaps of the  strings  being
released sounded down the corridor.  Nersi cried out and
stumbled wildly,  mewling in pain. Two  bolts  struck the creature,
staggering  it  slightly,  then clattering harmlessly to the floor.
Another little cylinder  was hurled back down the corridor to
explode into a yellow glare that obscured anything beyond it.
	"In here!"Chaiila ordered,  catching and hooking Nersi's
arm about  her shoulder to help her through the door to  their  left.
Sekher  was  the last through,  throwing his weight  against  the
heavy door to seal it. There was no lock on it save a simple dowl
bolt.
	"Haiii,"  Chaiila hissed despairingly. "Gods preserve us."
	Slowly Sekher turned to look.
	A temple. Here in the palace, a temple!
	The circular room of Communion was nothing compared
to those in  the great temples,  nor was it as impressive as the
Audience Hall  he had so recently been introduced to,  but it
wasn't  the size of the room that shook the Trenalbi, it was the
essence, the power that emanated from the very walls and floor.
	Masks of the gods watched from niches around the
walls.  The great  faces  in gleaming black Nightglow  stone
watching  their every move,  dark eye sockets glowing with a
green light.  Phast, the  god of war,  was in ascendancy,  snarling
at them  from  his position at the peak of the triangle directly
opposite him. Along side him the effigies of Chith'as' Tre and
Hirol,  gods of storms and fire took their unaccustomed places.
The altar in the centre of  the  room  was marked with dark  stains
and  streaks,  still glistening wet.
	Lingering scents of fear and pain rent the air like
screams. Sekher  froze.  All the nightmares,  the warnings,  of
what happened  to  those who violated the  priests'  sanctuaries
came flooding back, leaving him trembling. His fear mixed with
that of the females, even Nersi, her leg now coated in blood.
	The  creature simply walked out into the room,  touched
the drying  blood  on  the altar,  then turned and  stared  at  them,
questioning.
	A  low  murmuring  sounded from one  of  the  paired
arches flanking  the war god.  A hooded figure in grey robes drew
aside the  curtains across the right archway and moved to  stand
below the mask of Phast.
	There was a pounding on the door behind them.
	Unperturbed  the  priest  continued  chanting  his
mantras, lifting his head to focus on the creature. The hood fell
back. He was old,  his mane frizzled and nearly white.  Still the
creature continued  to  stand before the altar like a target  for  a
bow, seemingly puzzled by the unarmed old Trenalbi before it.
	The  priest raised his arm and the creature half-raised  the
cylinder it had taken from its pouch.
	There were multiple flat cracks like the snapping of a
dozen whips.  From  the walls of the room jagged flashes of  blue-
white lightning clawed out at the creature, outlining it in a
momentary nimbus of sparks and power which faded in the blink
on an eye.
	The creature looked startled, swinging its arm around.
	A  stream  of fire erupted from the rod  in  the  creature's
hand,  washing over the Phast's mask,  down, engulfing the priest
who  exploded  into  flame,  staggered forward  waving  his  arms
frantically.  Fur  burned with a vengeance.  Eyeballs burst  into
steam and flame ate into the body,  erupting from the mouth as  a
visible  scream.  The  smell of burning flesh  was  overpowering,
starting Sekher's mouth to watering.
	The creature stood unharmed by the priest's assault,
looking -  if Sekher could read its expression - surprised at  the
dying priest. It let the cylinder drop to the floor and glanced back
at the other Trenalbi.
	The  twisted corpse on the floor still burned,  smoking
and steaming,  looking  like  a  charred log  only  vaguely  Trenalbi
shaped.  Blackened skin and fur burned reluctantly,  bubbled as
fat hissed and spat.  Sekher and Chaiili gave it a cautious berth  as
they half-carried Nersi around it.
	Behind  the curtains,  the arches both opened into the
same hallway.  At one end this terminated in a room with little in
it: some stark wooden benches and chests, but the other ended in
another stairway, going up.
	"But  this  is the top  level!"  Chaiila  stated,  confused.
"Where's this go?"
	"Only one way to find out," Sekher said. "We can't stay
around here."
	These stairs were broader than the others they'd
ascended in their  flight.  They were also newer:  the stones still
bore  the distinct marks of masons' chisels.  It was awkward
hauling  Nersi up those steps double-time,  strung between them
leaving a  trail of blood.  The creature trailed behind them,
glancing back  over its shoulder. There was little doubt that the
Rim troops were now in the temple, right on their tail.
	And when this stair ran out? What then?
	Sekher's  hand drifted to the hilt of his  sword.  Good,  he
still had that, but would...could he use it?
	He reached the top gasping.  Nersi was yelping each time
her foot  touched the floor and she was beginning to weigh  upon
his shoulders  like  a  wet shen. "Get  back," Sekher  snarled  to
the females,  in no mood for argument.  Chaiila hauled Nersi
through the  small  doorway and Sekher watched it close,  then
drew  his sword and turned to face stairs. At least he'd take a few
of them with him.
	His creature stood there beside him, also gasping.
	"Sorry about this," Sekher nervously laughed. "Could
have  had some time to find out just what you are."
	Already voices and rattling equipment.
	He grinned at the creature, clutching tighter to the hilt of
his  sword.  It  grinned  back at him,  then  held  up  a  single
cylinder, stripped yellow and black. It twisted the top, starting a
flashing red light, then dashed down the stairs.
	"Hai!" Sekher yelled, but it was already out of sight.
	Seconds later,  it was back,  sans cylinder. Sekher had
time to  squall in surprise as it grabbed him,  hurling him away
from the stair.
	The blast that roared up the staircase was almost a
palpable force, bringing a could of dust and small ricocheting
debris that rattled against his armour.
	Sekher  found himself on the floor,  a heavy weight  on
his back and a layer of dust coating his mouth. He coughed, spat,
and raised  his  head.  A deep growl beside his ear  echoed  his
own sentiments. "Hai!  You said it!" he agreed as the creature
dragged itself off his legs and dug in an ear with a finger.
	Sekher's  ears  wilted in awe at the extent of  the  damage.
That little piece of metal had destroyed and blocked a section of
stair  and  effectively added another window  in  the  three-span
thick walls of this tower. He could see that was what it was now, a
single tower with the rest of the palace spread out below.  The
battlements on the roof were swarming with soldiery as the  first
tinges of the Lightbringer tainted the darkness.
	"Well,  they're not going to get through that in a hurry!"
he snorted to himself,  regarding the rubble. "Now we just starve
to death."
	Gods!  What was better? Locked in an underground cell,
or in a tower? Either way you bit it, they weren't going anywhere.
	A  bleak thought.  Sekher snarled,  startling his  creature,
then headed back up the stairs,  slapping loose clouds of
powdered masonry from his scratched hide. He pounded on the
door: "Chaiila! It's me! Open up!"
	A bolt scraped on the other side,  then the door swung
aside and  Chaiila  was  staring at him,  at the grey  coating
covering him. "By my Mother, what happened?! That noise..."
	"That  thing  again,"Sekher said,  jerking a  thumb  at  the
creature  behind  him as he pushed past  her,  then  stopped  and
blinked in surprise.
	A  strange room.  Not little.  The floor was  carpeted,  the
walls panelled in expensive-looking timbers,  and over those were
hung tapestries.  Not the usual scenes of  hunting,  battle,  and
geometric  designs,  rather these were maps.  Maps of  the  known
lands,  maps of the sky,  even charts of the seafarers,  plotting
known  currents and winds within the bounds of the  Teeth.
There were  shelves with over a dozen books along with
countless  other trinkets.  Ornately carved,  almost to the point of
gaudiness,  a cabinet  of  burnished dark Splitwood filled  a
corner,  stained glass fragments in the doors protecting the top
shelves.  Before another  door  in  the wall to his left,  opening
onto  a  broad balcony,  was a well-worn desk,  covered with a
blotter,  a  neat stack of parchments, inkwells, a small rack of reed
pens, a small waterclock,  and  other paraphernalia.  A good-sized
whitewashed adobe fireplace still held the remains of a fire, wood
in a stack beside it.
	Nersi  was  laid  out on a pelt spread across  a  bed  in  a
curtained niche opposite the balcony door.  Her eyes were  closed
as  she hissed breath through clenched teeth.  The crossbow  bolt
was  half  buried  in  her upper  thigh,  the  orange  and  white
fletchings poking out.  Blood: it was still trickling through the
matted fur, not as much now as before. Her eyes opened as
Chaiila sat  down beside her head,  caressing her facial fur.
"How're  you feeling, cousin?" Chaiila asked, unable to hide her
anxiety.
	Nersi  grinned: "How'd you feel with a lump of  wood
through your leg? Sweet mother, it hurts!"
	Chaiila  looked  distressed and patted  Nersi's  shoulder.
"I know, I know," she said.
	"Huh! I got myself into it. My choice."
	Sekher felt useless,  like a crippled limb. A Trenalbi who'd
undoubtedly saved his life now may have to lose a leg because
of him.  And to cap it all, she was female. Gods! He was supposed
to protect them!
	"Gods! I'm sorry," was all he could say.
	Chaiila  turned,  teeth showing. "Leave us cub," was  all
she said, an edge on her tongue.
	Stung,  Sekher  retreated to the far side of  the  room.  He
caught a parting murmur from Nersi: "...not his fault..."
	Perhaps it helped a little.
	Well,  first  thing.  He twisted around and grabbed  at
the false  tail,  snapping the threads as he yanked it off.  His  own
pitiful remnant was slimy wet with fats and other bodily  juices. He
wiped  it  as  clean as  he  could  on  an  expensive-looking
tapestry.
	Then he perched himself on the edge of the desk,
ruminating while  unfastening  various  superfluous  pieces  of
ironmongery strapped  about his person and letting them fall in a
clattering heap. Purple morninglight was saturating the sky,
seeping through the balcony door. There was an impossible
silhouette out there: A tall, thin, angular figure standing at the
balcony's parapet. The rising  Lightbringer  struck glinting
highlights from  the  white clothing...armour, whatever that be-
damned stuff was.

	Huh!  An  inexperienced young warrior,  two females,
and  a monster  of dubious civility attempting to flee the heart of
the Ch'sty Rim. Why had they bothered. Over there Chaiila was
hunched over  her  cousin,  voices  low.  She hadn't  followed  him
from K'streth,  had she?  No,  he was incidental. She'd said
something about  some other reason for being here.  Apparently
that  hadn't been successful,  so she'd taken second best (third?
fourth? She didn't appear overly infatuated with the idea of his
company).
Sekher hissed in frustration,  anger, and stabbed at a sheaf of
parchment, forgetting his claws had been cropped. He picked it up
by hand, read it: some obscure prayer to gods of knowledge and
understanding. He tossed it aside, watched it sideslip down, miss
the desk, and plane to the floor like a falling leaf.
	Priests:  that one had had power,  an immense gift,  yet
his creature(dare  he  call it that?) had shrugged off the  anger  of
lightning like rain from a roadcoat.  Also,  there was that guard
who'd betrayed them.  What had he been screaming? It had killed
a priest?
	Two priests dead?
	But why had it languished in the dungeons with him?
Why had those guards been able to subdue it,  beat it senseless?
And how in the unnamed hells had it been able to kill a priest
while strapped down?!
	Gods! The unanswered questions!
	Sekher shook his head,  then loosened the neck guard on
his armour to rub at where the metal was chafing his bare  skin.
How long  would  it  take his fur to  grow?       He  picked  up  the
waterclock  and peered into the complex workings where  a
steady drip of water moved a tiny model of the Lightbringer on its
path. Another gadget, a simple glass bulb with four small vanes
inside, the faces of each painted black or white.  As the room
lightened the  vanes began to rotate.  Sekher poked at it,  but  the
vanes continued  to  turn.  Well,  he wasn't going to mess  with
that. Priest  wizadry wasn't something for an uninitiated  neophyte
to fool around with.
	He  glanced a couple of requisition forms and  noticed
some items  were  a  great deal  more  expensive  out  here.  Gods!
A bodyweight of incense required a transfer of fifteen silver  rods
from the palace treasury to the priesthood's. Interesting.
	Sekher swept a couple more such ledgers aside,
uncovering a small grey slab,  about the size of his palm.  Curious,
he picked it up,  turning it over.  It was solid,  but not heavy. A
strange material: not wood, not metal. One face was decorated
with narrow blue lines forming patterns of circles,  rectangles, and
squares. Along  one edge was a little flap concealing little silvery
nubs and tens of tiny holes. A puzzle.
	He yelped when a hairless pale arm shot past his
shoulder to grab the slab. "Hai!" he turned. "What do you..."
	But  the creature was gripping the little grey box  in  both
hands.  It  looked  up at him with  eyes  gleaming,  grabbed  his
shoulder and shook him,  roaring,  shaking him so Sekher's  teeth
rattled, waving the box under his nose.
	Then stopped when a sword tip pricked at the skin under
its jaw.
	"Tame is it?" Chaiila snarled in a voice as cold as the
winds off  the Ramparts. "Cub,  we have gone to a lot of trouble to
get you this far,  now I am not going to have you torn apart by
some monster from a nightmare; sending or not. Do I kill it?"
	It  was  frozen,  storm-grey eyes in  a  dirt-streaked  face
locked on him.  Those eyes moved, flickered as Sekher reached
out to  take the little box from its unresisting fingers.  One  quick
stab and an unknown variable would be removed from the picture.
	"No." Sekher  put  the  box back down  on  the  desk
between them. "No, don't. It's saved our hides and if it wanted me
dead it could have been done with it long before this."
	Chaiila hesitated,  then gave a resigned twitch of her
ears and pulled her sword away.  A bead of redness appeared
where  the tip  had dimpled the skin,  grew,  then trickled
downwards.  The creature  clutched its prize tight and drew back
several  steps, looking from Chaiila to Sekher with startled eyes.
	"Huh!" Chaiila spat. "Very well,  cub. Be it on your head.
Now you can help me."
	"How?"
	The  dark  furred female sheathed her sword  in  one
smooth motion,  eyeing Sekher.  The rectangular horizontal slits of
her pupils were large,  dark,  stretching across her exquisite
golden eyes. "Nersi," she  said. "We're  going to have to  get  that
arrow out."
	"Oh, Gods!" Sekher groaned.
	Nersi  grimaced  as  they approached. "Just  make  it
quick, alright?"
	"Your  desire,  cousin," Chaiila reassured her with a pat
on the shoulder.
	Sekher's duty would be to restrain Nersi's arms, to hold
her down.  Both Nersi and Chaiila insisted that Chaiila be the one
to remove  the  bolt.  Sekher wasn't about to  argue.  He
awkwardly clambered  astride  her  so he was looking down  upon
her  face. Scared  face,  he  saw.  Her eyes were wide and  she  was
almost panting. Her scent was a spicy smell in the air, tangy and
fresh.
	"Here," Chaiila passed him a strip of leather,  doubled
over to make a thick pad. "She may need this."
	He  swallowed  and turned down to  Nersi.  She  plucked
the biting  cloth  out  of  his hand but  paused  with  it  near  her
mouth. "You  know,  she  said with what was  almost  a  smile,
"you really  do look peculiar with no fur." Then she popped  the
thong into  her mouth and spread her arms above her head.
Sekher  took hold,  leaning  his  weight forward.  Her fur  was
warm,  coarse against his palms.
	And he knew the semibeat Chaiila began.
	Nersi went swordsteel rigid,  her eyes exploding wide as
she strained  against  Sekher's  grip with such force  as  to  almost
unseat him. He steadied himself but the first spasm was over. She
was trembling,  shivering, her eyes staring through him. Every so
often a noise would escape her,  a small sound,  but nevertheless
painful to hear.
	Behind his back Sekher heard Chaiila's panting, her
cursing, then the gasp of triumph.  Nersi almost jerked off the
bed,  her eyes  so wide as to near burst from of their  sockets.
Then  she fell lax,  sucking air and whimpering behind the biting
rag.  He heard  the sounds of tearing cloth as Chaiila made more
bandages to strap the wound closed with.
	Gently  Sekher  lifted  the  sodden,  well-chewed  strip  of
leather from the female's mouth.  She mewled and turned  stunned,
half-focused eyes on him."Calm,"he murmured."It's  alright.  It's
over."
	Yet he waited until Chaiila completed bandaging the leg.
	A  blood-soaked  hand touched his
shoulder."Done,"the  dark female told him.  When he tried to
stand,  Sekher found his limbs trembling.  Chaiila  had  done a
good job:  the  wound  was  well wrapped,  but  still...Sekher had
known of many die  from  wounds magnitudes smaller than this.
The festering...Gods! He shuddered, tried not to think of it.
	A  rumbling  voice,  dropping out of hearing from  sound
to feeling.  The  creature caught his arm again,  this time  gentle,
helping him lean against the ornate Splitwood cabinet,  proffered
the  silvery  flask.  Gratefully Sekher  drank. "Thanks," he  said,
wiping his mouth on his arm, "I needed that."
	It growled in acknowledgment,  then hesitantly moved
over to where Chaiila was sitting at the foot of the bed,  watching
over her cousin.  She looked up,  saw it coming, and had her
sword out and  levelled  in a heartbeat.  The creature  recoiled
from  the stained point.
	"Put that away, Chaiila," Sekher wearily admonished her.
"It's only trying to help."
	"What's that?" she asked suspiciously, eyeing the flask.
	"Water," Sekher said,  watching her with some
amusement. "Huh, it's safe. I've been drinking it."
	The creature held the flask out and pointed at Nersi. "All
right!" Chaiila snarled. "I'll do it.  Here!" She stuck her hand out
and the creature faltered,  then surrendered the silvery flask.
Nersi growled as Chaiila propped her up with pillows  and lifted
raised the skin to her mouth.  She drank greedily,  licked her  lips.
"That's good," she sighed,  then relaxed,  sinking  into Drift.
Chaiila  stroked her cousin's neck,  watching her  for  a while.
	She sniffed the flask,  poked the silvery skin,  then drank.
Her eyes widened at the first mouthful.
	"A little," Sekher said. "I don't know how much is in
there." Chaiila  blinked  at the flask as if it had just  spoken  to her,
then  tossed it back to the creature.  It awkwardly  caught it.
"Thanks," Chaiila said, dipping her head in embarrassment. Storm
cloud grey eyes watched her warily.

--\o/--


	Sekher cautiously peered over the side of the  balcony.
The battlements  below  were still  filled  with  warriors,  archers,
although he was not certain a normal bow had the  range.
However he saw several light arbalests being set up,  aimed at the
tower. They saw him as well, bows were leveled and voices rose
in alarm, but  nobody  fired.  He  drew back within the  sanctuary
of  the doorway. "Why do they wait?"
	Chaiila shuddered and blinked out of her Drift. "Huh?"
	"Down  there." Sekher twitched his tail toward the  door.
"All that weaponry,  and they sit on their tails. I haven't even
heard anyone trying to clear that debris off the stairs."
	Chaiila  snorted and settled back in the low,  stocky
chair behind the desk,  her feet up on the blotter,  right crossed
over left. "Doesn't  surprise me.  The High Windbreakers  are
probably deliberating just what in the unnamed hells to do with
us.  Huh! Our own pet daemon." She barked a laugh. "If it is a
daemon.  Hai! Is it male or female?"
	"I've no idea," Sekher said,  looking over at the thing
where it  was poking through the books on the shelves,  selecting
some and  almost  seeming to read them,  except it  was  holding
them upside down.
	"Huh! How'd you two get thrown in the same box
anyway?"
	Sekher scowled,  then related the situation that had
brought them together.  She listened attentively,  chuckling a
couple  of times while she lounged back.  She'd stripped away
almost all her Rim  armour,  down to the breastplate and chamois
breeches.  Her tail  was wound around to her front and she
absently  preened  at the twitching black and grey ringed tip while
following  Sekher's words.
      "An interesting life you lead, cub," she said when he was
done. The creature had stumbled across an illustration in the text
it  was leafing through and righted the  book.  It  was  an amusing,
yet somewhat disturbing sight,  a parody of a  Trenalbi reading.
"Where do you suppose it came from?"
	"I don't know. We were in the middle of the plains when
they caught it. I didn't even see how it happened."
	"It's a weird mix. It bleeds like any other mortal creature,
and what god would send something like that?  It doesn't have
the characteristics of any deity I can think of."
	"It manifests fire," Sekher said thoughtfully.
	"And  also  water," Chaiila  pointed  out. "And  thunder.
And death."
	"I think that may be accidental."
	Chaiila looked surprised: "Explain."
	"Look at it.  Often it seems confused,  terrified,  like  it
doesn't  know  what's going on.  It doesn't  understand  us,  and
sometimes I believe it doesn't even hear us."
	"Great," Chaiila  muttered. "What  do  we  do  when  it
gets hungry?"
	"It's got some food."
	"Really?" Chaiila  looked  interested. "Could you  get  it
to share?"
	"I don't know,"Sekher confessed,  rubbing at his
arm."And do you  really think it'll be necessary?  I reckon that
long  before we're  hungry enough to need it they'll either have
that  debris cleared away, have scaled the outside of the tower, or
knocked or burnt it down around our ears."
	The   dark   female  stretched,   the  fur   on   her   tail
bristling."Perhaps, but I think the very fact that they're taking so
long to come to a head means someone is reluctant  to  damage
one of us,"she stared past Sekher's shoulder to where the  lanky,
naked-skinned  creature was examining the tooling on an
engraved letter pouch."Or they're reassessing what they're up
against."
	"I've been doing that from the day I saw it."
	The creature tired of the bookshelf and ambled over to
poke around  the splitwood cabinet.  It examined an iron
candlestick, apparently more interested in the bluebark sap candle
than in the ironmongery inself.
	"Oth'c ne'thirin te ne'lirin," Chaiila recited.
	"What?"
	"An  ancient  tongue.  Used  by the warrior  castes  of
the Hub," she  replied. "I think it means 'what you don't  know,
don't trust'."
	"Huh! That kind of thinking won't make you many
friends."
	"Could keep you alive though.  Now,  any ideas on how
we're going to get out of here?"
	"Hai!  That's my line," he grinned,  then sobered. "In a
tower in the  middle of a copulating castle,  surrounded by
soldiers  and seige  engines,  with  a  wounded female  and
something  from  a dramatist's nightmare.  Wait till it's dark, scale
down the walls with ropes?"
	"Ropes of what?" She twitched her tail. "And they'd
doubtless see us and have us for target practice."
	"Huh! Well then, short of flying out, I'm out of ideas.
What about you?"
	"I've  tried," she hissed. "I couldn't come up  with
anything either."
	Sekher moved behind her chair,  to stand in the doorway.
the city  was spread out below him,  wisps of smoke curling  up
from chimneys, steep rooftops of slate-grey and black tile. There
were the  indistinct  blots of Trenalbi going  about  their
business, oblivious to what was happening in the palace.  The
She'ng  river sparkled  blue in the morning light,  the green fields
along  its banks  fading into burnished gold the further they drew
from  the water  so the horizon was a line of copper grasses.  Far
in  the distance  the  dark blue thunderheads of a  plains  storm
roiled lazily: one of those storms that flashed out of nowhere,
drenched a Trenalbi, then vanished again.
	The air was still cool,  the morning breeze  chill.  Against
Sekher's bare skin it was like nothing he'd ever felt before  and he
didn't know whether he liked it or not, then decided it wasn't
something he cared for.
	That  priest  had a couple of spare cloaks and  Sekher
only hesitated an instant before taking one.  Chaiila lounged back
in the chair,  watching him in vague amusement, then yawned,
curling her grey tongue. "That looks even weirder" she said.
	"What?"
	"You in that robe," she smiled. "Without your fur...Gods!
You should see yourself!"
	And  Sekher's skin broke out in countless tiny bumps as
his nonexistant fur tried to bristle in indignation.  He'd opened his
mouth  to  snap  back  a  reply when  he  was  forestalled  by  a
resounding yelp from the creature.
	It  had opened the top doors of the  cabinet,  the
stainedglass  doors,  and now was clutching something that
resembled  a piece of forearm armour, but for the colour: that light
grey with red and blue designs.
	Chaiila's chair legs had hit the floor with a loud thump  as
the  chair  tipped  forward. "What's  it  got  now?" Chaiila  asked
suspiciously..
	It  stabbed with a finger at the thing,  examined  it,  then
yelped again,  brandishing it before the Trenalbi and baring  its
teeth in a grin.
	Both Sekher's and Chaiila went for their swords.
	The  creature's eyes widened and it took a  step
backwards, hands  coming  up while it shook its  head.  Then  it
feverishly fiddled  with  the device,  slipping it onto  its  left
forearm, adjusting something so it locked in place.
	"So  it's a piece of armour," Chaiila  muttered  warily,  not
sounding completely convinced. "Is that so important?"
	The  creature  stabbed  at  the  piece  of  armour  with   a
forefinger  as  if it were trying to punch holes  in  it.  A  hum
sounded in the air and the creature growled at its own arm.
	Sekher  was more than mildly surprised when the arm
growled back.
	"Gods!" Chaiila  stumbled  backwards,   tripped  against
the chair, and sat down heavily.
	"What's going on?" Nersi called groggily from the bed.
	"N...nothing," Chaiila swallowed hard. "Don't trouble
yourself cousin."
	And Sekher was gaping.
	The air above the creatures left forearm blurred,
darkened, and  strings of tiny green creatures began filling the
space  in neat rows. Lines and grids appeared, spinning about
each other in a  complicated  dance.   A  small  globe,   covered
with  lines, solidified  into  a blue,  green,  and white  ball,
spinning  in blackness.  All  the time the piece of armour hummed
and  rumbled sporadically, seemingly echoing the creature's own
noises.
	Rapidly  the ball changed,  seeming to leap towards
Sekher.
	The  image  became a square like a window,  a picture of
a  dark circle;  Like  looking down into a bowl half filled  with
green, brown,  and  bronze  paint,  the other  half  with  blue.
Veins, glittering  blue,  crossed the green patches,  running  into
the larger blue mass.
	"A  map!" Chaiila whispered. "Gods!  That's a map of  all
the demesnes."
	Sekher looked again.  A map,  yes,  but unlike any he'd
ever seen before. The view zoomed in again, the central tundras
marked out.  A red circle appeared in the savanna,  a green dotted
line tracing a path eastwards,  then abruptly turning red and
veering south to terminate in a flashing point.
	"That  was where they found it," Sekher breathed. "That
place where the line changes colour."
	"And that's Jai'stra," Chaiila said.
	And  there was another line,  a flashing white line
curving out  from the circle,  turning to follow the red one.  The
image flickered  yet  again.   There  was  a  black  shape,
obviously representing Jai'stra,  harbouring the tip of the red  line.
The white line was approaching: slowly, steadily.
	"Then what's that?" Sekher asked, pointing.
	Chaiila looked at him and Sekher could smell her fear.

--\o/--


	It was cool that morning, the wind cold against his nose
and hands,  toying  with the edges of his cloak.  Chenuk  flexed
his fingers  then curled them around the grip of  the  crossbow,
the wood and metal a comforting weight in his arms.
	The  first rays of the Lightbringer had tinted the walls  of
the  tower pink,  slowly lightening as the bright orb rose  above
the  Ramparts and began its daily passage across the  sky.  There
had been a few glimpses of the renegades on the balcony, a
couple of  the demon.  Pending orders,  nobody fired,  but a  hush
had descended amongst the troops as they stared at it. It scanned
the horizon,  then looked at them before retreating inside again.
The second time it was doing something to its arm,  again looking
to the horizon.
	"I wonder if they're still alive in there," the trooper  next
to him had muttered.  The query had percolated through the
ranks. Dozens  of  gory descriptions of what may have  happened
to  the northern plains Trenalbi arose.
	Chenuk  shuddered.  He'd been involved in the chase
through the temple, the royal guards behind them making sure the
regulars didn't falter.  The third trooper ahead of him on the stairs
had been  crushed when the roof came down on him.  Chenuk had
gotten off  lightly  with bad bruising and ringing ears from  the
blast that kicked him backwards down the stairs.
	Scorched his face fur also.
	The gaping wound in the side of the tower was still
there, a hole three times Chenuk's height, choked with debris.
Against the sky it was a jagged gouge out of the otherwise
vertical walls  of the tower.  It stood like a single finger above the
palace  roof, higher even than the watch and semaphore towers.
He didn't  know why  the  priests  had  ordered it  built,  they  had
their  own inscrutable reasons, he didn't really care.
	"What is that thing?" the trooper beside him  hissed.
"Where'd it come from?"
	"We  found it in the central plains," Chenuk replied
without thinking.
	"You   were   there?" The   other's   ears   perked   up	 in
interest. "How'd you catch it?"
	"Just stuck it in a cage," Chenuk replied.
	"That's all?" the soldier was disbelieving. "It does  that,"
he pointed  at the hole in the tower, "and it just lets you stick  it in
a cage? Didn't it also kill a priest?"
	"Two," Chenuk corrected.
	"Two?!" The trooper stared at him.
	"Uh-huh," Chenuk  flicked his tail. "That thing,
whatever  it is, it isn't an animal. I tell you, some of the stuff it had
with it..."
	"You two!" A captain roared at them,  making all the
warriors within earshot snap to attention. "Shut it!"
	Chenuk  licked  his chops and turned his eyes  back  to
the tower.  His palms were sticky, sweaty. Mother! He'd storm the
Hub alone if so ordered, but by the Gods, they'd have to find
someone else to tackle that tower!  If it were down to him he'd
burn  the place and have done with it.
	Of course it wasn't left to him.
	There  was  a disturbance around the stair to  the
rampart. Royal  guards  were  pushing up,  forming  a  cordon
around  the Trenalbi  in  colour-splashed regalia,  armour too
ornate  to  be practical.
	"This stinks," that warrior beside Chenuk hissed.
Chenuk said nothing, but his own tail twitched in annoyance.
	And  he groaned inwardly when the messenger,
glittering  in his  ceremonial  armour  of office,  halted at the  peak
of  the tower's shadow and hailed the occupants.
	The  silence of the dead cloaked the  rooftop.  The
distant sounds of the town,  cries of birds,  came loud. Then there
was a Trenalbi  on  the  balcony,  hanging back to  keep  archers
from getting a clear shot. It was that male from the cage, Chenuk
saw, although without his fur and no longer wearing his stolen
armour, instead wrapped in a robe. The skin of his furless head
was grey, like the stone of the walls.  Briefly Chenuk wondered if
his  own looked like that and fervently hoped it didn't.
	"Sekher  Che," the messenger called.  The male in  the
tower shifted	warily  and  the  intermediary  continued: "I
bear an ultimatum  from  the  High Lord and the  Holy  Council.
You  are willing to hear me out."
	Above  them the fugitive male conferred with someone
behind him, then turned to shout, "Go ahead! I don't have
anything better to do."
	The  messenger scowled,  then replied, "His Highest has
been most exceedingly generous and offers these terms. You
many accept or reject them as you see fit.
      "You and your companions will be granted your lives,
supplies,  and safe passage to the border of your choosing.  In
return you will surrender the creature into our hands. Alive. It will
be unarmed and rendered harmless."
	"And how would you suggest we do that?" the northern
Trenalbi retorted.  Chenuk would have sworn he detected
amusement in  that statement.
	"That's up to you," the messenger replied stiffly.
	"And if we decline?"
	"You will watch your associates flayed and impaled
above the palace  gates.  You yourself will be treated to some time
in  our lower dungeons,  from where I can assure you, you will not
emerge a whole male. Then you will join your friends."
	"Sounds like real fun."
	"I'm so glad you think so," the official smiled  icily,  then
bared his teeth. "So what is your answer?"
	"Hai! Don't we get some time to talk it over?"
	"What's to talk about?  You drop that thing out here and
you go free; Or you end up sitting on a spike. Your choice."
	"I...We   can't!" the  bald  male  was   looking   flustered,
scared. "It'll  tear us apart!  We can wait for it  to  drift...we might
have a chance."
	"You have until Pan tomorrow.  Then all deals are  off.
We come and get you."
	Chenuk  frowned  as he watched the Royal  guard  bustle
the messenger  back  down into the protective depths of  the
palace, then he looked to the tower. No. He didn't like this.

--\o/--


	"So now what?"
	An exhausted Sekher slumped down in the desk chair.
"Gods.  I don't know."
	Chaiila  glanced  surreptitiously at the  creature.  It  was
huddled in a corner,  creating incomprehensible sorcery in  vivid
colours  that  burned in naked air above its  wrist. "I  think  we
could take it. It bleeds. If we hit it together, hard enough..."
	"No,"Sekher  stopped  her before she went  any  further.
It gnawed at him.  That was an idea he had  entertained;
seriously, but he couldn't sell his creature out like that. "No, we
can't. We owe it."
	"Owe it?!" She barked incredulously. "And just what do
we  owe it? If that thing hadn't been along they wouldn't have
spotted us in the first place! Good riddance I say!"
	"Hai!  It  helped me!" Sekher protested. "I won't  betray
it. Besides,  would  you really want to deliver something  with
that kind of power into their hands?"
	"Power?" she  gave a peculiar little half-smile. "If  it's  so
omnipotent,  then why doesn't it just spirit us out of  here," she
clapped  her  hands, "like  that?  Huh?  Its  power  does  seem  a
little. . . limited, does it not?"
	"Perhaps," Sekher's  lips  pulled back from his teeth  as
he grinned at her, "but that thing was friendly to me.  It helped me.
I owe it." Then he surprised himself by hissing, with more passion
than he believed he felt, "I'm not going to hand it over."

	Perhaps surprise flickered in the female's hard  eyes,  also
intrigue:  maybe.  Then she lashed her tail around and
commenced preening it. "You seem to have stuck a claw in its
interests." She was  silent  a  time,  then: "I should tell you  that
they  would doubtless kill us even if we were to surrender the
creature."
	Sekher had entertained that possibility. "At least they
can't make me into a cushion," he muttered,  inspecting his furless
arm. Was there stubble?  He wasn't sure.  So,  if he died,  would
his spirit be doomed to wander the aether bald?
	"They can wait," Chaiila snorted, not improving his
spirits.
	"What  of you?" Sekher asked. "They don't seem to
know  you're female. Would they..."
	"They  would," she  confirmed. "They  have. . .
specialists for females." Her  tail  twitched so violently it almost
escaped  her hands.  For  a  split semibeat she was  transparent  as
crystal: afraid.  Light from the door behind Sekher slanted dully
over his shoulder,  making  her horizontal pupils flick to small
squares. Then the window was shut and she hung her head.
"Che," she said. "I fear I must ask a boon of you."
	He dipped his own head. "If it be in my power."
	She heaved a breath,  glanced over her shoulder and
lowered her  voice, "If  I  should be  unable,  please,  see  to  it
that Nersi. . . that they cannot take her."
	Sekher's guts twisted,  clutching him in confusion. "I. . .
I. . . Is it our right. . . "
	"Please." It hurt her to beg him like this, he saw. "Please,
Sekher. She would never last in their hands, and she would suffer
terribly. It is right. It is the only way."
	Beyond her, Nersi was motionless on the bed, eyes
focused on that here-not-here of Drift,  the white of her nictating
membrane half-extruded.  Maybe  she was hearing them,  but
somehow  Sekher though  otherwise.  Small  she  looked:  frail,
vulnerable,  and Sekher's ears wilted as he realised Chaiila was
right.
	Pained,  he closed his eyes and gestured assent.  No
words. Chaiila also had no need of them.
	And  there  was the faint scent of  salt,  old  clothing,  a
presence  at his shoulder.  Storm-grey eyes met his as he  looked
up, furrows in the smooth brow. As white as ever its apparel was,
but its skin was dusty, a streak of blood there, the matted fur a
dirty brown, tangled.
	Was it aware of what they'd been discussing?  If  so,
there was no  glimmer of anything comprehensible  behind  those
round pupils. Chaiila was  bristling slightly,  not  even  trying to
conceal  her unease around the thing. It shifted uncomfortably,
rumbled  softly  to her and pointed a finger  at  Nersi,  took  a
hesitant  step  towards her  then  turned,   as	if seeking
confirmation. Again it gestured at the Drift-bound female.
	"It wants to go to..."
	"I know what it wants!" Chaiila snapped Sekher off.
"Why? What does it want WITH her?!"
	"Why don't you see?" Sekher suggested.
	Chaiila glared at him,  abruptly whipped about and faced
the creature,  then  swept an arm to usher it through to her
cousin. The instant the creature was abreast her it froze with a
swordtip at its throat.
	"Perhaps  it  can't talk," Chaiila hissed, "but this  it  will
understand." Then   she   leaned   forward   to   growl   at   the
creature, "Harm her, hurt her, and I carve you another mouth."
She lowered  the sword point but not her guard and stepped
aside  to let it past.
	Understandably cautious it sidled past her to sit at
Nersi's feet.  Chaiila leaned against the wall,  arms crossed with
naked sword dangling,  watching it. Slowly it pulled aside the
coverlet and bared her legs.  The bandages,  once clean white and
yellow; lively, bright colours, were crusted and stained with rust-
brown. The creature gently lifted her leg and began to remove
them.
	Chaiila shifted undecidedly, gripping her sword.
	The bandages were tossed aside.  Beneath them, the
wound was swollen  red  and white,  half scabbed,  a  pale fluid
welling out.  The creature sucked air in through its  teeth.  Its
clawless  fingers gently explored the puncture,  working out  the
sepsis.  Nersi mewled and shifted,  finally starting to focus  on
what  was  leaning  over  her and Chaiila moved  to  sit  at  her
shoulder, to keep her calm.
	"What's  going  on?  What's it doing?" Nersi was  wide
eyed, trembling under her cousin's hand.
	"Calm," Chaiila  soothed. "It's  trying to  help." She
stroked Nersi's  shoulder  and  Sekher could almost  hear  her
adding,'I hope'.
	Nersi panted and watched the creature.
	Once  more it adjusted something on the face of  the
device strapped to its left forearm,  and aimed it at the wound.  For
a hearbeat it held it steady,  then Nersi yelped in sudden pain, "It
burns!"
	Chaiila rounded with a snarl,  but the creature had
already lowered its arm and was inspecting the wound. Still an
angry red, it was, but the swelling had subsided, the dark fluid
seeping out coloured to clean blood. From another pouch the
creature produced that  small grey slab and touched it in a  certain
sequence.  It slid open,  produced a small mirror-lined draw on
which a droplet of blood was smeared, then closed again.
Seemingly satisfied, the creature tore a blanket and again waved
its arm over the  strips. Nersi  tensed as it touched her leg and
patted her  calf,  making its noises all the while until she relaxed
enough for it to  wrap the  bandages.  For a final time it passed its
forearm  over  the limb and with a gentle stroke of her fur stepped
away.
	Chaiila examined the medical work,  then grudgingly
admitted it was quite satisfactory. "How does it feel?" she asked
Nersi.
	"Ah...Hurts a little. Not as much as before."
	"Huh!" Chaiila's  head went back.  She was eyeing her
cousin suspiciously, as if she didn't want to hear that.
	"You worry too much," Nersi laughed,  plucking half-
heartedly at the furs she lay on.
	Chaiila's ears lowered. "With something like that around,
how can I not?"
	"No,  you couldn't, could you," Nersi smiled, then licked
her lips, a gleam in her eyes. "Is there any water?"
	And  Chaiila  flinched,  then spat and turned to  where
the creature had taken its place in its corner,  watching  them.
"Hai, you have water."
	It stared at her.
	"You know, water," she mimed drinking.
	It  cocked  its  head to one side.  One side  of  its  mouth
twitched and Sekher himself fought back a smile.
	"Water," Chaiila  repeated,   starting  to  sound  a   little
annoyed. "Come  on  you  ugly,  mange-ridden lump  of  shen
shit! Water!" she snarled, then went for her sword.
	"Hai!  Stop!" Nersi cried out in alarm,  then in
reproachful tones said, "You always were too quick with that
thing. Try having a little more respect."
	"What?" Chaiila looked offended. "To that?"
	Nersi  gave a weary smile and while miming,  said softly
to the creature, "Please, may I drink?"
	Immediately  it  rose and went to her  side,  producing
the water  flask.  Chaiila  gaped  then  huffed  in  indignation  and
disgust.
	"Hah!" Sekher barked. "I don't think it loves you,
Chaiila."
	"The feeling's mutual," she snorted. "Pet  monsters.
Gods,  I don't  know;  things are just getting too weird." She
sucked  air, dropped  her  rear on the desk and began wiping
down  her  sword blade with a rag. It was a habit, Sekher guessed.
	"Nervous?" he asked.
	She  gave  him a look that singed his tail. "I'm  waiting  to
die!" she said in level tones, then snarled, "What do you think!"
	"Sorry."
	"Haaaa...No." She  raked claws through her muzzle  fur,
down her throat,  and stared glumly at her cousin,  sitting up in
bed examining   the  creature's  hands  and   fur. "I'm   nervous."
She grinned: "I don't think I've ever been so nervous."
	"K'streth," Sekher murmured.
	"What?" Her eyes narrowed.  Then: "Huh, right. Perhaps
I have. I never did get a chance to thank you for that, did I."
	"I think you just did."
	"Yeah, well. . . I guess I just postponed it," she sighed.
	"I'm grateful," Sekher said. "It beats rotting in a cell. I'll
maybe get a chance to take a few of them with me." He studied
her anew,  noting how she averted her eyes. "You didn't come all
this way just for me, did you."
	She   swallowed. "Did  you  know  someone  by  the
name	of Twistfur?"
	Oh Gods, oh Gods.
	And  she caught the expression on his face. "He was my
sire. My true-sire.  I know it's not usual,  but we'd always stayed
in contact.  My true-mother left me at the creche and that was
that. But  he always came to see me.  I. . . I think I was closer  to
him than anyone else.  I saw his squad get you away, then later
heard that Rim troops'd captured a Tsuba Highborn.  I followed
you.  I found out what happened."
	"He. . . " Sekher croaked,  swallowed. "He stopped the
arrow that would have got me. I'm sorry."
	"It..." she  trailed  off and turned away  from  him.  Sekher
caught a glimpse of her nose: wet, as were the scent-spots on her
cheeks, leaking her grief.
	The irreparable loss of her town,  her home. To have held
it so long, bottling it with bravado. She deserved this release.
	Nersi gently pushed the creature aside and left it
standing there,  looking confused, whilst she welcomed Chaiila
with gentle touches  and  soft  words.  They curled up  together
in  a  lose embrace,  Chaiila's muzzle buried under Nersi's chin.
There  was soft murmuring, comforting, then they were quiet and
slowly their breathing slowed, synchronised, as they slipped into
Drift.
	Sekher  pitied her,  also felt a twinge of jealousy.  To  be
able to huddle up with other bodies,  sharing warmth, protection,
comfort, reassurance.
	He sighed and readjusted his cloak, trying to block a
lonely draught.

--\o/--


	The  movement alerted something inside him.  A part of
him, not a consciousness,  registered possible danger,  increased
his heartbeat, respiration, pulled his self out of Drift.
	Sekher  blinked,  shaking his head,  the nictating
membrane pulling back and clearing his vision. "Huh? What..."
	A  cool  hand clamped over his  mouth,  silencing  him.
The odours of salt and drying hay were strong in his nostrils. It
was still dark,  a dying glow of embers in the fireplace.  The sparse
rudy glow flickered on a alien silhouette leaning over him,  flat
planes  and  bone structure accentuated  by  drastic  shadow.  It
anxiously glanced toward the balcony before lifting its hand.
	Sekher breathed deeply,  forcing himself to relax,  to
draw his claws in again.  Ai,  but his muscles were stiff from
sitting in  the chair.  Before him the creature crouched  down,
lowering itself  to his level.  It rumbled softly,  pointing  towards
the female and nudging Sekher to get him moving.
		Chaiila's  and Nersi's rousing queries were  the
same  as Sekher's,  cut  off  at  the same point when  he  urged
them  to silence.  Chaiila  had reached for her  sword,  alarm
blossoming across her face when she realised it was not by her
side. "What's going on?" she hissed.
	"Ask  that," he  whispered,   jerking  a  thumb  toward the
creature.  It was standing just inside the balcony door with  the
armour  on  its left forearm glowing softly.  Every so  often  it
would glance out the door as if looking for something.
	Chaiila and Nersi both gave Sekher questioning  glances.
He spread his hands in a shrug.
	Cloud  was low that night,  a light mist in  the  air,  cool
against  Sekher's muzzle.  Through the dampness Sekher could
see the blurred red glows of braziers,  eclipsed at odd intervals  as
Rim warriors moved in front of them. They were still down there.
	Huh! Perhaps they'd gone home for the night...Of course
they were still down there!
	Yet   there   was  no  sign  that  anything   untoward
	was transpiring. It was as quiet as a twelve week gone
corpse.
	He  turned  back  to the  creature. "What're  you  up  to?"
he murmured.
	It twitched,  looked up from its work and grinned at
Sekher. They were small,  square teeth that Sekher found difficult
to  be threatened by; nevertheless he decided to take the better
part of valour  and stepped back.  It shook its head,  then
touched  its forearm.
	Without a flicker its brilliant white clothing changed to  a
pitch black.  Sekher gaped wordlessly.  Chaiila muttered a  hasty
warding mantra, grabbing her sword from the desk.
	A  dark shape against the night fog it stepped out onto
the balcony,  hugging the curve of the tower wall to further
confound any eyes that might be looking. Long fingers flickered,
seemingly caressing its left wrist, and it growled.
	A line of red light snapped into existence,  a reed-thin bar
of red light spearing towards the balcony,  originating somewhere
in the foggy distance. At times that thread of light looked solid
enough to touch,  at other moments it faded, vanished,
reappeared with the drifting clouds.
	"Gods,"Sekher whispered, awed.
	The beam shifted smoothly until it had pinpointed a spot
on the  wall several spans to the left of the  door.  Hurriedly  the
creature retreated back into the room,  closing the balcony door,
ushering  the recalcitrant Trenalbi to the far side of  the  room
where they huddled around Nersi,  agitated and confused.
	"What's going on?"she hissed, wild-eyed. Tendons on
her arms stood  out as she clenched her leg,  trying to get  up.
Chaiila, pressed her back again,  grasped her cousin's hand and
glanced at the creature, awaiting its next move. It growled at its
lower cannon, which duly  growled back. Outside, beyond the
thick tower walls, came a faint howling, a  roar  that  within  a
heartbeat grew to  a  crescendo  then  a powerful  impact,  the
amplified sound of swordstrike  on  stone, shook the tower,
jolting showers of mortar and the dust of  ages loose.  A
penetrating whine,  a screech of metal biting  against rock,  set
Sekher's teeth on edge as something on the other  side of the wall
tried to claw its way through.
	Then there was silence.
	A decabeat later; distant shouting.
	Six  strides and the creature was across the  room,
pulling the door open. It glanced out then frantically beckoned to
Sekher and Chaiila. Chaiila balked.
	"Come on!" Sekher hissed,  tugging her arm.  Reluctantly
she came.
	The mist was a godsend,  but still they stayed  low,
hidden from Rim eyes and weapons by the balcony parapet.
Imbedded in the solid  stone of the wall to the left of the door was
what  could only be the source of the noise.
	A stubby cylinder, as long as Sekher's arm and half as
wide, pressing against the tower like a bloodsucker on a
herdbeast. The front end was slightly crumpled, four armatures
spaced around its circumference splayed out,  drill-bits on the end
bored deep into stone.  With a sharp Thum-Thummp the thing
split lengthways,  two halves of something that wasn't metal
rattling to the ground. The inside  of the thing was a glittering
array of compressed  struts and  reinforcing braces,  black boxes
and cylinders,  all  packed into  the tiny space.  For what purpose
Sekher couldn't begin  to guess.
	Then  the creature detached a piece of the  thing,  a
small rectangular  assembly  of  metal that it  pulled  out...and  left
hanging seemingly in midair.
	Sekher stared,  not entirely surprised. There'd been to
much strangeness for him not to be inured to some extent.  He
blinked, peered closely,  and finally noticed the thread running
from  the back of the cylinder and off into the darkness,  a minute
thing, no thicker than a strand of fur.  The condensation beading
on  it gave it a mercurial sheen.
	From  the  device  hanging  from  the  thread  the
creature unraveled a black strap,  adjusted its length until it was a
long loop,  long enough to loop under a Trenalbi's shoulders,  as
the creature showed it wished to do.
	Chaiila understood then.
	"No!"She backed away."Not a chance!  On that?!
Sekher, it's demented!"
	It  stepped forward to offer her the loop and  she
snarled, teeth  bared  and ears flattening back,  drawing her sword
in  a gleaming arc. She struck, aiming for its head.
	The creature desperately flung up an arm, ducking. The
sword glanced off its arm,  making the beast gasp, staggering it to
one knee.  Chaiila  gave tongue to another yowl and swung
around  for another strike and Sekher was unable to say exactly
what she  was aiming for, the creature or the thread, but it was the
thread she hit...
	And the blade was sliced in two. Chaiila stared in shock
at the ruined stump she was holding. The  commotion she raised
had set off something amongst  the Rim  troops,  already  milling
in confusion from  the  creature's sorcery.  More lights flared,
torches and lanterns,  orders were shouted, then came the sharp
snap of arbalests.
	A bronze-tipped bolt as long as Sekher's leg caromed off
the top of the balcony parapet into the tower wall, striking a
shower of sparks and just missing Sekher who belatedly  ducked.
Smaller projectiles rattled off the rock.
	Faster than Sekher would have believed possible in
something with its bulk the creature seized Chaiila's arm,
disarming her with  a twist of its wrist, then snarled at Sekher,
gesturing curtly.
	Sekher  pressed himself against Chaiila,  looking  into
her panicked  eyes.  The strap settled around both  of  them,
Sekher hooked it under his arms, around he and Chaiila.
	Then it touched its wrist armour.
	A  distant  cough,  from far out in the fog,  growing  to  a
rumble, a roar, then a scream like the fury of the wind. From the
distant  night streaks of fire appeared,  arrowing down onto  the
palace  rooftop.  Gouts of flame and smoke  billowed.  Explosions
thumped,  hammering the air with a pressure that was more than  a
sound.
	Screams  sounded.  Pain and terror and something  not
quite Trenalbi.  Blue fire belched skywards from the temple as
priests tried to defend against an attack they couldn't see.
	The  creature  slapped Sekher's shoulder  and  assisted
the shaking Chaiila over the side of the balcony railing. Then with
a lurch  the  solid stone dropped away and they were hanging  by
a thread, the tower falling away behind them, fading into the mists
as they   gathered   speed.   Chaiila   twisted   and   kicked,
screamed,"NERSI!"
	Sekher fought to still her,  afraid she would dislodge
them, afraid she would draw the attention of the Ch'sty Rim
soldiery.
	Although  they  seemed  to  have  troubles  of  their
own. Below  them,  a brilliant green line  lanced  arrow-straight
from  the  mists to flicker across  the  battlements,  vanish  in
drifting cloud, then flash into sight again. Violent fires burned
across  the  rooftop,  pyres  of sparks and  flames  where  seige
engines  had been,  gaping wounds blasted in the roof and  walls,
also billowing flames and smoke,  other places seemingly  melted.
The  figures of Rim warriors were everywhere,  so  many  sprawled
unmoving.
	Then they were over the town: far below and dark.
	Chaiila  was  digging claws into his hide as  she  clung
to him. "Nersi," she whimpered.
	Sekher clutched her tighter as they picked up speed, the
wet wind  howling around them setting them spinning first  this
way, then that;  like a plumb bob on a line. The hum from the
assembly clipped to the thread grew.
	Gods!  How fast were they going?  More importantly,
how were they going to stop?
	Then the river was behind them,  the water lost in
darkness, when  the ground came up out of the mists.  Fields,  the
top  of grain,  blurred past ten body lengths below their dangling
feet. If they hit anything at this speed...
	But  the  ground dropped away again as the thread
began  to curve gently upwards,  and as they climbed they
slowed, more than the  incline should account for.  There was a
braking  mechanism somewhere on the thing Sekher guessed. Or
else it was magic.
	The  ground  reappeared again,  the flank of  a  hill,  much
slower this time:  the speed of a fast shen,  running speed, then
walking.
	"Ready?" Sekher asked Chaiila. She grimaced in return.
	Without warning,  from the fog ahead, an angry beam of
green light snapped past them, making both Trenalbi duck
instinctively. Then  a  pale shape materialised from the darkness
and  banks  of clouds before them:  Much, much taller than a
Trenalbi, many long legs raising it high off the ground,  bulky
body, glittering dark eyes set in a small head that pivoted to stare
at them as  they inched to a halt and dangled from the thread
attached to it.

--\o/--


	Someone,   somewhere, was  screaming,   elsewhere
another whimpering in fear and pain.
	Chenuk  huddled behind the crenelle,  still stunned  by
the explosions   that  decabeats  before  had  rocked  the   rooftop,
shattering light catapults and ballista...and Trenalbi.  Warriors ran
about  in confused circles,  some firing crossbow  bolts  at
phantoms in the mist.  Many more were of the same mind as
Chenuk: stay down, keep your hide intact.
	Fires made the area a chaotic scene of strobing orange
light and jet blackness while smoke burned at eyes and nostrils.
There were holes where the roof had collapsed into levels  below,
some burning.
	Chenuk  clutched the remains of his  crossbow,  ruined
when that green finger of light raked the battlements. He had
begun to poke his head up to fire at the balcony when a green
flash sliced through  horns,   bridle,  and  stock,  the  taut
bowstring  and fragments of bow whipping back to gouge his arm.
Beside him...
	Chenuk  shook  uncontrollably when he glanced  at  the
lump sprawled on the wet flagstones beside him.
	Beside  him the warrior had been raising his bow to his
shoulder when the green light brushed across him.  His head
exploded  into red-tinted steam and bone fragments.  The
twitching body  dropped like a sack of grain, the head above the
lower jaw...gone.
	He tore his eyes away. Something warm, moist was
soaking the fur  on both sides of Chenuk's face.  Absently he
reached up  and brought his hand away red.  His ears,  Huh!  He
wanted to chitter insanely.  His ears,  his glorious tufted ears were
gone, charred and bleeding stumps all that remained.
	Chenuk glanced up at the tower,  the clouds of moisture
and smoke  parting in time to allow him a glimpse of  something
dark and  silent gliding past overhead,  gone before he could
open  his mouth.

--\o/--


	The  thread  hummed  and vibrated  almost  imperceptibly
as another  harness appeared from the  darkness,  slowing,
stopping before it bumped Sekher and Chaiila.
	Nersi  had  both arms wrapped around  the  creature's
neck, claws out and hanging on for dear life,  but her eyes were
bright and she was grinning with excitement.  Despite the pain she
must be feeling, enjoying herself?!
	The creature reached up to snap a red toggle and the
straps expanded,  lowering  the  pair to the ground  and
shrugging  the harness off.  Nersi was limping badly,  leaning on
the creature's arm for support. A most unlikely pair.
	"Oh, gods!" Chaiila groaned in disgust.
	Nersi halted - drawing the creature up short - and looked
up at  them,  flashing  a small smile. "You coming down or  you
just admiring the view? Pull that little red thing."
	Sekher craned upwards to do so.  There was a metallic
crack, a  whirring,  and the straps relaxed to dump them on the
ground. Sekher stumbled as his unsteady legs betrayed him.  That
ride had ruffled his metaphorical fur more than he could ever
admit.
Chaiila took possession of Nersi,  snarling at the  creature until  it
backed off,  fussing over her cousin who protested  she was fine.
Then she saw the pale behemoth looming over them on the crest
of the hill.
	"By the gods...What..."
	"Beats me," Chaiila admitted and tugged at her cousin's
arm, pulling her the other way. "Come on, let's leave a trail."
	"Huh!" Nersi   balked  and  hung  her  head,   touching
her bandage. "With  this  leg I won't make it,  only  slow  you
down. They'd catch us before we made a kilospan."
	She was right,  Sekher knew.  The Ch'sty Rim law would
track them and either capture or kill them.  Capture:  back where
they started. Death: perhaps preferable.
	A  pale  hand touched his shoulder.  He turned  to  see
the creature regarding him quizzically. "What do you want?" he
snapped. It tugged at his arm,  pointing to Chaiila and Nersi, then
at the motionless thing at the top of the hill. Sekher's ears wilted.
	"Gods!" Nersi  spat in exasperation. "It saved  our  lives.
I don't think it intends to eat us now!" And she shocked Chaiila
by twisting  out of her grasp and lurching away to be steadied by
a wiry black-clad arm hooked about her waist.  The creature
rumbled at her and delicately escorted her up the remaining slope.
	Sekher sighed and followed, with Chaiila behind him
mumbling curses and wards all the way.
	The thing was big;  far bulkier than a wagon,  with six
legs thicker than a trenalbi and a chunky body. Its head - if that
was what it was - was a cylindrical affair situated halfway down
its length.  It moved to track them as they approached and Sekher
was instantly  struck by the similarity to the insides of  the  thing
imbedded in the tower wall:  struts and metal and glass and other
materials.
	Then he saw there were wheels on the ends of its legs.
"Wheels?" Chaiila  saw them also. "Since when does hellspawn
have wheels?"
	And since when were demons made from metal?
	The  creature took Nersi right up to the thing,  neither  of
them  reaching  the underbelly,  and opened a small door  in  its
right  foreleg,  touching  glowing squares in a  brisk  sequence.
Promptly,  like a Hetre kneeling for mounting,  the wheeled thing
lowered itself with ponderous grace,  stopping when its belly was
brushing  the  grass.  A latticework of bars clanked  and  hinged
upwards like great jaws.
	Nersi was hesitant about approaching that,  but she did
so, looked inside,  then laughed and turned to the other two
Trenalbi hovering  what they hoped was a safe distance back.
"Come  on!" she called. "I think we've got a ride!"
	"Huh?" Chaiila and Sekher traded wondering looks.
	There  were a pair of what could only be seats in the
front of the thing.  Granted they were strange-looking  things:
black, covered  with  something  glossy  and   soft-appearing,
without apertures for tails, but they were unmistakably seats.
	Arrayed  before them were a series of glassy squares
and  a few  glowing  lights of various colours.  To the  right  of
each position  was  a strangely-wrought protuberance,  a  little
like someone's twisted idea of a sword hilt. The creature helped
Nersi get  settled  into the left seat, squirming to find  a  position
where her tail was tolerably comfortable. Behind the seats was a
small space,  cluttered with small coloured  cylinders,  box-like
things, and  other  incomprehensible  knik-knacks.   These  the
creature  swept  aside like so much rubbish and  folded  a  small
padded ledge down from the back wall.
	"Come on!" Nersi urged them again. "It's not dark
forever!" Sekher squeezed in behind the seats, followed in short
order by Chaiila.  She pressed against him in the confined  space,
fur brushing against his bare arm.  He shivered convulsively and
only then understood just how cold he was with night dampness
soaking through his cloak.
	The seat before him creaked as the creature settled into
it. If  this  was a wagon,  where were the draught  beasts?  Who
had brought  it  here?  Surely it could not have been  left  standing
where it was, conspicuous from the town walls.
	Above him the latticework of thick bars that constituted
the broad canopy swung down to lock in place with a click.  Not
made to keep anything in or out,  simply to protect the inhabitants
of the  cabin  in case of a roll.  Around the  lip,  above  a  board
studded with coloured squares,  circles, and other patterns was a
shield of a glass of a quality that surpassed anything Sekher had
ever seen before.
	The creature was hidden from his sight in its seat
directly before him,  but Sekher saw its hand touching squares on
the  arm of its chair.  More lights flicked to life. With an ease
borne of long  familiarity it tapped lights.  Images flared in  the
glass plates:  lines and curves,  pictures, a map like the one
conjured by the creature.  Then it took a firm grip on the stick with
its right hand, accompanied by a low hum pervading the very
framework of the vehicle.
	Everything lurched and Sekher was pressed back where
he sat. Heavy wheels spun,  tearing clods of dirt loose,  then
gripped as the   vehicle  slewed  about  and  left   Jai'stra   behind.
It accelerated, the body lowering to hug the ground, legs rising
and falling with every dip and mound so instead of rattling his
teeth like seeds in a rattle the ride was little worse than a boat in a
light swell.
	But so much faster!
	Crushed grain blurred under the wheels and slowly the
mists began  to  thin,  turning into a  thin  cloud  cover.  White-
blue Daughter-lit horizon and plains wheeled as the vehicle
executed a gradual  turn and passed through a hole torn in a
rickety  wooden fence and the seemingly endless expanse of the
plains was  before them.
	"I think I'm going to be sick," Chaiila moaned.

--\o/--


	"They're WHAT?!"
	"Gone, Sir," the guard repeated miserably.
	"That I heard," the officer hissed,  then howled, "What I
want to know is HOW! WHERE?!"
	The  guard ducked his head and flinched away. "We
don't  know Sir," he confessed. "They're just...gone."
	The  officer  stared  at  the  subordinate  in  fury,   then
dismissed  him  with a cuff of the ears that  drew  blood.  Still
fuming  the officer turned and saw Chenuk watching. "What  do
you want!"
	"Watchkeeper  Nerfith,  Sir," Chenuk ducked his head
and  the officer  started visibly at the ruin of Chenuk's  ears.
Clotting blood  from  his ears tugged at his head fur,  but the  pain
had subsided  to a vague sting. "Sir,  I'm Chenuk ser  Kifeny.  I
was transferred to your command. Told to report to you for
orders."
	"Another," Nerfith groaned. "Alright, Chenuk, who was
your old commander? Why the shift?"
	"Hekira,  Sir.  He  was over there," Chenuk nodded
towards  a large smoking hole in the wall and part of the rooftop.
They were still digging bodies out of the rubble.
	"Huh, pity. He was a good warrior."
	"Yes Sir."
	"Your battlegroup?"
	Chenuk twitched, the tattered remains of his ears aching.
He swallowed and finally replied, "Some of them are still...alive."
	Nerfith just stared,  trying not to show his shock.  Just  a
few  motley  fugitives  and they'd lost one  battlegroup  at  the
least.
	He  was spared the ignominy of gaping like a  wordless
fool when  another  soot-streaked  trooper  stopped  and  saluted
the Watchkeeper. "Sir,  we've found something on the tower...We
don't know what it is."
	"The  unknown is something I've just about had  enough
of," the officer sighed."Very well. Chetik..."
	"Chenuk, Sir."
	"Whatever...Chenuk, follow."
	They'd scaled the tower with ladders and entered
through the hole.  There'd  been nobody there.  Nor had there
been anyone  or anything  in the room at the top,  which the
priests had  allowed them  to  enter only after performing arcane
rituals  to  remove demonic wards. The whole tower had been
deserted.
	However, imbedded in the tower wall just outside the
balcony door  was  a  peculiar object that hadn't been  included
by  the architects. There were guards in the tower room and a
couple more on  the balcony itself.  All had their fur on end and a
reek  of fear about them. Chenuk smelt it and his own pulse picked
up.
	"You haven't touched it?"the Watchkeeper asked.
	"No  Sir,"one of the duty guards responded."It's just as
we found it."
	"Have the priests had a look at it?"
	A  few  of the guards  exchanged  glances.  Their
spokesman twitched his tail uncomfortably."Ah...They decided to
make  their examinations from a distance for the present."
	Chenuk bit back a protest. If the priests were too scared
to poke  their noses around,  what in the hells was HE doing
here?! Gods,  he  groaned to himself,  I don't get paid enough for
this kind of thing.
	Nerfith scratched at his armour,  adjusting his tail in  its
sheath up the back of the plastron."So,  has it done anything?"he
asked."Moved, prophesied, sung? Anything?"
	"Uh, nosir."
	The watchkeeper snorted and stepped out onto the
balcony. He took some time to lean on the railing and stare out
into the  fog before nonchalantly strolling around to examine the
thing. Chenuk followed, noting that Nerfith's sword hand was
twitching, flexing restlessly       Light was beginning to touch the
clouds  on  the horizon,  turning the edges of the clouds molten
silver.  Morning already.  Chenuk blinked at the Pan; finally, after
a night that had seemed to drag on forever.
	The thing stuck into the wall was metal.  At least,  most
of it  seemed  to be.  There was that watery wave of  reflections  -
pink,  purple  and  scarlet in the morninglight,  much  like  the
ripples on a blade of the finest quality steel.  Other parts were of  a
flimsy-seeming white substance that Chenuk knew  he'd  seen
before.  In fact he'd worn it on his head.  The nose of the thing
was  crumpled where it had impacted with the stonework,  but  the
stone  had yielded also.  Mortar had crumbled and several  blocks
had been pushed out of alignment.
	"Gods,  it  must  have  hit with the force  of  a  battering
ram,"Nerfith pointed out.
	Four  small arms were splayed out,  their tips drilled  into
the masonry. That was how the thing clung with such tenacity.
	"Sir, how could this have helped them escape?"Chenuk
asked.
	The Watchkeeper's ears flagged his own ignorance.
	Chenuk  looked  closer.   Whatever  it  was,   its  skeletal
framework  was filled with small boxes and strange  constructions
of  metal.  In  the  end protruding from the  wall  there  was  a
recessed cavity.
	"What's this?"Nerfith stooped to pick something up
from  the floor."Looks like a sword blade. What'd you think?"
	"Ah,  yes Sir.  Cheap bronze job.  Standard issue.  It
looks like it snapped."
	The  officer  scrutinised  the  broken  blade  and  gave   a
noncommital,"Humph."
	"Watchkeeper!"a  courier  popped out onto  the  balcony
and handed over a scroll."Message Sir!"
	"Thanks."The officer passed the fragment of blade to
Chenuk, took  the  scroll  and popped the seal  with  a  claw,"wait
over there,"he  ordered  the messenger with a distracted toss  of
his head. If the courier had done so, he'd have gone over the edge
of the balcony. Instead he chose to retire to the tower room.
	Chenuk  stepped aside to let the officer pace on the
narrow parapet.  Why  would a priest have a balcony constructed
anyway? He'd  heard  that  Kanr,  the priest who'd made  this
tower  his domicile,  had been a little eccentric,  even for the
priesthood. Always  peering  at  the  night  sky  and  trying  to
postulate ridiculous theories about the Well of Heaven.  Huh! No
doubt he'd used this balcony to stare at the night sky.  Powerful
he'd  been too,  very powerful,  but always reluctant to fight.  Still,
he'd met  his match in the last place he expected,  right in  his  own
sanctum.
	A  slight  movement on the device stuck to the  wall
caught Chenuk's eye. Intrigued, he cocked his head to one side to
closer inspect it.  From the recess at the rear of the thing hung a
tiny thread, scarcely more than a black shadow a couple of spans
long. Chenuk batted at it,  then caught it in his left hand.  It was
so light  he couldn't even feel it.  He snorted in abrupt  anger  at
this  thing that had so thoroughly disrupted his life and  yanked
the thread to snap it off.
	A  brief  flash of pain up his arm.  Chenuk looked  down
in confusion,  at  first  not understanding what  he  saw.  Then  he
started chittering and whimpering in shock.
	Nerfith   looked  up  from   his   dispatch:"What's...Hells!
Guards!"he  yelled for help as he grabbed Chenuk's hand  and
saw the damage for himself."Gods, youngling! What happened?!"
	"T...That,"Chenuk   hissed,   then  yelped   at
pain."That string...It went right through..."
	"Death on a doorstep! You've been losing too many
body parts this  night,"Nerfith  muttered as he strapped the
tourniquet  in place and tightened it.
	Chenuk chittered in agony, his good hand extruding
claws and flailing at the air."Haaii!"
	"Calm, you'll live."
	"North."
	"What?"The  Watchkeeper's ears perked up and  he
readjusted his position the better to see the trooper's face.
	"North,"Chenuk  repeated."They went north.  Where  we
found it."
	Nerfith   digested  that  information  while   more   guards
appeared,  staring  at Chenuk's maimed hand.  "Hnnn!"the  soldier
clenched  his  teeth as the guards helped him too  his  feet  and
threw  his arms over their shoulders.  He was muttering  as  they
carried  him  off,  snarling:"I'm going to  find  that  hairless,
motherless,   demon-spawned  bastard,"he  snarled  to  nobody  in
particular."I'm going to find it,  and I'm going to tear it apart and
feed it to itself.  Deformed,  furless offspring of a  shen. Demon.
Sorcery..."
	Nerfith watched him leave with wilted ears. He beckoned
to a lieutenant.
	"Sir?"
	"I  want  to find out some more about  that  Trenalbi.
What assignments  he's had in the past.  Was he with the  convoy
that found that thing?  where they found it, stuff like that. See
what you can uncover."
	"Yessir."
	"And get a message to the signalers."

--\o/--


	Sekher  squinted into the wind whipping around his head
and ears, nostrils working hard. Standing on the pillion bench in
the daemon's conveyance,  steadying himself with a hand
clenching the framework enclosing the cabin,  he had an excellent
view. The air was  cool and fresh,  just beginning to warm after the
night  but still chilly against bare flesh.  Hazy purple horizons,  the
norm on these rolling prairies,  stretched away in all directions.
The low,  tough  scratch-bush  and golden grasses would
continue  to carpet  the  grounds  until  another  river  valley
where more hospitable and colourful flora could grow.  To the
west,  the orb of  the Lightbringer was only a few degrees above
the hazy  teeth of the Ramparts. How far had they travelled in the
past couple of hours?  Certainly  far  further than any mounted
Trenalbi  could manage in a day.
	He  took another deep draught of the morning air and
ducked back  down into the shelter offered by the  cabin.
"Morning  and waking,"he  cheerfully  greeted  Chaiila who  was
curled  in  on herself  on  the bench.  She lifted her head,  the
white  eyelid sliding back as she raised from Drift.
	"Burn in eternal agony, male,"she hissed.
	"Glad to see you're feeling better,"he returned.
"Huhnnn,"she  groaned,  rubbing at muzzle and eyes."I  don't
understand how you can stand this.  It's not...natural to  travel
this fast!"
	Sekher  flagged amusement at her embarrassment  and
Chaiila bridled.  She  was a proud one,  this female,  and she wore
that pride like a prized and polished suit of armour;  she didn't like
to get it scratched.
	Nersi was in Drift,  slumped in the front seat with her
head lolling on her shoulder.  Beside her the creature was bent
over a tray  on its lap,  a scatter of tiny parts spread out  on  it.  A
small  door  had been opened in a cluster of devices on  a  panel
before  it  revealing perplexing tangles of coloured  cables  and
small  black  cubes  locked  into  latticeworks.  The  creature's
armband  also  lay in fragments while  deft  long-fingered  hands
shifted pieces around as if trying to solve a complex puzzle.
	"Uh,"Chaiila tugged at his tail."Sekher,  who's
controlling this thing?"
	Nersi  in  Drift.   The  creature...doing  whatever  it  was
doing...
	"Don't  ask,"Sekher  replied  and  sat  back   heavily.   He
automatically tried to rub down the fur on his face but his hands
only brushed against a coarse stubble.  Hai, better than nothing.
Wagons that drove themselves...what next?
	The plains continued to scroll past as the wide, barrel-
like wheels hummed through the grasses with a sound like water
against a boat's hull.  A family of startled Burrowrunners bolted
through the grass ahead and vanished into their holes.
Occasionally there was  a judder as some obstruction was struck.
At that speed  any normal wagon would've been shaken to pieces
long before then.
	Sekher  touched  the cage framework over  his  head.
Metal. Steel.  The whole thing was made of metal of various types,
much of it unknown to the Trenalbi.  Gods,  there was a fortune in
the stuff  here!  Even so,  it had a battered and scarred  look  that
suggested it had seen better days.  Paint had been scratched  and
chipped and in one particular spot Sekher noticed the metal  bars -
as  thick as his arm - were bent as if some  huge  weight  had fallen
on it.  If those bars hadn't been there anyone in  either seat
would've been pounded flatter than a biscuit.
	Chaiila  had  picked up a bulky cylinder with  rounded
ends from among the clutter on the floor and was turning it over.
When it  hissed loudly she dropped it, stared at it as if it had
insulted her.
	"So," Sekher began after a time of awkward silence,
"where  do we go from here?"
	Chaiila looked up from cautiously prodding the cylinder
with a toe claw, looked up. "From here? Well, I'd suggest we get
clear of the Ch'sty Rim domain first before we make any set
plans."
	Sekher snorted. "Clear?  What're they going to do  now?
Send infantry running after us?  There's no way they're going to
catch us now."
	"No?" she growled. "Take a look over there."
	Sekher followed her finger.
	On the horizon the squat shape of a tower was  visible.
Too far away to make out exact details,  but the spindly branches
of the  heliograph  arms  were  quite  distinct,   their  reflective
surfaces flashing as they snapped open and shut.

--\o/--


	"So, where are they?"
	Kissaki's  voice  was  level  and  calm,   dangerously so.
	Watchkeeper Nerfith swallowed hard. "Ahh, I was
informed they were northbound,  Sir. We've received messages
from relay posts twenty six  to thirty five reading they'd sighted
the fugitives  heading north   at...uh," Nerfith  licked  his  lips,
"about  one   hundred kilopaces a unit."
	That shook the Lord.  Kissaki went rigid in his  chair,  his
pupils dilating into black pentagons. "One hundred?"
	"At their best estimate, Sir."
	"Oath!" Kissaki  pushed  his  chair back  from  the
polished darkstone desk and stood. Here, in Kissaki's private
offices, was a  world  where none but the highest ranking  were
permitted  to enter. These rooms were not of the imposing scale of
the audience chambers,  intended to awe and intimidate. Instead
they were of a more  functional  scale,  easily  heated and a  great
deal  more comfortable than that draughty hall.
	The Watchkeeper wasn't the only other soul in the
room.  So silent and still that it was easy to overlook him a member
of the Priesthood sat brooding in a grotesquely carved highback
chair of dark wood. A sienna-furred hand propped his chin while
amber eyes glinted  from  the shadow of his hood as he stared at
the  other two, watching every move.
	Kissaki  pulled a scroll case from its rack in the desk  and
popped  the end caps off,  sliding the lacquered scroll  out  and
spreading  it out with a jewel-encrusted astrolabe and  statuette of
Psaht  to  weight it down. "What were  those  relay  stations?
Twenty six to thirty five?"
	"Yessir."
	The Lord pored over the map,  tracing a route with a
silvertipped  claw while a growl hovered in  his  throat. "North..."
Then the   claw  stabbed  down  and  he  shot  a  burning   glare
at Nerfith: "Send orders to mobilize the garrisons at Chertuk and
Red Ford.  Move  cavalry to heard them to Split Forks where
infantry can meet them with ballista and arbalests.
	"Also  get three royal battlegroups mounted and moving
with cages and handlers to bring it back!" His voice rasped again
when he snarled, "I WANT that creature!  Any way possible,  do
you hear me!"
	"Yessir!" Nerfith barked again. "The others,Sir...?"
	"The others..." Kissaki pondered for a couple of beats,
then said, "Kill them."
	"Is that wise?" the priest said softly.
	If he'd howled at the top of his voice he couldn't have
made a greater impact. Kissaki stared at him, blinking slowly.
"And why do you say that?" he finally asked.
	"It  would seem to me that they hold some kind of sway
over the  creature." That  voice  was  calm  and  unflappable. "It
has protected them so far.  Perhaps they could be used to
persuade it to," he raised a hand and made vague, suggestive
motions, "work with us."
	Kissaki  considered,  then said, "No.  Kill them." It was
the final stamp on their death warrants.
	The priest didn't object. He just watched as the
Watchkeeper bowed low as he backed for the door,  twisting his
head to expose white-tufted guard fur on his throat.  The Lord
was seething  and Nerfith  wasn't about to be the overly-cocky
subordinate who  had his rank, not to mention his hide, slashed.
	He  felt the eyes of the guards outside following him as
he let  the door swing shut behind him.  Within minutes  the
orders were transcripted and sealed and messengers were were
dispatched, racing  to the signal stations.  Alone now in his
cramped  little cubby  of  an office he threw down the stylus and
rubbed  at  his hand.  Two garrisons;  at least twenty battlegroups
and  cavalry. There  was  no  doubt that they would be able  to
intercept  the fugitives,  but it would take skill and cunning and
not a  little luck to close the jaws and trap the prey between them.

--\o/--


	"Sir?"
	"Who...?" Nerfith turned,  not breaking stride.  The
trooper hurried to catch up with him,  gasping heavily.  The
Watchkeeper knew this male with his bandaged arm and ears.
"Chenuk?"
	"Yessir." The trooper sucked air, then half-collapsed
against a corridor wall.
	"Oath!" the  officer  exclaimed. "The priests didn't  let
you out, did they?"
	"Not exactly, Sir," Chenuk coughed, clenched the claws
of his good hand into the stone walls as another wave of
dizziness  sent his head reeling.
	"You  should  be in the temple!  Look!  I don't take  to
my warriors  killing themselves off by stupidity and running
around like that's the most fool thing I've seen!"
	"I'm fine,  Sir," Chenuk protested,  cradling his injured
arm with its bulky wrappings. Somewhere within that misshapen
lump of bandages,  healing clay,  and mosses was his right hand,
missing three fingers.  Some Priesthood at the Hub may have had
a  shadow of  a chance of saving the digits,  but while the Ch'sty
priests were good, they weren't that good.
	"You don't look it.  Gods! Have you seen yourself?! You
look as  if you've been chewed up and spat out!" He hissed and
scowled at the trooper. "What do you want, anyway?"
	Chenuk  nervously hung his head. "Sir,  has there  been
news about the. . . about the fugitives?"
	The  Watchkeeper  blinked in disbelief. "You hunted  me
down just for that?!  Youngling, I think you've got your priorities
in a tangle."
	"I  don't..." Chenuk began to defend himself,  then
bowed  to his commander. "Yessir."
	"Huh!" Nerfith slipped a finger under a strap on a
cannon  to scratch   while   he  stared  at   Chenuk. "Take   my
advice," he said. "Forget  about  that thing.  You're going  to  get
yourself killed chasing after something like that."
	Chenuk's fur began to bristle,  his ruff billowing up
around his neck. "Sir,  it killed my section. Wiped them out. It's
maimed me  for  life!" He stopped and took control of  his  anger
before speaking again. "You never saw what it did to the priest,
did you. It took his mind!"
	"I  saw," Nerfith  said. "I saw.  He's  babbling  about
skies filled with stars."
	"You  see?!  It's too dangerous!  And what if it decides
to help  the  northerners?  Gods!  We had it cornered and  it  still
walked away. Can we leave it running loose?!"
	"But it ran. It was afraid of us. We captured it once..."
	"We  were  lucky!" Chenuk insisted,  brandishing  his
clawed fingers before his new commander. "The Gods were on our
side once. Who can say what they'll do next time.  Do you have
any idea what that  thing  can do?!  It had a helmet that let  it  see
through walls! If it was prepared for us..."
	"I think you're overestimating this thing,  soldier,"
Nerfith growled,  reminding  Chenuk  of their  relative  ranks.  His
fur flattened and he stepped away. "Anyway, we'll soon know."
	"What?"Chenuk's pupils snapped to startled black
squares.
	"They've been spotted," Nerfith explained. "There're at
least twenty  battlegroups and several more cavalry units moving
in  on them. We'll see just what we're up against."
	"Huh!" Chenuk  rubbed his injured  arm. "Twenty
battlegroups, Sir?"
	"Yes,"Nerfith   grinned  reassuringly."Enough  to   tear
a garrison to shreds."
	Chenuk grinned also, but if he had been able, his ears
would have been plastered back.  Enough to shred a garrison,
yeah. But is it enough?

--\o/--


	Even  to  Sekher's untrained ear the  grinding  and
grating sounds from the left centre wheel sounded wrong.  When
that noise turned to a permeating shuddering felt through the
huge vehicle's body he was convinced that something was amiss.
	Finally  the creature snarled,  slammed a fist  against  the
framework above its head, and the vehicle slowed so abruptly that
the Drifting Chaiila was tumbled to the floor.
	Seen  by  the light of day the exterior of the  vehicle  was
even more battered than the interior.  The underbelly was  scored
and scarred,  the matt white paint scratched away to bare shining
metal. Slung beneath the nose was a cluster of glass lenses, some
the size of Sekher's head.  The rear of the thing was a  vertical face
with what may have been doors set in it.  There were more of the
lenses  there also,  more set into the stubby  extrusion  of metals
perched atop the vehicle.
	The creature was buried beneath the complex joint where
the troubled  wheel  attached to the leg,  only its  legs  and  waist
protruding.  Metallic clanking sounds, occasionally punctuated
by a frustrated snarl, sounded from under the narrow space and
every so often it would throw out a gleaming metal tool and grope
after another one.
	Leaning  against  the left front wheel  Sekher  watched
the hairless  hand  fumbling  after another  tool.  It  latched  onto
something  resembling  a bottle with a handle,  drew  it  out  of
sight. The whining noises that followed laid Sekher's ears back.
	Some  strange sight they must be:  a six legged
contraption that more resembled some outlandish animal than a
vehicle sitting in the middle of the heat-browned grasslands.  He
looked out over the gently rolling hills with their ever-shifting
kaleidoscoping of light and shades of gold as clouds scudded
across the face  of the lightbringer.  Gods, the plains were restful
to his eyes. How could anyone tolerate living in the mountains?
All those vertical lines...
	"Think  it  can fix it?" Chaiila vaulted up to squat  on  the
wheel beside him. She curiously fingered the patterns worked into
the surface.
	"Ask it," Sekher shrugged. "I've no idea."
	"Huh," Chaiila  cocked  her head at the  creature's  legs.
"We should've grabbed some shen. They don't fall apart."
	Sekher  yipped  his amusement. "True...but I doubt  we
would have made it very far."
	There was another clatter from beneath the vehicle,  a
loud yelp,  and  the creature hauled itself out shaking its  hand
and growling.  Chaiila  smirked.  The  creature glanced at  both
the Trenalbi, rumbled at them, then stuck a tool into a receptacle
in the wheel housing, gave it a sharp twist and lifted away a panel.
For a heartbeat it stared,  then gave a bellowing roar that  rang
across the plains.  Reaching into the hole it tore out a  handful of
scratchbush and hurled it aside,  then another,  and  another. The
tough, wiry strands of the plants were pulped and torn.
	Sekher  ventured  a peek into the  hole.  Inside  a
complex network of curved metal plates surrounded what could
have  been an axle wrapped around with thick cables.  And the
whole assembly was jammed solid with scratchbush.

--\o/--


	Sekher  crouched  low in the grass behind the crest  of
the hill,  nostrtils working as he tasted the scent of the Longrazers
being  wafted down to him on the breeze.  It was a sizable  herd,
the  females  and young encircled by  the  males.  The  patriarch
circled the herd,  cropping at the grasses,  pausing to raise its
head  and test the wind.  Slowly Sekher surveyed the
surrounding land. Where was...Ah, there!
	Chaiila's dark fur was very visible against the gold of  the
grasslands  as  she  circled wide of  the  herd,  moving  upwind.
Sekher's  tail lashed and his leg muscles bunched as  he  readied
himself.
	Chaiila was up, moving slowly at first, then breaking into
a sprint.  Squeals of alarm rose from the herd and immediately they
began  to  move,  the females running from the threat  while  the
males fell in behind them. The patriarch lowered his triple horns
and  charged  at Chaiila who dodged and circled to head  off  the
rest of the herd and drive them towards Sekher.
	As the herd passed the foot of the hill he kicked off,  felt
grass and earth slipping beneath his feet. He stumbled and caught
himself by going to all fours, silently cursing his lack of claws as
he angled himself to intercept the herd.  Already  they  were
reacting to his abrupt appearance,  swerving away,  but he had  a
calf  singled  out.  The breath was burning  in  his  chest,  his
muscles singing in exhilaration as he dodged a female who feinted
at  him,  eyes rolling.  His feet skittered but again  he  caught
himself,  threw himself forward.  The calf was separated from the
herd,  dodging  wildly  as  it sought an opening  to  rejoin  its
kindred.  And Sekher felt his legs begin to fail and saw the calf
begin  to pull away until it made a mistake and turned the  wrong
way.
	Sekher  hit it hard and felt the rough bristles of its  hide
scouring his own furless skin. It stumbled as he caught its neck,
his clawless fingers slipping, then it was free again and he only
just managed to catch its tail,  dodged its kick,  then tackle it and
bring it to the ground.  A blunt-clawed hoof hit him in  the
stomach,  knocking the breath out of his body. He twisted and
was on its back,  the nape of its neck between his jaws and the
taste of its sweat bitter in his mouth.  He bit,  hard,  the muscles in
his jaws and neck bunching and flexing.
	There was a crackling snapping sound.  Blood flowed
hot  and tangy. The calf thrashed for a while then was still.
	Slowly Sekher disengaged his teeth,  licked his muzzle
clean of blood, then sank back panting hard.
	Chaiila  was lazing nearby,  sprawled in the warmth  of
the Lightbringer. "You  could  have  put a  claw  in  there," he
said, levelling a finger at her.
	"Clumsy," she criticized. "You almost lost it there."
	"Like to see you do better," he growled.
	"Sure," she  yawned  and rolled. "When we get to  the
forests I'll  show you some real hunting.  At least we've got  some
food now."
	Sekher  eyes the carcass,  already beginning to salivate
at the thought of warm flesh. "Huh! It's been a long time."
	"Prison  food's not what it used to be,  eh?" She  flicked
a smile at him and Sekher became overwhelmingly aware of  her. . .
her something.  He felt a pang, a lurch, like fear, yet like nothing
he'd ever felt before. It left him gaping and confused.
	"You alright?" Chaiila was staring at him warily,  as if
she expected him to come at her.
	"Ah. . . Yah," he  blinked and rubbed his eyes. "Just
worn  out. Let's get this cleaned out and carted back."
	Chaiila gave him another glance before producing a knife
and setting down to skinning and gutting the calf.
	It was an awkward weight to juggle between them, but
the two Trenalbi  managed  to haul the choicest parts of a  carcass
that must  have  weighed  as  much as the pair  of  them  the  not-
soinconsiderable distance back to the creature's vehicle.
	Nersi was at the creature's side, watching over its
shoulder as  it cleared scratchbush from the works of  the  vehicle.
From somewhere it had cobbled together a crutch to take the
weight off her gamy leg.  She turned at their hail and tapped the
creature's shoulder.  It jumped, banging its head on the lip of the
hatch it was half-buried in.
	"Looks like it's almost finished," Chaiila observed.
	Sekher swallowed his mouthful. "About time. I wonder if
that happens often." He took another bite of liver. Gods, raw and
still warm  as it went down his throat.  He hadn't tasted  anything
so good  in. . . it  seemed like eternity.
	"It's not much  for  a daemon, is it?"
	"How's that?"
	"Your creature.  Daemon,  whatever. Look at it! It's
clumsy. It bangs its head,  it makes mistakes. It's more like a
hideously deformed Trenalbi than a Godsend." She punctuated
that by tearing a chunk from her liver and masticating noisily.
	"I had noticed," Sekher reluctantly admitted.
	Chaiila  chuckled. "Hmmm...It must be tough to discover
your ironbearing earth is just coloured clay."
	"Huh! It saved our tails."
	She  glanced pointedly at his shaved member. "Well,
most  of them anyway."
	With  a  sniff he hitched up the strap  that  supported
the haunches  strung about his neck and pretended to ignore that
cut to his shaved pride.
	Nersi  had come to meet them halfway,  hop-swinging  on
her single crutch. "Hai!" she greeted them with a smile that turned
to a  glistening grin at the scent of the meat. "The  mighty
hunters return. Not a bad catch I see."
	Chaiila  frowned. "You  sure you should be  walking  on
that leg?"
	Nersi's ears twitched. "Perhaps I should walk on my
hands?"
	"Nersi!"
	"Sorry," she  grinned again. "Don't  worry.  It's  fine.
That thing replaced the bandage.  I can hardly feel it. Say, you
going to eat all that?"
	Chaiila  snorted and tossed her cousin the remnants  of
the liver. Nersi adroitly plucked it from the air. "Thanks." She took
a eager bite.
	"You  know," she continued from around a  noisy
mouthful. "We should find something to call it."
	"Call  what?" Sekher  asked.  They began moving back
to  the vehicle, slowly; mindful of Nersi's handicap.
	"Your creature," she said,  pointing with her free hand
still clutching  a gobbet of meat. "We can't just keep calling it
'Your Creature'."
	"Alright," Sekher said. "Any suggestions?"
	Nersi lowered her eyes: "I had thought, Seth'Nai."
	"Pale  Walker," Chaiila mused,  then laughed in  delight.
"How apt."
	Sekher thought about it. "Sounds good to me."
	Nersi's  ears  flicked and she called to  the  creature  who
awaited them. "Hai! They like it! You've got a name, Seth'Nai!"
	And Seth'Nai cocked its head to one side and blinked at
her, then without taking its eyes from them slammed the hatch
over the complex  workings  it'd been cleaning  out.  Sekher
realised  it wasn't  as  much staring at them as at the burden  they
carried. "Hungry?" he asked,  and tossed it the remainder of the
liver. It caught  the dripping chunk of flesh,  stared at it for a
second, then  gave  a yelp and dropped it,  shaking its hands  as
though burnt.
	The Trenalbi stared in confusion.
	"Is there something wrong with the meat?" Nersi asked.
	"Didn't  taste  out  of  the  ordinary," Chaiila   responded,
licking her bloodstained muzzle.
	The creature was wide-eyed,  its eyes flicking from the
meat to the Trenalbi.
	"I don't think it likes meat," observed Sekher.
	"Huh!" Chaiila scooped up the dropped piece of kidney,
shook it off,  then offered it again. "I think you're right,  Che," she
said  as the creature flinched away again. "Your Gods' - shaved
monster's a plant eater!" Her barking  laughter rang across the
veldts.


--\o/--


	Well, whatever Seth'Nai did to the wheels worked. . . for
about forty  kilopaces before the grating noises turned to  sparks
and smoke.
	The  creature had taken one look at the damage  and
slammed the  hatch on it in disgust,  not even attempting to  repair
it. Perhaps it couldn't,  Sekher pondered. So, even this Seth'Nai
had its limits.
	It couldn't fix it,  but the vehicle still had five  spares. The
entire wheel was drawn up on its leg and tucked out  of  the way.
The loss of a single wheel didn't appear to hinder it,  but the  other
wheels still complained and it wasn't too much  longer before the
right front wheel screamed and died.
	"One  more to go," Chaiila grumbled as that wheel was
tucked up  to join the other." I for one don't want to see if  thing
can manage on three legs. I think I'd prefer to walk.
	"And  you," she continued,  studying Sekher, "are
starting  to look like a boiled Ballfruit."
	Sekher scratched uncomfortably with the stubs of his
claws. He itched. All exposed skin was red and tender, especially
around the  shoulders  and  neck.  He could feel the hard  nubs  of
fur beginning to sprout through,  but it was slow! so slow! And
still his skin felt as though it were burning.
	So  he'd  stripped  off his chafing  armour  and  cloak  and
scratched  until  even  his clawless  fingers  drew  blood.  When
Seth'Nai  noticed his condition he produced a hooded poncho
made from some flexible silvery substance that could almost have
been called  cloth,  save that it had no weave whatsoever.  It was
as light as air and chafed his hide not the slightest.  Of course he
still  itched,  but beneath the cool caress of the poncho it  was
tolerable.
	When the fourth wheel expired Chaiila did indeed learn
that the  vehicle could cope on three.  Not  very  effectively:  their
speed was more than halved,  but still they made far better  time
than they possibly could have done walking.

--\o/--


	At first the Red River valley was a blemish across the
nearflat  horizon to the north,  growing clearer and more defined
as they approached.  The terrain slowly changed,  the rolling  hills
giving  way  to coarser arroyo and gullies,  steeper  and  higher
hills and ridges,  broken by the passage of water, whilst the low
grasses and coarse Scratchbush surrendered to Spiralleaf
bushes, Arrowstems,  Scellerian  trees and other flora unable to
compete with the Scratchbush when it came to thriving in drier
environs. Stonewood  trees marched along ridgetops,  their
extensive  roots matting  the  cliff where rock had sheered away in
a  slip.  The thick  undergrowth was alive with  small  animals,
insects,  and flyers of every description.
	Sekher  started as a Meneri skitered away through the
bush. it  was all to easy to imagine one saw the gleam of metal as
Rim troops lurked in ambush.  That could be awkward. Progress
through this  rough  land was slow and if there was a trail  they
hadn't found it,  instead making their way cross-country, skirting
large obstacles, crushing smaller ones.
	And  - as Chaiila observed - leaving a trail obvious
enough for a blind, mentally-deficient cripple to follow.
	There  was  a  lurch and Sekher reflexively  grabbed  for
a handhold,   bouncing   against   the   restraining   straps
	the cre...Seth'Nai had made them don.  Like some six-
legged  behemoth the  vehicle  was using its damaged wheels as
feet to  step  down into  a tributary.  Water churned as Seth'Nai
turned the  vehicle and guided it downstream.
	"You're sure this is the Red River?" he asked Chaiila.
	"Of course!  We came this way when we followed you.
Further east  though,  to avoid the Rim patrols.  I think this way  is
a little  faster  - you don't have to cross the  Munsk  and  Plague
rivers  as well -  but we do come pretty close to  some  garrison
towns."
	"How close is 'close'?"
	"Not  less than twenty kilopaces.  We can be there and
gone before they get a glimpse of us."
	"You'd  better  pray it's so," Sekher  muttered. "There  is
a crossing?"
	"Uh-huh.  At this time of year there is,  an easy one. Split
Forks I believe it's called.  There are the ruins of an old  town
around  here  somewhere,  named  after the  forks.  Some  of  the
Trenalbi around here say they're inhabited by ghosts and
demons. We  should  stop off and let your friend up front  go
visit  its relations."
	She laughed then, her barks ringing among the trees.
	Sekher snorted, grabbing for another handhold as the
vehicle stepped  down  a small waterfall.  In a flurry  of  leaves and
wings, flyers exploded from the crest of a hill,  making  Sekher
glance up.
	He froze, horror melting across his face.
	"Oh, Gods, no!" he croaked, then: "DOWN!"
	He  lunged  for Chaiila's arm and tried to pull her  to  the
floor and the straps stuck and held her back and he was  fumbling
with the release when the archers on the hill fired and there was a
searing pain across his cheek and quarrels clattered into  the
cabin.
	The  vehicle  surged forward,  the  three  operative
wheels scrabbling for a purchase on the stream bed,  spraying
showers of water  everywhere.   Low  branches  whipped  against
the   cabin framework,  breaking off with loud retorts, showering
them with a debris of leaves and sticks.  Ahead another group of
Rim troopers appeared,  scattering  as the behemoth tore through
their  group, but still a couple loosed shots.  Seth'Nai gave a grunt
as a bolt struck it square in the chest, failing to penetrate the tunic
but evidently scaring the fur off the creature.
	Howls of rage faded behind them.
	"Gods!" Sekher gasped. "Gods! How...Where'd they
come from?!"
	"They were waiting," Chaiila snarled,  rubbernecking
wildly, her sword in hand for all the good it would do her. "I think
we've lost them though."
	"Mother, they KNEW!" Sekher howled.
	"Their thrice-cursed heliographs," said Chaiila,  glancing
at him, then blurted, "Che! You've been hit!"
	"Huh?" He touched his cheek,  inspected fingers stained
dark purple. "Oh...Just a scratch."
	She  was about to speak when the trees around  them
rapidly thinned to low scrub,  then even that vanished into a
panorama of open space and cloud-stippled azure skies.  Before
them stretched the river flood plain: kilopaces across, it was a vast
stretch of rock-strewn   ground  which  in  the  flood  seasons
would	 be underwater.  Now,  in the heat of the dry season,  it
was a baren expanse  of  river-carried  stones,   cracked,  dotted
with  the miniature plateaus of beached islands.  The river at its
current level  was a ribbon of polished steel glittering in the glare
of the Lightbringer.
	For a second the vehicle was airborne, plunging over a
short drop  down  to the dried riverbed and impacting in
fragments  of pulverised  rock  and metallic screams as  damaged
systems  were taxed  to  the limit.  The Trenalbi were  bounced
against  their straps like seeds in a rattle,  Sekher's teeth clattering
in  his head.  Then  they  were  accelerating  across  the  flood
plain, pulverised rock rising in a cloud behind them.
	Sekher stuck his head out,  squinting into the wind and
dust and twisting to see behind them. From the receding treeline,
like a  tide flowing between rocks,  Soldiers were  emerging,
several squads of light cavalry and infantry.
	But there they stopped, lining up along the bank, not
making any effort to pursue. Waiting, as if reluctant to pursue.
	But fear had nothing to do with their recalcitrance.  It
was the creature who saw them first, then Nersi. Her whimper
drew the attention of the other Trenalbi and they also looked
forward.
	Beyond  the river was a solid wall of  soldiery,
completely blockading the ford.  Water glittered like molten silver,
churned to  spray by the hooves of shen as battlegroup after
battlegroup of heavy cavalry crossed the river to form skirmish
lines.  Light seige  engines  and field artillery bulked behind  the
infantry, crews crouched at their weapons.
	"This," Chaiila pronounced, "does NOT look good."
	"You  have a gift for understatement," Sekher  snarled
back, shouting  above  the  noise of the wind as  the  vehicle
slewed, scattering rocks the size of skulls before  halting.
Frantically Seth'Nai looked around.
	"We can still run!" Sekher growled,  his skin breaking
out in tiny bumps as nonexistant fur attempted to bristle. "We can
run!"
	"How  far?" Chaiila quietly asked. "That wheel isn't
going  to last."
	For  pounding  heartbeats they were  silent,  able  to
hear distant  battlecries,   clashing  of  swords  upon  shields,  the
harvesting of courage.  They couldn't run.  The vehicle  wouldn't
last.  On  foot  they  wouldn't make it a  hundred  paces  before
outriders ran them down.  Perhaps Seth'nai could get away, but on
foot against so many battlegroups?  Sekher had seen it bleed,  so
could it die?
	What  about its weapons,  the ones it had used  against
the palace?  Why  didn't it use those?  Sekher kept expecting  his
creature to do something, anything, to pull some trick out of the
ether to save their hides.
	But  it sagged,  slumped and stared at the ranks of the
Rim soldiery.
	"Hai," Sekher  leaned forward to touch it and it flinched
at his  hand  on  its arm.  Those  impossible  stone-grey  eyes  met
Sekher's  and the young male knew:  Gods,  it's as scared as  the
rest of us! It in turn gently touched Nersi's shoulder, smoothing
the  tangled  fur,  then  it returned to its  little  lights  and squares,
growling at its wrist as though arguing with a piece of
ironmongery.
	"Hai!   We  just  SIT  here?!" protested  Chaiila. "What's
it DOING?!"
	Whatever it was doing, it was doing it hastily. Pale
fingers flew  across grids of tiny squares while it kept up a
continuous rumbling  in a pattern that locked and interlocked
with  similar noises  from  the machine.  WAS it  talking?  Was
there  another creature  in the machine?  Barely pausing in its
work it  reached down to pull out a worn blue floppy bag of an
odd tubular  design that  it tossed back to Sekher.  Solid-seeming
metal at his  side slid aside, revealing stacks of boxes and packets
and indefinable objects of a multitude of materials and designs.
"Fill  it?" Sekher asked,  shaking  the bag.  The creature made no
sign that it  had heard, once again running a forefinger across
lights with growing speed.   Sekher   hissed  and  began
shovelling   handfulls   of paraphernalia into the carrysack.
	With  a whine the vehicle came back to life,  turning  in  a
cloud of dust and moving slowly toward the river and Rim
ambush. Hidden  mechanisms  hissed  and the  cabin  lowered,
the  canopy clanged  and swung partway open.  Seth'Nai snapped
its  harness, gesturing  frantically to the Trenalbi until they
followed  suit, then  it caught Nersi,  all but threw her out,  and
jumped  after her.
	Sekher glanced at Chaiila - stunned - then clutched the
bag to his chest and scrambled to follow.
	He hit the ground hard,  rolled, and ducked his head,
trying to  burrow  into  the dirt and  rocks  as  the  massive,
scarred underbelly of the vehicle rumbled overhead, wheels on
either side kicking out slivers of smashed stones that stung
against Sekher's skin. Then it was past and he looked around.
Chaiila. . . yes, she'd followed and was even now picking herself
up. The creature was on its feet,  helping Nersi whose leg had
gone again. He grabbed the bag and scrambled to his feet.
	"I'm  going  to rip its throat out  with  my  teeth!" Chaiila
snarled  to Sekher,  spitting rock dust.  Together they  half-ran
half-limped to where the creature was beckoning them, urging
them to follow.
	Already the vehicle was halfway to the river,  throwing
up a cloud of dust.  Sekher could hear it venting a wailing  cry,
red and orange lights strobing on its upper deck. The Rim troops
were hesitating,  their ranks beginning to falter as the mass of
white metal bore down upon them.  Ahead was the creature,
leading them, half-carrying Nersi.  On the river bank the Rim
troops were still hesitating,  unsure  what  to  do in the light  of
their  quarry abruptly  running back toward them.  Slowly their
cavalry  moved forward,  their shen picking their way down the
eroded  riverbank onto the floodplain.
	Seth'Nai stumbled,  then changed tack, angling for a pile
of boulders  - massive water-torn things the height of two
Trenalbi that   would  form  a  tiny  island  unto  themselves  when
the floodwaters  submerged  this  plain.   That,  Sekher  thought
in disbelief, was where it planned to make a final stand?!
	Nevertheless he followed, stones punishing against his
tough foot  pads,  the  silvery cloak of  daemonthread  threatening
to tangle his legs,  the breath rushing in his lungs. Around the far
side  of the rock it led them,  throwing anxious glances  at  the
approaching Rim cavalry and motioning frantically with its hands.
	"Now! You furless freak!" Chaiila  snarled at it,
breathless. "I have about had enough!  Nersi! Are you alright?"
she knelt by her cousin.
	With a growl the creature seized Sekher,  throwing him
down, then caught at Chaiila.  She snarled and twisted and
slashed  and the creature cried out as parallel red lines crossed a
cheek, then  it bodily flung itself at her.  Again her claws caught
it, drawing more blood before its weight bore her to the ground,
atop Sekher  and  Nersi with an impact that knocked  the  breath
from Sekher's lungs. Chaiila struggled, the creature swung a fist
that rocked her head back,  shutting her jaw with a hollow 'clop'
and spread itself out, trying to cover the Trenalbi with...
	The world flared white.
	A  light  to  beggar  the  Lightbringer  washed  across
the landscape.  For  the  briefest instant the world was  a
bleached tapestry.  A wave of heat  seared  Sekher's  face, lungs,
skin, causing him to cry out, fling an arm across his face. That cry
tried to turn to a scream when a sound,  a solid wall of sound
smashed into him, tearing away his breath, catching him up,
hurling  him  in a wave of fire - glimpses of trees  bursting  in flame
- then an impact that...

--\o/--


	He ached.
	He hurt.
	There was a dull, warm taste in his mouth.
	He moved an arm, clenched a hand: pain.
	"Gods."
	It  wasn't really a coherent word.  Rather it was  a  croak,
barely audible.
	"Che! Hai! Che, you alright?"
	Hands  touched him,  fluttering and  uncertain.  He
groaned again  and spat blood before cracking an eye  open.
Chaiila  was looming over him. "So," he rasped, "We dead?"
	"What?" she was momentarily taken aback, then
laughed, "No. Oh Gods no!"
	"Oh," he grimaced. "I feel like it."
	He  tried  moving then.  Muscles protested as  he  sat,
but nothing  seemed  broken.  His cloak was gone and it was  a
while before  he realised he was laying on it.  The stubble of his
fur was curled,  as though by heat,  some of it crumbling away as
he brushed  a  hand  across  his  stomach.  His  skin  burned
anew. Chaiila's face was swollen, an eye almost shut, also her pelt
was curled  and crisped at the edges.  They were both covered
with  a fine sprinkling of dust and dirt and pale ash.
	"Copulation!  What happened? That light...Where's
Nersi? The Rimmers..."
	"Calm," Chaiila interrupted. "Nersi's fine.  She's over
there, seeing to your. . . daemon."
	"My. . . " Sekher  turned to see Nersi beside a prone
figure  in white, then he saw what lay around them and gaped in
dumb shock.
	Trees were still burning, throwing a pall of smoke high
into the  air to mingle with the cloud that lay over the  whole  river
valley.  Tumbled lumps,  still smoking, were all that remained of
rim  troopers,  while here and there wandered stunned and  burned
shen, whining in pain. Somehow Sekher found his feet and
stumbled over  to their protecting boulders.  The scene beyond
was  beyond comprehension.
	The river was damned,  slowly filling a circular lake  three
hundred paces across.  Around that the ground was scorched
black. There  was hardly enough left of the Rim ambush to  make
charred lumps on the ground. Smoke rose in stately columns from
the seige engines.  Sekher could see a few survivors moving, a
very few. If there were more they had since departed.
	The Red river was running true to color.
	Already  carrion  hunters  were  appearing  on  the
scene. Graceful   black  and  red-crested  Spearflyers   were
circling overhead,  twisting  in the air as they wound spirals  lower
and lower  to  the  burnt carcasses strewn  along  the  river.  Their
clacking  and screaming arguments often exploding in a flurry  of
fur  and torn wing membranes.
	An area of over a kilopace  in radius. Destroyed.
Levelled. Annihilated.
	Sekher  collapsed against the cool granite,  not willing  to
believe what his eyes had just seen.
	"You were right," said Chaiila softly. "It is a demon."
Seth'Nai,  their daemon,  was sprawled in a loose tangle  of limbs,
unmoving.  Whatever  it  had loosed upon the  Rim  forces wasn't
selective. Nersi sat beside it, touching the head with its long
strands of fur.
	"It's alive?" asked Sekher.
	"I...think so," she replied uncertainly. "Its. . . pulse is
hard to find."
	Sekher knelt and put his muzzle near the creature's face.
He could feel breath against his nose.  So,  it WAS still alive.  He
sat back and studied it.  The scratches down its cheek were caked
with dirt and scarlet blood was smeared across its features.

Nersi dabbed at the blood with a scrap of cloth,  exercising a
tenderness that disturbed Sekher. "You're too rash, cousin," she
admonished Chaiila. "It was trying to help you."
	"How  was  I  to  know," grumbled  Chaiila. "It. . . it
TOUCHED me!" She sounded - Sekher marvelled - almost
insulted.
	"It saved your tail," Nersi corrected.
	"Huh!" was the dark female's reply. "I don't suppose you
want to leave it?"
	Nersi glared.
	"Just    a    thought," Chaiila   hastily    reassured her
cousin. "Anyhows,  we're  on foot now. . . with a wounded
daemon  to boot.   I  suggest  we  perhaps  start  moving
downstream,  find somewhere to 'borrow' some shen. First
though," she sighed, "we try to get THIS sorted out."
	In  its  effort to shield them the creature  had  taken  the
brunt  of the blast.  Nearly ten bodylengths it had been  hurled,
bouncing off rocks not doing it the least of good.  While Chaiila
went off to see if she could scavenge some weapons,  supplies, or
even  transport,  Sekher and Nersi settled Seth'Nai out  and  did
their best to check for broken. . . whatever it had.  The creature's
garments hampered their efforts, but there was no apparent way
to remove them.  The limbs felt strange,  the joints. . . wrong, but
as best  they  could  determine  there  was  nothing  broken.  Nersi
produced a torn black cloak that they wrapped the creature in.
	The Lightbringer was gone beyond the distant
Ramparts,  the Daughters  high in the night sky casting bluish
light across  the landscape. Three of the Guards moved in their
slow, stately climb almost directly above them.  On the assent;  it
was still  early. Was that where his creature had come from?  The
Guards?  It  made sense of a sort, he supposed.
	To the north the Hole,  the bottom of the Well,  was a
vast disk  of white specks that shimmered and  twinkled,  numbers
too great  to  count  in three days.  The spirits of  those  who  had
passed.  There  would  be a few hundred more  lights  there  this
night, Sekher mused.
	A  cloud  drifted across the Hole  and  Sekher  sighed,
his breath glittering in the air. Gods but the temperature dropped
at night  on  the plains!  He pulled the smooth folds of  his  cloak
closer  and  lolled  his head to look at the  pale  face  of  the
creature, pale like the faces of the daughters.
	"Nersi,"he said as they both watched the pale
features,"Why did you do this?  Come with Chaiila?  You aren't
Small Guard, are you."
	She scratched her neck,  then gave a rueful smile and
began grooming the tip of her tail."No,  not me.  When we
evacuated the city I came with her.  She was sworn to look after
me, an honourbond,  but she also had to find you. I came along to
help her. To tell the truth, I was looking forward to meeting the
male who got her so..."
	Sekher cocked his head, puzzled.
	"Who  saved  her life," Nersi finished  rather  lamely,
ears drooping.  In  the awkward silence that followed she
dampened  a cloth  with  saliva  and  dabbed  at  the  blood  drying
on  the creature's  face.  It stirred,  recoiled from the female's
touch with a yelp,  eyes snapping wide open and fingers
clenching  into fists.
	"Calm!  Calm!" Nersi urged, patting its arm. And calm it
did, blinking  at  her and Sekher while  its  breathing  slowed.
"Good, good. It's alright," Nersi crooned.
	"Gods," Sekher  spat in disbelief. "It totally destroys a
few hundred troops and rearranges part of a river,  and you treat
it like a lap-pet!"
	"Try  kindness," she  growled  back at  him.  "Perhaps  it
can understand that."
	"Understand what?"
	Chaiila  stepped  into their mids with an armfull  of  sharp
edges and other clutter.  She glanced at the creature. "Oh,  awake
now,  is  it.  Here," she dumped the assorted ironmongery  on  the
rocks  with a racket that sounded like a suit of  armour  falling
down a staircase. "Take your pick. It's like a noble's armoury out
there."
	"You  went  a  little...over  the  top,  didn't  you?" Sekher
observed,  eyeing the pile. Chaiila had scrounged everything from
bronze swords down to little daggers and bladebreakers.
	She  gave  a negligent toss of her hand. "Take what  you
can use.  We  chuck the rest.  There's enough stuff lying around
out there to equip an army."
	"It was," Nersi reminded her.
	"Huh!  Well,  some  of it was was melted anyhow.  Bows
were ruined."
	"Any food?" Sekher asked.
	She    grinned,    running    her    tongue    over
	sharp teeth: "Plenty."From a piece of scorched cloak
doubling as a  sack she  pulled  pieces  of  shen  haunch.
"Tough," she  confessed, "and overdone,  but  scrape  off the
char and  underneath  they'll  be fine."
	"Shen. . . meat!" Nersi  bit  each  word  off,   then  spat   it
out. "That  stuff is. . . Gods,  even the Wharf Taverns didn't  stock
that!"
	"It's  edible," Chaiila  said. "And we don't have time  to
be hunting  down a five-course banquet.  Someone's going to
come  to see what happened. Can your Seth'Nai travel?"
	The creature in question had produced its water flask,
drank deeply,  then passed it on to Nersi and Sekher.  After a
moments deliberation  it tossed it at Chaiila and clambered to its
feet; somewhat unsteadily.  She glanced once at the flask.
"Thanks.  I'm not thirsty."
	When she threw it back, it was harder than need be.
Seth'Nai caught  it  against  its  chest then  tucked  it  away  into
the concealed pocket on its side;  slowly and deliberately, as
though hurting.  Sekher wondered whether perhaps it had come
out of that blast worse than he had.
	"It can walk," he said. "I don't know how far..."
	"Doesn't  matter.  We  can find a settlement  and  buy
some transport."
	"You've got money?"
	Chaiila hefted a bulging pouch that hung from her  belt.
It rattled when she shook it. "Have now."
	"You looted..."
	"Their    bodies   were   ash," Chaiila    stilled    Nersi's
outburst. "They  had no need of it.  I suggest you take  what  you
think you may need, and we'll get moving."
	Sekher picked up a leaf-shaped shortsword. It was a
simple weapon, standard issue,  but it was steel,  with half-way
decent heft. He sighed, wishing for the superb craftsmanship and
balance of his Sher'ae blade, but that was gone forever. To
supplement the shortsword, instead of a  shield, he took a
	small bladebreaker; also steel.  Nersi took a second
shortsword  while Chaiila had already found her weapon:  a  long,
straight,  wellforged  steel cavalry blade - doubtless officer issue  -
settled across her back in its harness.
	"Hai,Che!" she  called. "You  going to wear  that?" she
asked, eyeing the silver poncho.
	He  looked down. The moonlight made the material flare
icy blue. "A bit conspicuous, huh?"
	"Like  shit in a soupbowl." She tossed him the battered
old cloak Seth'Nai had been using for a blanket."Try that."
	The coarse weave promised to chafe, so he donned it
over the daemoncloth. It wasn't too hot: the wind still wound up
under his clothing,  crawling across his naked skin with cold
tendrils.  He shuddered  and shook his head.  To be naked-skined
all the  time, how  could anyone live like that.  He cast a sidelong
glance  at Seth'Nai and inwardly hissed in disbelief.
	So much power in such an ugly shell.  The paths of the
Gods are twisted indeed.
	And when Chaiila wanted to head east...
	"Haahhrrrr!" Chaiila snarled,  her ruff whipping about as
she tossed  her head,  baring teeth at the creature that blocked
her path.  It hastily backed off and she swung her attentions to
the other trenalbi: "CHE! What does it want!"
	"I don't think it wants us to go east," he said,  half
amused at  the  thing's  efforts  to  stop  the  stubborn   female.   It
continually caught at her arm,  was shaken off and forced to turn
to the other Trenalbi before returning to her.
	"Well, where would it have us go?" Chaiila demanded.
	"West, I think," Nersi said. She got the things attention
and pointed  West.  It  bobbed its head furiously and tugged  at
her hand.
	Chaiila went very quiet,  sucking air in a low hiss,
Without another word she spun about and continued east.
	Seth'Nai caught her arm again.
	"GET  AWAY FROM ME!" Chaiila howled and a dagger
was  in  her hand.
	For  a second the creature stared,  then its face
darkened, lips  drew  back from small,  square teeth and  it  roared
back. Smoothly  it sank into a crouch,  right side toward  the
female, arms up at odd angles.
	"Chaiila! Don't!" Nersi urged her cousin.
	But Chaiila's head went back, ears lowered as she
recognised a  challenge.  Not male to male,  nor female to  female. .
. it  was female to an unknown.  At first she hesitated, then moved
forward in a gracefull standard Rain opening: jab, jab, claw, spin
kick.
	Which the creature all blocked just as effortlessly.
Chaiila  hesitated then floated into more  patterns:  Light, Wind,
Thunder,  and Storm.  All the the creature somehow  batted aside
before redirecting Chaiila's blade,  seizing her  arm,  and twisting.
She howled in pain.  The dagger spun away in a glitter of
moonlight  on  metal to clatter  on  riverbed  rock.  Chaiila twisted
free and tried to dart past to recover the  weapon.  The creature
caught her by the ruff and hooked a leg behind her knee. She
yelped as she fell,  landed hard on the rocky grund, then was
lying staring up at the creature's grinning face, its hand poised
above her throat.  Sekher could see both were panting,  the puffs
of breath mingling then dissipating in the night air.
	It wouldn't kill her? would it?
	"Chaiila!" Nersi called. "Don't be a fool."
	Slowly,  Chaiila  closed  her eyes and laid her  head  back,
exposing  her neck.  After tense heartbeats the creature  lowered
its hand and smoothed patches of her rumpled fur before
standing; somewhat  stiffly  and  with a hand  pressed  against  its
side. Chaiila  stared  up at it,  then let out a deep  breath  and  sat
up: "Alright, alright. We go west."
-
--\o/--
-


	Morninglight found the skies as grey as stone,  a carpet
of mist  spread across the landscape.  Through this the river cut  a
clean  path.  A flight of Broadwings skimmed the surface  of  the
water.  Low  hills  crested with trees poked from  the  fog  like
islands  and a village - just a cluster of huts really -  floated in  the
white  carpet,  smoke from early  fires  trickling  from chimneys.
	Sekher gave the scene a last look,  then turned his back
and pushed  his  way further back into the  copse.  The  females
and Seth'Nai awaited him.  Both females were wearing the best
cloaks and  carrying the bags,  trying to look as much  like
legitimate travellers as possible.  Chaiila was chewing on a strip of
shen. She swallowed hard when she saw Sekher. "Well, we're
ready."
	He  eyed the pair of them.  Two females,  travelling
alone. That may bring a few questions.  He hoped Chaiila was
capable  of some verbal fencing.
	"You sure you want to go?"he asked.
	Chaiila snorted and hitched the daemon's carrybag
across her back.   If  asked,   it  was  a. . . well  an  article  of
northern craftsmanship. They produced some exotic weaving.
	"Well,  Che.  You and your friend there could go,  but
don't you think a shaved male and something from a torturer's
nightmare may  attract. . . attention?"
	"I  know,  I  know!" he  growled, batting at her arm."Go
on, get moving."
	She  grinned at him,  then slashed her own hand,  her
claws scratching lightly across Sekher's chest.  He shivered as a
shock ran  through  him,  his skin pebbling as his fur tried  to
stand upright. Nersi made a choked sound.
	"Come on," Chaiila beckoned her cousin,  and flashed
Sekher a final grin as they vanished into the bushes. The creature
started to follow them then hesitated.
	"No," Sekher told it. "We wait."
	It stared at him,  after the females,  then back at him, but
when  Sekher flopped down in a patch of morning sun it
awkwardly lowered itself to sit nearby.  Sekher paid it little heed:
he was still  twitching from that feeling her claws  raised.  He
didn't understand it.
	It scared him.

--\o/--


	The  guards snapped to attention and held the door
open  for him as he strode into the corridor. Apprehensive, Nerfith
ignored them as he patted smoothed the pleats in his kilt,  then
entered Kissaki's offices.
	There  were  already Trenalbi  waiting.  He  recognized
the priest:  the  high-ranking  one who had been  here  when
Kissaki ordered  the  fugitives intercepted,  the liason to  the
Temple. Nerfith  was  tempted  to ask if the priest knew  what  this
was about, then decided that Kissaki would reveal all.
	Possibly   the  Lord  wanted  a  progress  report   on   the
reconstruction of the palace roof.  Then why get a report from  a
scribe? And why would that involve a priest?
	No,  something more drastic. He strongly suspected it
was to do  with the fugitives who'd wreaked so much havoc
those  nights ago.
	Nerfith's  speculations  were dispelled  when  another
door opened  and  Kissaki stepped  through.  Immediately  the
officer stiffened  and  stood  before the Lord's desk  whilst  he
seated himself. The priests didn't budge.
	Inwardly the Watchkeper groaned the instant he saw
Kissaki. It was in his gait,  his posture: something was ill in the
world. Slowly  and deliberately he settled behind the massive
darkstone desk,  slipping his tail into the slot splitting the back of
the chair.  Then he took up a well-used scratchstick and
proceeded to hone his claws as he spoke:
	"There is a problem. A serious one.
	"Our fugitives. . . they destroyed the battlegroups."
	Nerfith wasn't sure he'd heard correctly: "Destroyed...?"
	"Destroyed,  decimated, wiped out," Kissaki elucidated.
"Forty one survivors have been found: The commanders and
priests, twenty two infantry and fifteen cavalry."
	"From twenty battlegroups..." Nerfith felt ill.  His  troops,
his responsibility.
	"Forty  one," Kissaki  repeated.  There was a  crack  as
the scratchstick  snapped  in  two. "They  all  told  the  same  tale:
Something  like  a  giant wagon without  shen  charged  into  the
greatest congregation of troops and exploded into a wave of  fire
that immolated everything it touched.  It was only their distance
from the explosion that saved them.
	"The  nearest  signaltowers reported a distant  thunder
and seeing  a  strange  cloud hanging  over  the  area.  Guards
were dispatched from the nearest towns.  They reported a new
lake  and the whole valley strewn with bodies."
	The  priest sat still,  his underlids flicking white  across
his  eyes the only sign that he was actually  alive.  Gods  shave
him! Didn't he have any feelings at all?
	"The..." Nerfith  choked  on his words,  swallowed  hard
and tried again: "The northeners, Sir?"
	The High Lord hissed. "We don't know exactly.  Some
soldiers say they saw them running before the explosion, so we're
going to keep  looking.  Notices  and heralds will be distributed  to
all towns."
	"And what do you intend to do if you find them?"
	Again the priest startle Nerfith.  He'd almost forgotten
he was there.  Irritated,  he promised himself that wouldn't  happen
again while the priest continued:
	"Would you lose an entire town if you did manage to
capture it?"
	"You would suggest something?" Kissaki asked.
	The priest bowed his head. His greasy ingratiation irked
the Watchkeeper  and  he clenched his hands to hide  the  claws
that slipped from his fingertips.
	"Chasing  after this thing with an army...I do  not  believe
that that is the way to go about this.  There are individuals who
specialise in this sort of thing."
	Kissaki looked thoughtful. "Bounty hunters?"
	"Why not?  I think it's been proved that brute force
wasn't successful.  A few well-motivated individuals can move
faster and more unobtrusively than a battlegroup,  find our
fugitives,  then concoct some scheme by which to be done of
them. If nothing else, they  can  alert us and track them until we
are  able  to  muster more...capable forces."
	Kissaki  was silent,  bobbing his head as he absorbed
this, then  he  asked, "Do  you believe the  Temple  could  handle
this creature?"
	"That is not for me to say with any degree of certainty,"
the Priest  replied. "But  doubtless  we couldn't do  worse  than
the bumbling of the military." With this he looked directly at
Nerfith and  blinked slowly. "There are Masters at the Hub who
have  power comprable to this thing's."
	"Sir,  Kanr was quite formidable," Kissaki reminded  him,
"yet it went through him like a razored blade."
	"True, Sir, but Kanr had no idea what he was up
against," the priest pointed out. "Nor did the troops you sent
after  them.  Now we have some inkling."
	"Huh," Kissaki  began  grooming the fur on his  wrist  in
an abstracted  sort  of way. "I assume you already  have  hunters
in mind."
	"We have a list of possibles, Sir."
	"Very good. I will want to see it. Wachkeeper."
	"Milord?" Nerfith bowed his head.
	"Send  orders  to  the command holding  the  K'streth
Plain lands. Tell him to leave a suitably equipped occupying force,
but I want the battle divisions ready to move in a day,  all of them,
with seige artillery."
	One day!  thought Nerfith,  It's not possible!  But he  was
careful  to  keep that thought from showing as  he  said, "Yessir.
That can be done. May I ask where they are to be moved to?"
	Kissi snarled. "We march on Tsuba. I want that town
RAZED!"


--\o/--






Godsend
PT II

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
	and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings
. Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
	Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not yet dreamed of - wheeled and
	soared and swung.
Chased the shouting wing along, and flung
my eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up the long, delirious, burning blue
	I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
	And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space
	Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.
High Flight
John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
	The wind picked up after midday. Gradually - without
haste - the light drizzle turned to a steady downpour,  rattling
through Needletip leaves and pattering to the ground. Swollen
grey clouds cloaked the heavens,  leaving the lands below
bathed in a sallow light.
	The village had vanished into sheets of rain and except
for a few dozen paces of hillside,  nothing else was visible.  Sekher
wiped  moisture from his muzzle and ducked back under the
meagre cover his crude lean-to offered.  There was nothing to do
now but wait. Awkwardly he settled down and leaned back
against the tree, relaxing, letting his breathing slow.
	Water  trickled through the matted boughs of the  roof,
running straight off the silvery material of his poncho.  When he
blinked  it  was automatic - a reflex  flicking  his  translucent
nictitating  membrane out as a droplet of water touched his  eye -
yet he saw nothing.
	In  Drift the world was an amorphous blur.  His  body
would watch  for him,  would breath for him,  could even walk  for
him while his mind slowed, rested, methodically ticking over. So in
a sense it wasn't Sekher who sat there.  He was far away,  floating
in a warm dark, drifting through remote memories:
	. . . the hot metallic taste of fresh meat.
	. . . his  eldest  brother riding beside him as they  left  the
palace.  A guard leaning againt his spear and enjoying the midday
heat  tipped his helmet back and saluted  casually.  The  streets
were unpaved, the buildings small. . .
	. . . shabby.  The  unyielding  stone  walls  of  K'streth
and Ch'sty, their bustling streets. . .
	. . . two  cubs ran across the street to tumble in a  whirl
of gangling limbs, dust, and laughter before racing off.
	"It's  going to be empty around here without  you,"
Methlin said, leaning forward on his saddle horn and watching
Sekher.
	"Huh,  you'll  find  something  to keep  you  busy,"
Sekher answered.
	"Perhaps,"  his  brother flagged amusement.  "And  I'm
sure you're going to. Outsiders have some strange ways."
	"So I've been told.  I thought that's what I'm going to
see. Come  on,  they've  taught me everything my head can  hold
about court etiquette and protocol."
	Methlin  barked  in  outright laughter  causing  guards
and retainers to glance at them.  "Diplomacy!" he grinned.
"Brother, you're  still young.  There are a things in creation
besides  the stuffiness of court life."
	Sekher blinked. "You have something particular in
mind?"
	Methlin reached over to clap Sekher's arm.  "Hah! Get
out of the palaces!  See the towns!  How they live.  You can learn
more from some of those places than books could ever teach
you."
	Sekher cocked his head; interested.
	"Try  the taverns in Taiska.  They brew a  hot,  spiced
ale that'll  set your tail straight.  Also their  Untiy  Houses. . . but
perhaps you'll find out about those for yourself."
	"What?"  Sekher blinked at hi sibling.  "I've tried to  drag
more  than that out of you a thousand times.  Now you talk  about
Unity Houses? Why now?"
	"Give  you  a  chance to find  out  for  yourself,"  Methlin
grinned. "You're old enough."
	At  the town gates they passed a slow trickle  of
peasants. "Remember," grinned Methlin; then: "Fare well,
brother."
	"Thanks," Sekher replied and reigned his shen about.
	"One more thing:  Ware the outland females. They've
probably got strange ideas."
	Sekher barked his own laughter.
	. . . Chaiila knelt:  winded,  panting, with a gleam in her
eye and sun in her fur. . .
	. . . a pale face and grey eyes watched. . .
	He  pulled  out of drift,  the face still hung  before  him.
Seth'Nai was outside the shelter looking even more peculiar  than
ever  with  a  tight hood waterproof  hood  enclosing  its  head,
shedding  water  as if it were oiled.  Odd,  but the  daemon  was
fascinated with the rain. Water ran in rivulets from its clothing as
it crawled under the shelter and propped its back against  the tree
the lean-to was built against.  The hood retracted into  the collar
when removed and Seth'Nai ran its hands through the  patch of
fur atop its head.  The fur stuck back and Seth'Nai looked  at its
hands, growled, then wiped them against its legs.
	"So,  they're not back yet," Sekher yawned. The daemon
looked startled. "Taking their time, aren't they?"
	The creature's mouth turned up, baring square teeth,
then it shrugged  and  began to fiddle with the device  strapped
to  its forearm.  A wondrous power,  Sekher mused, to be able to
produced glowing shapes that danced in midair,  although exactly
what  use it may be was beyond him.

--\o/--

	After the rains the air was cool and fresh.  Moisture
beaded on foliage;  glittering,  transient jewels.  The ground
underfoot was  soggy,  with mud pushing between Sekher's  toes.
Clouds  of tiny insects hummed and swarmed.  He growled in
irritation as one buzzed  in  his ear.  Of course they didn't seem  to
bother  his daemon in the least;  Sekher watched,  somewhat
annoyed,  as  the bugs bent deliberate arcs to avoid it.
	Four shen in single file were moving up the slope the
hill, two  bearing  riders,  the others  saddleless,  but  fitted  with
blankets and cargo slings.  They had left the hamlet  and circled to
the  far  side of the hill  before  beginning  their  ascent, threading
their  way  through  rocks  and  scrub  to  the wood straddling the
crest.  A few paces short they dismounted to  lead their mounts
the rest of the way into the trees.
	"Any trouble?" Sekher called as they passed.
	"Smooth," Chaiila replied with a grin as they passed.
	Sekher paused and watched for a few more beats to make
sure they hadn't been followed or observed, then followed.
	The  four  shen weren't the specially bred animals  used
by cavalry,  rather  they  were the  sturdy,  stocky  breed  farmers
preferred,  bred  for hauling ploughs and wagons.  Three  females
and a gelding;  all scruffy and past their prime,  but sufficient
for  their needs.  Both Nersi and Chaiila  looked  rested,  their
coats well-groomed. Nersi had a clean set of wraps on her leg and
a new crutch made from fresh-cut wood that she was removing
from one of the pack animals.
	"I'm glad you came back," Sekher told Chaiila as she
worked at the harness of her own animal.
	Chaiila grinned: "You thought we wouldn't?"
	"I had my doubts," Sekher confessed.
	"You wound me,"Chaiila laughed and turned back to
regard the animals. "Not such bad beasts, huh?"
	"Yeah."  Sekher took up a hoof and inspected the
underside. It  wasn't  as worn as he'd feared,  so the animals
hadn't  been driven too hard. He dropped the hoof again. "So,
what else?"
	"Food," she  said,  hefting  a sack. "Also some  clothing
and blankets."
	"Food?" Sekher's eyes lit up.
	Chaiila's  twitched a smile and she dipped into  the sack
and  pulled  out a small loaf,  tossed  it  to  Sekher  who snatched
it from the air.  By the Gods!  Still warm!  His stomach snarled  as
he tore into it with a will. "Blessed Gods!  I  needed that."
	"It  shows," Chaiila  remarked and jabbed a  digit  to
where Seth'Nai  was  trying  to examine shen that  shied  whenever
the creature  went near it:  "You think your creature could  do
with something? Hai!"
	Seth'Nai caught the scone she tossed and sniffed at it,
then tore it apart with its blunt fingers and examined the
fragments. Carefully it placed a piece in its mouth, chewed,
swallowed, and bared its teeth at them. It polished off the rest of
the scone in short order.
	"I think it likes it," Chaiila observed dryly.
	"A," Sekher  stared.  That was the first normal food  he
had ever  seen it eat.  Why?  He shook his head;  that was
something to figure out later. For now. . .  "Any money left?"
	"A little," Chaiila jingled the purse on her belt. "It'll last
us for a while. I doubt we'll be doing much spending.
	The  clothes  they'd  purchased  were  scruffy,   torn,
and slightly odiferous,  but they were much less conspicuous
than Rim armour and the silver poncho Sekher was wearing.  He
swore as  he struggled  into  them and laced the seams:  they
were  a  little small,  and they were inhabited.  Well,  there was
nothing to  be done about that. Travelling anywhere one picked
up passengers. It was a fact of life.
	There were no spare saddles for the extra shen.  Two
females on  their own was unusual enough,  but if they'd asked
for  four sets of tack. . . now that would have raised a few
suspicions.  The blankets they'd obtained would have to suffice.
	The  shen  turned  skitish  whenever  Seth'Nai
approached, kicking out with their blunt claws. It was the next
day, after an uncomfortable  night,  that  they were able to break
one  of  the females enough to tolerate its presence.
	It was then they discovered it couldn't ride.
	"I do not believe this!" Chaiila groaned,  sinking her
claws into  the bark of a tree,  looking as if she were about to  start
pounding her head against the trunk.
	Glumly  Sekher watched as Nersi coaxed the creature
through the signals that would tell its shen to move,  stop,  turn.
In a way it was amusing, that hulking, pale figure so lost on the
back of  a beast,  but also every moment they delayed meant  time
for trackers to pick up their trail. That wasn't so amusing.
	It  did learn quickly,  however.  It wasn't too long  before
it had the basics and Nersi limped over with her crutch to say, "I
think it's going to be able to manage.  I got the stirrup  length right
as well, at least it shouldn't fall off again."
	"Alright," Chaiila sighed.  "Then we go. It can work out
the finer points on the way."


--\o/--


	Shen were infinitely slower than the daemon's transport.
The ride  left the base of the tail aching and sore.  Windblown
dust whipped  into  your  nostrils and eyes  and  ears  while
insects tormented  you  and heat beat down on  shoulders  and
neck.  But Sekher  understood  shen,   he  knew  what  they  were,
he  was comfortable with them. Also, they didn't fall apart or
explode at inopportune moments.
	They moved in a general northerly direction,  skirting
towns as they found them, avoiding the main roads and a couple
of times detouring  some distance where towns controlled a
bridge or  ford to find a place to cross.
	Methodically the shen picked their way through lush
gallery forests where streams and pools turned the land to brief
belts of brilliant green,  then across rolling prairies of golden
grasses. All regions boasted their share of dangers.  The biota
concealed predators  and  poisons;  sometimes the predators rode
shen  and fast,  lean Mrakers, the poisons were on the blades of
swords and tips of quarrels.
	Sekher  drifted as they rode,  they all  did,  but  lightly,
barely dipping out of full reality, always with at least one part of
their awareness watching the horizon. It was not as refreshing as
sinking deeper, but over a long period it had the same effect.
So  they rode in single file,  one shen  placidly  following another
while the Trenalbi took it in turns to guide them.  Night followed
day,  for two days. They ate in the saddle, pausing only to relieve
themselves.
	Sekher  blinked himself out of drift to find himself at  the
rear,  following  the others.  Ahead of him Seth'Nai's  shen  was
plodding  quietly  along its way,  its tufted  tail  swatting  at
insects  while  the daemon slumped motionless and silent  in  the
saddle.  It  wasn't  riding  very  well,  Sekher  noted,  rocking
awkwardly  with  the  shen's rolling gait.  Further  up  the  two
females  were  riding abreast,  talking quietly.  He  yawned  and
fished  in  his saddlebag for a piece  of  smoked  meat,  looking
around while he chewed.
	They were off the plains again, following yet another of
the small  river  valleys with its gallery forest  that  divided  the
prairies  a little like spokes on a wheel. . . or perhaps more  like
branches radiating from a central trunk. The trees were old ones,
tall ones,  their trunks as thick as his torso and the shade they
cast was a welcome relief from the alternating stifling heat  and
biting  winds  on the plains.  High up in their  canopies  flyers
leapt  from  branch to branch,  chittering and squeaking  at  the
intruders below.
	They  were  harmless,  but their  excitement  could  attract
the attentions of something that would be willing to have a go at
even three. . . four dangerous opponents.
	Sekher  snarled,  then  slapped at a  bloodsucker  that
had alighted on his neck. They were near water, in fact he could
hear it.  The stream was only a few paces wide, the water flowing
fast and shallow across a pebbly bed.  The shen hesitated on the
bank before stepping down into water that barely covered their
anklespurs  and easily crossed to the spit of fine sand on  the
other side.  They left deep prints in the sand, then lurched up a
shelf perhaps ten spans high.
	Seth'Nai  slipped  sideways,  then  fell  from  its  saddle,
hitting the bank and sprawling face-down in the sand.
	Sekher yanked back on the reigns: "HAI! STOP!"
	Seth'Nai stirred and rolled over as he touched its back.
For the  first time in a long while he saw its face,  really  looked,
and  was shocked.  There were large dark patches under the  eyes,
skin was drawn taut across bones,  and the scraggly fur sprouting
from  the angular chin had grown much thicker,  becoming  a
mane encircling the head.
	"Huhnnn," Chaiila was at Sekher's shoulder.  "It don't
look so good."
	"Gods shave you!" Nersi scrambled over - a half-limping
gait -  to  the  creature's  side,   kneeling  with  her  damaged  leg
outstretched. "Don't just stand there," she snarled and put an
arm around the creature's shoulder to help it sit upright. It blinked
at her, seeming dazed. "What's wrong with it?!" she demanded.
	"I   don't   know," Sekher   protested   with   a   shrug. "It
just. . . turned toes up and fell off!"
	"So  it  can't ride worth a square  wheel!" Chaiila  spat.
"We could always tie it into the saddle."
	"Not a bad idea," Sekher agreed. "You want to be the
one to do it?"
	She grinned and snapped at him even as he ducked
away. Still glaring,  she  growled,  then stretched and looked
around. "Well, while we're here,  we may as well make the best of
it.  My  teeth are swimming."
	They left Nersi tending Seth'Nai.  The shen were hobbled
and left  to strip a brightbush while the Trenalbi tended  to  bodily
demands.  Sekher finished,  filled the hole in,  then lifted  his tail
and bent to void his scent-glands against a tree.  The scent would
fade  in  a couple of days,  and  the  pressure  had  been
uncomfortable.  One advantage of a hairless hide, he reflected as
he cleaned himself in the stream,  one didn't have to worry about
shit sticking to the fur.
	But it was cold.
	Nersi was waiting anxiously for them,  fidgeting.  "It's not
moving!"  she began as soon as Sekher came up to her,  there
was almost panic in her voice. "It's just lying there. It just closed
its eyes. . . "
	Sekher crouched by the motionless figure.  No, not dead:
the chest  was moving,  there was breath whistling through its
mouth and  nostrils,  the  closed  eyelids  flickered.  "I  think  it's
alright," he said hesitantly.  "I've seen it like this before. It stays
like this for some time. . . "
	It struck him then.
	"Oh,  Gods!"  He rocked back,  nearly falling over with
the realization: "Oh Gods. It. . . it doesn't Drift!"
	"What?"  Nersi's  confusion  was plain  on  her  face.
"But everything Drifts. Surely. . . "
	"No, THIS is its drift. Completely gone."
	"But,"   Nersi   stared  at  the   recumbent   form,   "it's so.
. . helpless."
	"Now what's wrong?" Chaiila was readjusting her kilt as
she returned.  She  cast  a  critical eye at  the  creature.  "Is  it
alright?"
	"Sekher  thinks  so,"  said  Nersi.   "He  was  saying  that
it. . . uh. . . doesn't drift."
	"Huh?" Chaiila blinked. "Come on, everything has to
drift." Sekher sighed,  then tried to explain it again. "Look, I was
shut in a cage with this thing for weeks and it didn't seem to drift
once, but it did this a lot.  It'd just curl up and close its eyes  and
stay like that for ages. All night.  I don't know.  Perhaps I'm
wrong,  but it's either wide awake, or like that. . . Nothing like
drift."
	Chaiila scratched at a square ear, then patted Sekher's
arm. "I guess we have to take your word on this,  Che. If that's
true, I  would say it's been riding without a rest at all for the  past
two days." For once she looked at Seth'Nai with something
besides distaste.  "I  suppose we could all do with a decent  break.
Any objections to spending the night here?"
	Nersi had none.  Sekher had wanted to return to Che as
soon as  possible,  but  the aching in his tail persuaded him  that
a night  out  of the saddle may not be such a bad  idea.  The  shen
needed a break. They could rest up, perhaps hunt some fresh
food. And this was a good a place as any they were likely to find.


--\o/--

	The fire was small, the dry wood burning clean. The
Trenalbi gathered  around  in  the pool of warmth  and  flickering
light, watching  insects describing complex patterns around  the
flames before burning in tiny flashes of fire. Chaiila had made
good her earlier  promise about hunting and now the carcass of a
burrower was  sizzling and popping on a spit.  On the very fringes
of  the illumination  Seth'Nai  lay,  silent but for the rasping  of  its
breath.
	Nersi  finished  spreading the blanket over the  limp  alien
body and gave the face a final pat. Stealing a glance, Sekher saw
Chaiila's  dark-furred  face and ears twitch  into  a  despairing look,
then  crack  into  a  forced  smile  when  Nersi  rejoined them.
"Cousin, do you have to do that?"
	"Do what?"
	Chaiila  made  a vague geture.  "Touch it  like  that.  It's
not. . . right."
	Nersi looked both surprised and hurt.  "Why?  It's got
soft fur,  and  it's  not  going to hurt  us.  Look  at  it;  it's  so
vulnerable."
	"Yeah," Chaiila's eyes instead dropped to watch the fire.
"I know, but. . . Look, you're right; I worry too much. I'm sorry,
just forget it."
	"Huhnnn," growled Nersi softly.  "Chaiila,  I like
Seth'Nai. It's friendly. It's gentle, and it's very intelligent."
	"It didn't know how to ride. . . "
	"Do you have any idea how to do ANY of the things it
did  to get  us  out of Jai'stra?" Nersi asked.  "Just because  it
can't ride. . . What use would a. . . whatever-it-is have for riding
anyway?" She  used her sword to turn the carcass on the  spit
over,  then tore off a hind leg. "Ahh! Hot!" She juggled the meat a
couple of times, then bit into it.
	Sekher waited for the females to get their food, then
helped himself to remains.  A little overdone, he judged as he
picked at the white flesh and watched the females as they huddled
together, conversing  in  low voices.  Chaiila  was  meticulously
grooming Nersi's ruff,  exploring and combing with her fingers,
smoothing her pelt down with long, languid strokes of her tongue.
	There   was   something  Chaiila   had   said.   Nersi had
misunderstood:  Chaiila  didn't  fear the creature,  it  was  the
familiarity with which Nersi handled that made her hackles raise.
Perhaps  she  was overprotective,  but Sekher too  had  seen  the
fascination  with  which  Nersi watched the thing  and  he  could
sympathise  with  Chaiila's uncertainties.  He  considered  it  a
friend,  in  the same way he would bestow his affections  upon  a
favourite pet, but still it was an unpredictable thing.

	He sighed,  stood,  and walked over to the creature.  For
a time he simply stood over it,  watching.  Its face was still, the
mouth  slightly  open  and - despite the fire  -  breath  forming
almost-invisible  clouds  in  the night air.  On  its  cheek  the
scratches  Chaiila had scored still glared an angry  red  against the
pale skin.  It gave a low moan and twitched then fell  still again.
	You saved my life. Why do I fear you?
	For that he didn't have an answer. His ears laid back and
he returned  to  the warmth of the banked fire where  he  curled  up
in  a  blanket and watched the warm lump where  the  females  lay
huddled together.

--\o/--

	The  lumpy,  grey  slowburn-gum  candles  flickered  in
the draught  that kept the atmosphere cold and damp,  throwing a
dim pool  of  light across the face of the warped  desk  and
dancing shadows  on  the stone walls.  It made the  yellowed
manuscripts difficult to see, even more so to read.
	Chenuk growled in irritation and hitched his cloak a  little
tighter  then  turned  another page  in  the  weighty  book.  The
delicate line drawings wavered in the unsteady light,  but it was
clear  enough  for him to be certain this wasn't the one  he  was
looking for.  His hand ached again,  a throb that made his  whole
arm  convulse,  the  thumb and ruined stumps of  fingers  beneath
their bandages clenching in a parody of a fist.  Chenuk tucked it
against his side and used his left arm to turn the page.
	A  cub in the squared grey-and-green tunic of  an
acolyte  pushed  through the door curtain,  staggering under an
armful  of the heavy tomes. "These are the last, sir," he said.
	"Leave them there," Chenuk waved abstractly at the
piles  of mildewed  old books still to be searched already atop  the
desk. The ones he had finished with littered the floor.  The cub
sighed to himself and collected another armful on his way out.
	And  Chenuk  resumed rifling through the  untold  scores
of pages.  Another  illustration  caught his eye and  he  paused  to
examine  it.  There was a vague resemblance to  a  Trenalbi,  but
judging  by the scale of the agonised Trenalbi it  was  carefully
dismembering with a sickle-like talon, it was much larger. Fleshy
webs joined waist to wrist. Its fur was patchy, but it had fur.
	No, that wasn't it either. More pages flipped by.
	"Any success?"
	"Who. . . ?" Chenuk nearly fell off his stool twisting
around. "Oh. . . Sir!"
	"Don't bother saluting." Watchkeeper Nerfith let the
curtain fall back into place and stepped inside.  He stooped to
pick up a book  from  where  it  lay open and spine-up  on  the
floor  and examined  the cover.  "'Searches in Distances',  Huh!
These  are valuable,  you know.  I think the Priests would resent
you  using them as rugs. Well, any luck so far?"
	"No  sir," a dejected Chenuk said.  "There're still more  to
go,  though."  He patted a pile on the desk before  him,  but  he
didn't harbour much hope.
	"So I see,"said Nerfith,  then awkwardly snuffled and
Chenuk saw his ears were back.  He set the book aside, unease
gnawing at his  insides.   Officers  didn't  make  social  calls.   For
the Watchkeeper  to have personally hunted him down in the
bowels  of the  temple,  he  must have something to say.  By the
amount  of hedging the officer was doing, it couldn't be good.
	"Soldier, how is your hand?"he asked.
	Ah,  the crux.  The stumps of Chenuk's own ears
twitched and despite  his  efforts,  the faint stink of fear tinged
the  air. Slowly he raised the bandaged limb. "Most of the pain's
gone."
	"But you can't hold a sword, can you."
	"Ah, sir. . . I can use. . . "
	"Can you."
	"No."
	There  was a heavy silence.  Wind moaned along the
corridor outside,  carrying the remote sounds of priests chanting.
"Look, Chenuk," Nerfith sighed again. "You may be new, but
you're one of my  battlegroup,  so  I  reckoned I should be  the
one  to  tell you. . . face to face."
	"Sir," Chenuk stood, knowing what was coming next.
	"The army. . . it is not that place for. . . for one with
injuries like yours. I have been authorized to give you some
money to help you on your way. Also this," he fished under his
cloak and popped the  seal on a scroll canister hanging from his
belt.  He  pulled out  a cream-coloured scroll.  "This is a
recommendation  bearing Kissaki's personal seal. It will help you
find employment."
	Numbly Chenuk took the scroll.  It was almost weightless
in his  hand while his soul weighed like lead.  He looked up at  the
Watchkeeper. "There is nothing I can do? There's no appeal?"
	Nerfith   didn't  meet  his  eyes."I  did   try.   All the
channels. . . You  will  have  to return your  sword.  Your  kit  is
already packed."
	Sekher stroked the scroll.  His life. . . gone.  Soldiering
was all  he  knew.  He could read. . . a little;  about as good  as  his
writing, and the best that could be said for that was that it was
almost legible.  There were plenty of labouring jobs available  -
especially  with  so many males gone to fight -  for  able-bodied
Trenalbi.   He   swallowed."Serving   in   the   army. . . it's   my life. .
. Shave me! Who will take on a cripple?!"
	The Watchkeeper flagged helplessness and turned to
leave.
	"Sir! Please!"
	Nerfith stopped and hung his head,  then half-turned
back to Chenuk and hissed softly.  "There's the Watch.  They are
often so desperate   for   a   good Trenalbi   that   they'll   overlook
certain. . . difficulties."
	Then the curtain fell back into place and he was gone.
	Chenuk  sat back and stared at a cold wall for a long
time. When  he threw back his head his howl rang through the
corridors beneath  the  temple and his claws punched through the
cover  of an ancient leather and silver bound tome.
"I. . . will. . . find. . . YOU!"

--\o/--

	Sekher  groaned  as  toe claws poked at  the  small  of  his
back.  "You're  on the morning meal duty,  male," came  Chaiila's
voice.
	"Uhhhnnn,"  he groaned,  rolled and flicked back  his
third eyelid.  Her ankle leapt to sharper focus.  A very nice ankle,
he thought drowsily.
	Then that ankle kicked him again.
	"Hai!"
	"Come on,  rocks-for-bones.  Move it! I've got the wood,
you can do he rest." The foot drew back again.
	"Alright!   Alright!"Sekher   yipped,   scrambling  to his
feet."Shaved slave driver!"
"YOU'RE calling me shaved!" Chaiila laughed at that.
	Through  the  gently swaying boughs of  trees  a
cloudless, azure sky was visible,  heralding the beginning of a
hot,  clear day.  Sekher scowled. Miserable weather to be riding in.
The skin on his hands and muzzle was already peeling and sore.
	Huh!  He scratched at an itch in his crotch. So, how was
his daemon this morning?
	Gone.
	He  did  a doubletake.  The blanket  was  still  there,  but
Seth'Nai, and its bag, were gone. As was Nersi.
	"CHAIILA!"
	She  was engaged tending to the Shens' tack,  tugging
on  a cinch with a great deal of grunting and muttering.  Annoyed,
she didn't turn at his call, just growled, "What?!"
	"Where's the creature?!"
	"No idea," she grunted. "Got up earlier. Didn't seem any
the worse for wear.  Went for a walk, came back and got its bag,
then went out again."
	"You didn't try and stop it?"
	"What for?"
	"And where's Nersi?"
	"Nersi,  she's. . . " Chaiila trailed off and forgot about  the
cinch strap.  She turned on the spot, looking around, then cupped
hands to her mouth and screamed, "NERSI!"
	Her call rang from the trees,  startling  fliers.  Something
in  the distance howled back,  but there was no  answering  call.
Chaiila  snarled,  her tail bristling and ruff  flattening,  then pulled
her  sheathed sword from her shen's pack and  buckled  it on.
"Alright.  You go downstream.  I'll search upstream.  If you find. . .
"
	"What's  going on!?" A breathless and dripping Nersi
limped into the camp. "What's all the shouting about?"
	"Gods!" Chaiila wailed. "Where've you BEEN!"
	Nersi shook herself.  She was soaking wet and droplets
went flying  until she finished and stroked fur back into  place
with her  hands  as she said,  "With Seth'Nai.  Over  that  way.
Ahh, there's something I think you should see."
	"You're  alright?" Chaiila  asked,   catching  her   cousin's
arm. "Your leg. . . "
	"I'm FINE," Nersi growled,  then shrugged Chaiila's hand
off and started off upstream. "You coming?" she asked.
	Sekher glanced at Chaiila, shrugged, then started after
her. It  wasn't  very far.  Easily within  earshot.  Sekher  felt
annoyed  they  hadn't  found it;  it was  certainly  a  desirable
campsite.  Above  a  small clearing the stream  cascaded  down  a
series  of massive stone steps to fall into a  deep,  broad  pool
lined  with raw rock worn smooth by the water.  The rays  of  the
Lightbringer were already on the rocks,  rasing small ripples  of
heat and warming several basking lizards. Fliers skimmed the air,
pursuing insects.  Plants grown green and lush with the
abundance of water spread across the pool, shading it.
	In the pool a pale shape moved underwater, languidly
flowing from  one end of the pool to the other,  turning and  going
back again.
	"It. . . swims?" Sekher asked Nersi.  A foolish  question;
the evidence was there before his eyes.
	"Oh, yes," she smiled. "Very well. He was teaching me."
	"He?"
	"I think so,"she said.
	With  a  spray of water and a gasp of  breath  the
creature broke the surface,  steadily treading water.  It wiped aside
the water  running  down  into  its eyes and  blinked  at  the  three
Trenalbi gathered on the banks,  watching it.  Nersi beckoned  to
it,  making coaxing sounds and it stared back,  then growled  and
swam forward into shallow water and stood up.
	Sekher stared.
	"Gods!" Chaiila spat.
	Perhaps   'he'  was  a   reasonable   assumption,
although that. . . arrangement was nothing like a male Trenalbi.
The  fleshy organ didn't tuck away into a sheath the way a normal
male's  did and to have something like that dangling out all the
time  didn't look comfortable.  That must be the reason it wore
clothes,  that and  the  fact it was,  for  all  practical  purposes,
hairless. It. . . he had body fur.  Well. . .   patches of it and quite
heavy  in localised  places.  The hairless hide was light bronze-
brown  and slick with water,  accentuating strange muscles
flowing under the skin. A large patch of the skin, about the size of
Sekher's hand, down the creature's left side was discoloured by
what looked like a large bruise.  It probably was; that explained its
stiffness.
	A strange body.  Sekher's  eyes couldn't find it attractive,
nor most likely any of the  others, but it fitted; it worked. There
was a symmetry there that gave it a grace of sorts.
	"What are those things on its chest?" Chaiila asked.
 	"Nipples, I think," Sekher replied uncertainly. But if it
was male, how could it have. . .
	"Breasts?  Up there? And what about that?" she pointed
at the organ between its legs. "And that hole in its stomach?  Is
that  a pouch?"
	"How should I know?" said Sekher. "There are some
animals that don't have pouches,  aren't there?  Some trappers
brought some in once.  The females had teats on the outside, all
along their torsos. The babies are born fully formed. They don't
pouch."
	"Sounds  disgusting," Chaiila  grimaced  with  distaste.
"Then maybe those teats are vestigial; like your pouch."
	Sekher scratched his ear.  Vestigial, that would make
sense. Still,  the  thing  was  more confusing naked than  it  had
been clothed. "What say we call it male?"
	Chaiila tipped her head to one side. "Might as well. To
think of that as female. . . " she trailed off and spat air.
	Seth'Nai rolled his eyes,  looked down at. . . himself?
growled something  at them,  then fell back into the pool with  a
splash that  sent  waves  lapping at the banks.  A gentle  kick  and
he drifted back into the water.
	"It likes water, doesn't it," growled Chaiila.
	Nersi  glanced at Chaiila,  then said, "You could do  with
a wash yourself."
	"What?"
	"You  don't exactly smell like a rainfall,  you  know,"
Nersi grinned,   then  cuffed  her  cousin's  arm. "Come  on!   Live
a little!" Before Chaiila had a chance to pontificate,  she had  her
breeches off and was splashing into the water.
	"Nersi!"
	"Come on in," Nersi laughed. "You'll love it!" She floated
on her back and awkwardly kicked out into the pool.  Seth'Nai
glided up alongside and put his arms beneath her to steady her.
	"Hai!" Chaiila  snarled,  anxiously  pacing the pool  like  a
caged  beast. "Gods,  Nersi.  Don't do  this!. . . Che!  What're  you
doing!?"
	"What  does it look like," Sekher growled as he fumbled
with the  lacings of his scruffy clothing.  He threw the jerkin  aside
and kicked the trousers off.  "I'm dirty, dusty, and itching from the
Gods-blasted  blood suckers in those clothes.  This  is  the first
chance  in I-don't-know-how-long I've had to get  some  of this
filth off and I'm not going to miss it."
	With  that he turned his back and gingerly walked out
until the water was up to his waist,  then crouched down,  pinched
his nostrils shut,  and dunked his head.  He surfaced again
coughing and sputtering and shaking water from his ears.
	"It's not so bad once you're in,  ah?" Nersi was floating
on her back, lazily waving her hands against the current.
	"Hai,  Chaiila!" called  Sekher. "If you're not going to
join us, why don't you go and bring the shen over here."
	And Chaiila turned to him and slowly bared her  teeth.
"Male, you can get them yourself, then you can. . . "
	Sekher  wasn't really sure that what she suggested next
was was physically possible.

--\o/--

	A pair of small Hitherdarts twisted and spiralled in the air
above  the  pool,  dodging  through overhanging  leaves  as  they
pursued  and  snapped at insects.  Sekher lazily bared  teeth  at
them,  then flicked an ear and rolled over.  The Lightbringer was
warm  against his skin,  as was the dark rock,  while  the  spray
raised by the waterfall was a cool mist in the air,  shot through by
a rainbow of colours.
	He squinted and glanced over at where Chaiila was
perched on a  sunlit rock,  her fur almost blending in with the
darkness  of the  stone. She had stripped down to breeches,  but
disdained  to swim.  She looked hot,  also tense;  sitting with ears
twitching uneasily as she watched Seth'Nai and Nersi.
	The  mismatched  pair were further downstream by  the
pool, Nersi leaning back, her damaged leg stretched out before
her, the bandages  pulled  back  to  expose the  wound  to  the
sunlight. Seth'Nai's idea.  He was sitting beside Nersi, wearing the
silver poncho he had cobbled together for Sekher and practising
skipping pebbles  across the pool.  He was improving,  Sekher
noted  as  a series of seven ripples appeared in succession across
the  water. A Hitherdart dived upon one of the ripples,  mistaking
it for an insect  or  small  fish.  As he watched,  Nersi took  up  one
of Seth'Nai's  hands and manipulated the  fingers,  exploring  their
flexibility.
	Sekher  watched the pair,  then watched Chaiila  staring
at them with such ill-concealed apprehension and he had to smirk
to himself. It was probably for the best that Seth'Nai had -
however unwittingly - donned the poncho. It concealed that
strange body - especially  the  maleness - transforming it into
something  more androgynous.   Certainly  Chaiila  was  nervous
enough  of its differences  without  it having to advertise.  Down
at  his  feet Seth'Nai  had  left  his water flask lying in  the  stream
after drinking from it. Now, why drink from that when there was a
whole damned stream of water running beneath his nose?
	He  snorted and scratched at the itching across  his
chest. Gods burned fur itched madly growing in.  Still, there was a
good stubble  there  now,  although the skin was still  very
visible. Seth'Nai had as much fur as he.
	Ai,  hells. . . What was he going to do with the creature?
	His  lips twitched in an uncertain grin.  They  could  trust
it. . . him, see where he was leading them.  Or was that perhaps too
trusting?  His head lolled to the side and he caught a glimpse of
white:  Seth'Nai's  clothing had been rinsed in the  stream  then
spread  out on the rock close by,  split down the seams and  left
splayed out to dry,  spread-eagled like a flayed white  hide.  It was
as obscurely confusing as the rest of the creature's devices,
Sekher decided, crouching down beside the clothing, all manner
of curious tubing and lumps tucked away under the fabric. There
were no  visible clasps or closures,  and there was an arrangement
of devices   and   tubes  in  the  crotch  of  the   breeches   that
looked. . . extremely uncomfortable.
	Sekher decided he wasn't about to try them on and
turned his attentions  to the foot coverings.  Peculiars cups with
a  tough base. Now Sekher could see them he saw that the feet
were another place where Seth'Nai differed radically from Trenalbi:
long  and broad and bulky with five stubby digits and a bulbous
heel,  the creature's feet were nothing like the four clawed toes a
Trenalbi walked upon.
	"Interesting?"
	"Huh?" he  blinked,  looking up to meet Chaiila's  eyes.
She grinned  and  moved  to crouch  down  a  little  closer,
tucking her tail in close: "Anything interesting?" she repeated.
	Sekher dropped the foot covering. "Not really.  Needs to
wash his feet though."
	Chaiila growled softly,  shaking her head and poking at
the clothing. "It really wears all this stuff?"
	Sekher barked,  saying,  "I can tell you from experience, it
gets very cold without fur."
	"I'll  take  your  word  for  it," Chaiila  smiled,  grinning
slightly,  baring her teeth.  It was one of those flashbacks,  as
vivid as if in drift,  Sekher remembered the first time he'd seen her:
the fire and smoke, the darkness, she lifted off her helmet and
grinned at him.
	"Sekher?"
	She was watching him with head cocked to one side.
	"You have beautiful teeth," he said,  and instantly felt
like a prize fool.
	"What?" Now Chaiila looked confused.
	Sekher's ears went back in distress as he tried to meet
her eyes  and failed dismally: "You are. . . you are the  most
beautiful female I've ever seen," he choked out.
	"Seen a few in your time,  ah?" she retorted guardedly,
tail thrashing.
	Sekher hung his head and rubbed at the sparse stubble
on his arm.  Was  he  really expecting to get  somewhere  with
this?  A young  male,  barely  out  of cubhood and threadbare  as
an  old rug. . . Gods, why bother?
	"Hai,  Che," she reached out to tap his knee lightly,
drawing  back after touching. "Thank you."
	He looked up, startled.
	The gold eyes burned in that soot-grey face,  glinting
with amusement."I have seen more adroit approaches," she said.
"But  you are sincere.  I'm sorry if I was. . . sharp.  Nersi tells me
it's  a habit I've got to break."
	She stood then and came over to Sekher.  He flinched as
she stroked  his head,  giving him the briefest of groomings."I  like
you  too,  Sekher Che,"she murmured in his ear,  then  raked  her
claws down his side and left him sitting there, staring while she
smoothly crossed the rocks to the water's edge. Her breeches
came off,  her tail bristling and dancing as she stepped down into
the water.
	Sekher shook his head.  What in the hells just
happened?  He was. . . then she. . . Gods, don't try to understand
females.
	Downstream  Nersi hastily turned away but not before
Sekher saw the smile.  Seth'Nai caught his eye and twisted his
mouth  up at  the  corners,  baring teeth.  His next  gesture  left
Sekher puzzled: just what did a raised thumb mean?

--\o/--

	His  breath  was misting in the early morning  chill  as  he
slung  his  meagre kit across the shen's back behind  the  saddle
then laboured to secure the straps,  snarling softly.  His ruined
hand flexed stiffly behind its bandages,  sending a surge of pain
up his arm.  After a final check of the tack he gritted his teeth and
swung  himself  up into the  worn  leather  saddle,  draping himself
stomach-down  across it then swinging his  leg  over  to bring
himself upright.
	Just above the walls two of the Daughters hung in the
clear sky,  dark blue above, fading to dusty gold in the west where
the Lightbringer  was  still low in the clear  heavens,  leaving  the
lower  courtyard in shadow whilst the upper stone reaches of  the
palace were bathed in early light and warmth. There were Treanlbi
stirring,  as there had been throughout the night;  another troop
convey leaving the city,  menials scurrying to load equipment.  A
squad of elite cavalry clattered in through the gateway in double
file,  penants fluttering from their spears tucked upright behind
their  saddles,  eyes  alertly scanning their  surroundings  from
beneath flared helmet rims.
	Chenuk ducked his head and reined his shen out of the
way of the  armoured cavalry beasts.  They passed him without  a
second glance. Of course. A single crippled male in patched
brown riding cloak  and  breeches with the orange seal of his
pass  displayed prominently on his shoulder riding a messenger
shen way past  its prime. There wasn't a lot to look at.
	"Chenuk!" there  was a trooper running to head him  off.
"Hai! Chenuk! Gods burn it! Wait!"
	The  shen's  claws  scraping on  stones  as  the  ex-
trooper reigned  back and leaned on the saddle-brace as the other
jogged up.
	Chenuk  knew  this Trenalbi;  had known him for  some
time. They'd  been in the same battlegroup through  several
campaigns. That had ended that night on the roof of the palace,
that  night when  the  sky  opened,  fire  rained  and  his
battlegroup  was slaughtered. Who remained? A few.
	"Lire."
	"Chenuk," the other removed his helm, running fingers
through his  ruff. "Copulation!  We  heard you  were  out.  You're
really leaving, aren't you."
	"Not a lot for me here, ah?"
	"That bad?"
	Chenuk raised the bandaged stump of his hand to the
remains of his ears,  his scarred face. "I lose a few pieces and they
give me  my marching orders.  Huhhnn,  what do they need with
another useless mouth."
	"Chenuk, even wrong-handed you could still outfight
most."
	"Thanks,"Chanuk's tail twitched.  "Wrong-handed
perhaps; one handed. . . forget it. No, they can't use me."
	"You have plans?"
	"Yah," he started the shen moving again at a slow walk.
Lire paced along side.
	"Nothing here?"
	"No,  nothing  here." Chenuk rubbed at his hand.
"Perhaps  the Hub. . . perhaps not. I don't know. I've a debt to
settle."
	Lire's eyes glanced down at the hand resting on the front
of the saddle. "A debt? Something to do with that?"
	Chenuk stared back at him.  Lire's fur crawled.  This
Chenuk had  changed. . . The lack of ears?  It left him  unreadable,
cold. Maybe it was something else.
	"Perhaps," Chenuk replied, not offering any more.
	There  was  an awkward pause,  then Lire  chittered
softly. "Well, wherever you go, may the Gods smile on you. Also,
there is this," Lire  fumbled at his belt then handed across a small
purse made from a piece of old cloth tied with a leather thong.
Chenuk felt the weight, the clatter of silver inside.
	"You'll need it," Lire said.
	"I. . . Thank you," Chenuk said and reached down to
clasp wrists with Lire. "Thank them also."
	"They  know," Lire  grinned. "If you really  want  to
impress them, find it. Bring back an ear."
	"I'll  do that," Chenuk acknowledged,  then clawed  his
Shen forward,  leaving  Lire  staring after him until a  cavalcade  of
heavy goods wagons rolled between them.
	He took it slowly through the town, although the main
street wasn't nearly as crowded as it was before the wars.  The
fighting had  taken  a lot of the able-bodied.  The remaining  were
older males,  cripples,  and  those  with  skills that  made  them  too
valuable to conscript and ship off. There were the few females in
their veils and robes with their own contingents of small  guard,
over  in the male sector to procure goods unavailable   on  their
side of the Wall.
	None paid any attention to him.
	The  guards  at  the gate gave the seal on  his  shoulder
a cursory  once-over then waved him on.  Chenuk started across
the bridge,  letting  the  placid  shen have its head  while  he  sat
staring at the horizon.  Halfway across he tore the seal from his
shoulder and casually tossed it over the railing.  He didn't look
back as the piece of parchment fluttered down to be carried  away
by the river.

--\o/--

	Sekher  groaned  and rubbed at the base of his  tail  as
he settled down into the curve of a sandbank.
	"Hard day, ah?" Chaiila asked, crouching down beside
him.
	"Huhnnn," Sekher growled.  "Tell it to my tail."
	Chaiila  chittered softly and sank down,  curling  her  tail
around.
	It had been a hot, hard day's riding, but it was behind
them now,  with only a few more to go. It was slow, taking longer
than it had taken the Ch'sty Rim troops to cart him south.  They
were still  forced to skirt the towns and villages and find their
own river  crossings.  Now with the Lightbringer burning low  in
the clouds to the east the temperature was dropping.  They'd
found  a sheltered hollow in the midst of a small copse, a tiny
ground-fed spring  overhung by the interlocking branches and
long leaves  of Watertails.  A  pack  of Nichir had been reluctant
to  surrender their territory, but a few jabs from swords had
persuaded them to move out.
	Now a small fire burned beside the spring with their
meagre bedrolls spread out around;  three thin sheets to go
round. Nersi was sitting cross-legged by the fire,  talking softly to
Seth'Nai as she showed the creature how to set meat out on a
stone slab to cook. The creature was beside her, also cross-
legged in an absurd caricature of a Trenalbi,  glancing from her
hands to her face as if  he  were  actually following  her  words.
Occasionally  he'd interrupt with a growl or rumble of his own.
	Sekher  stretched  his  legs  out  -  feeling  the   muscles
trembling. "At  least  we've  got  an  excuse  to  rest  up  every
night," he  said with a nod toward Seth'Nai.
	Chaiila looked toward the creature,  then at
Sekher,"You're not worried that he's slowing us down?"
	He hesitated. "Is there such a hurry?"
	Chaiila sighed and nibbled at a claw,  then said, "Che,
walk with me."
	Nersi looked up as they left but said nothing.
	The night sky overhead was clear and dark blue.  The
rolling hills  of the plains were split between the gold of the
twilight and  the black of shadow as the Lightbringer sank ever
lower  on the horizon. Somewhere over there was the Hub, then
the sea, then beyond the realms to where the Lightbringer retired
each night as all  the  Daughters  came out to dance  their   ways
across  the heavens.
	Amongst  this  two  Trenalbi wandered through  the
seas  of scratchbush and grasses.
	"Sekher, you know where Che stands?"
	He wrinkled his muzzle in puzzlement. "Of course."
	"Tell me."
	"In the centre plains, on the Darktonight River."
	"And the kingdoms around it?"
	"K'streth, Taiska, and Fhel," he promptly responded.
	"Ch'sty, Taiska, and Fhel,"Chaiila corrected.
	"No," his  eyes  widened in shock. "Not so  soon.  There
were treaties. . . "
	Chaiila  barked,  her laughter cold and harsh in the
remote air and there wasn't a glitter of amusement in her eye.
"Treaties, water  in your hands.  When the knife was to the stone
the  other parties  let the Ch'sty rim stall them with bluffs  and
promises until. . . " she  spread  her hands as though flicking chaff
to  the wind. "I  doubt that what is left of K'streth holdings  will
last another half-year."
	Sekher    huddled   deeper   into   his    cloak. "Che. . .
they wouldn't. . . "
	"Sekher," she  touched  his  arm. "You  have  made  some
very powerful enemies.  Your clan shares them with you and you
know as well as I that Che cannot afford enemies."
	"I know," he groaned, "I know. . . but surely they would.
. . "
	"Would what?" Chaiila stopped to watch Sekher.
	He also halted,  rubbing his claws against his throat as
the shock of what he was thinking sank in. "We can offer. . . they
would be willing to bargain."
	"Your Seth'Nai?"Chaiila asked.
	Sekher  crouched  down where he  stood,  wrapping  his
arms about himself and unable to answer.
	She  stood  behind  him and with one hand  reached
down  to caress an ear.  Gently,  she said,  "Sekher, I think the time
for compromise is past."
	When he turned to look up at her, it was with a wild look,
a hope  so anxious it almost hurt her to see it. "If  we  hurry,  we
can. . . "
	She  stopped  him with a hand on his  muzzle. "We  can
what? ah?" she asked. "We can get there in time to charge in and
slay the evil Rim Priests and Lords and carry the day to triumph
for  Che. Ah?
	"Sekher, please, think."
	When Chaiila felt him sag she knew that he had thought,
and that  he had understood.  It was a feeling she  could
sympathise with;  that feeling of utter helplessness.  She had felt
that  as she watched her home burn,  watch her friends and clan
fight  and die.  It  was possible that was a reason she had gone
after  the male  in the first place:  just to have something into
which  to channel  her frustration,  some way she could strike
back at  the amorphous entity that was the Ch'sty Rim.
	She stroked the stubble on his scalp: "You understand?"
	He  growled softly,  then flinched as though just
realising their proximity and her hands on his head.  Standing, he
withdrew from her touch to retreat. Alone on the gentle incline of
the  eastern face  of  a monticule with the final flaring of  the  sun
behind him. She clasped her hands together before her and
watched him
	"I understand," he said. "It hurts."
	"I know."
	"Gods, Chaiila!" he bared teeth at the purple sky, his
breath steaming, "I want to do something! I want to hurt THEM!"
	"If  you want to hurt them," Chaiila suggested, "the best
you could do is not get yourself killed."
	He  growled,  feeling  his entire spine twitch as  his  tail
slashed at the air.
	Chaiila hissed. "Calm."
	"Calm?! You try losing. . . " He remebered who he was
talking to then. She knew what he was feeling. How had she
coped? "Sorry," he growled.
	"I think you need to work it out. It'll help you think."
	"What?"Sekher stared at her."You've got a suggestion?"
	"Sparring,"she shrugged."Teth'Ai?  Third movement?  I
assume you know a little about it."
	Sekher  growled - long and deep - as he  turned  away,
then spun,  bringing  his  foot sweeping around in a arc  intended
to disembowel had he used claws.
	Chaiila yipped, but caught his foot between crossed
forearms and  twisted.  He  jumped,  spinning in the air,  his  other
leg kicking  out  to jar her arm when it struck.  The  dark  female's
mouth  gaped in a bark and she dropped back,  crouching with
her arms spread.
	Grasses and bush rustled beneath their feet as they
circled, warily,   slowly,   like  spiralling  scavangers,  their
shadows stretching long.
	Sekher  struck  again,  still on the  offensive  and  angry.
taking his frustrations out on the figure before him.  The  heels of
his hands moved in a series of hammer blows that struck  only air
as Chaiila slipped aside with a fluid shift of her hips  then slashed
both hands in a Snowflake that batted his blows aside and
stroked the fur of his belly.
	Then she grunted as his foot raked down her thigh.
	Tails lashing, they circled again.
	When he struck,  she blocked. Her blows he parried
smoothly, turning  them into an attack that forced her back.  The
power  of her Lightning he blocked with the smooth shifting of
Breeze.  His hands slapped against the fur of her forearms,  their
low  growls lost on the breeze.
	Sekher was gasping when they separated again. His left
wrist was  throbbing  where  he'd taxed it  too  far.  He  sucked  air,
flicking nictitating membranes across his eyes. . .
	. . . Chaiila  struck  him  low,  batting his  arms  aside  and
hooking a leg behind his knees.  He dropped like a startled rock,
twisting and grabbing a handful of fur.  Chaiila yelped and  went
down  with  him  in a tangle of limbs that  rolled  snarling  and
barking down the hill to end in broadleaf bush.
	Sekher  shook  his  head and raised  himself  on  his
arms. Beneath  him Chaiila sputtered and spat a couple  of
scratchbush leaves from her mouth,  then grinned and said,
"You're better than I thought."
	"Huh. Where did you learn your routines?"
	"Small  Guard.  We're well trained."Then she reached  up
to touch his ear. "You know, even furless you're better than
many."
	He froze, staring down at her. She smiled back and there
was a scent in the air:  subtle,  unobtrusive,  unfamiliar.  Sekher's
nostrils  flared and his sinuses tingled with a shock similar  to the
times he had touched metal and a spark flashed, but this time the
spark was behind his eyes.
	He yipped in surprise, blinked at her with nostrils wide.
	There was a silence.
	"I  think. . . " he  finally began. "I think  we'd  better  start
back. . . "
	He rolled off her, then tried to stand, staggering and
going to his knees. What. . . ?
	Chaiila's  hand was on his shoulder.  He snarled and
lashed out;  she evaded with ease, standing back and. . . waiting?
His head was swimming with the blood pounding in his ears,  then
he keeled over  completely with coarse grass pressing against the
side  of his  face.  He tried to move,  twitched helplessly  with
muscles turned to water.
	And  Chaiila's  hands touched him again,  rolling  him
over onto his back.  He looked up at her face silhouetted against
the dusk,  her  eyes wide and staring like small amber lamps  in
the twilight.
	"What. . . "he croaked. "haiila?"
	She  moved closer and the smell was  stronger,
overpowering when she nuzzled his neck, murmuring, "Calm."
	How  could  he?  His heart pounded in slow  pulses,  yet
he couldn't move.
	Claws ran over him, gently raking, raising  uncountable
tiny bumps as his fur tried to stand up like needles.  Other parts
of him were responding also,  the feeling in his crotch that
seemed to also burn in his mind.  Then her hands were fumbling
with  the belt of his kilt.
	"Chaiila," he gasped again.
	She caressed his face, then stood to shuck her breeches.
	He saw everything,  felt more than he ever though
possible. The  daughters  danced behind Chaiila's black form as
she  moved over him, lowering herself.
	He  howled at the heat that raged through  his  loins,
then through every fibre of his body.

--\o/--

	The  Burrower  meat was browned and  crisped  with
spitting fats.
	Nersi  used two sticks to flip it over,  taking care not  to
knock it from the flat rock into the embers. Beside her, Seth'Nai sat
with the device from his arm opened, a multitude of fragments
spread on a cloth on his lap.  He paused in his fiddling to watch
her hands working.
	She  noticed  his fascinated gaze. "You've  never  done
this before, ah?" she asked.
	He looked up at her.  Gods, she wondered, you're no
animal, but why can't you speak?
	"Here," she offered,  passing him the sticks. "I'll show
you." His  pale hands were warm against hers as she showed him
how  to hold  the sticks between the fingers of one hand and pick
up  the meat with them. He caught on quickly, but still fumbled.
	"You need practice," she grinned.
	He rumbled  and  bared  teeth  at  her.   Nersi   flinched
involuntarily.  However it was something he did often,  seemingly
without intending menace.
	"Don't worry," she assured him. "You'll smooth it out."
	He blinked at her.
	"Never  mind," she hissed. "Pass that branch. . . Look,
rot  it, that branch over there," she pointed. "Pass it to me."
	Seth'Nai  looked from her outstretched hand to  the
branch, then  reached  to pick it up and broke it in half with  a
single flex of his arms before handing the pieces over.
	"Gratitude," Nersi said.
	He watched her stoke the fire, the flames licking around
the dark wood. Flickering light made shadows in the small grove
dance and  shimmer in the twilight,  throwing the planes of
Seth'Nai's face  into  strange  relief.   His  long-fingered  hands
worked delicately at the pieces in his lap.
	Chaiila and Sekher had been gone for some time now.  It
was getting dark,  and night was not the time to be wandering
around the plains unarmed.
	Talking, ah? She smiled to herself.
	The Lightbringer was all but gone,  the sky still aglow
with azure  and the hard silver disks of the  Daughters.  Beneath
the boughs  in the small copse the light was pushed aside  by
gloom. Seth'Nai  paused  in his work to dip into his  peculiar  bag
and produce  a  small white tube about the length of a hand  that
he propped on a nearby rock.  Nersi fell back with a squeak of
alarm when it sprang to glaring life.
	Panting  hard,  she  stared from the glowing  light  to  the
creature. Its teeth were bared and this time she had no doubts of
its  amusement.  Deliberately he touched the tube with  his  bare
hand and gripped it so the light showed red through the flesh. He
withdrew the hand and held it up, waggled the fingers, unscathed.
	Nersi   coughed,   embarrassed  at  her   overreaction. "ai,
alright, so you startled me. Don't DO that!"
	The tube didn't bite.  It just sat there,  glowing. In fact,
Seth'Nai  showed her how to work it and thereafter she sat  there
for some time twisting the top,  dimming and brightening the tube
while watching the meat sizzling.  Seth'Nai continued fitting the
final pieces to his device.
	When the howl rang out, Nersi jumped and stared out
into the evening as the familiar wail rang across the grasslands,
sending a tingle down her spine and tail. It was about time they. . .
	"Hai!"
	She  yelped  as  Seth'Nai leapt to his  feet  and  was  gone
from  the  firelight,  she could hear him  crashing  through  the
undergrowth.
	"No! Wait! Godsdammit! WAIT!"
	Her  leg almost gave out as she stood and chased after
him, stumbling through the dark trunks. The howl sounded again,
giving her a beacon to follow.  Seth'Nai's white form was climbing
a low hill.  She gave chase, her leg aching abominably and
slowing her, yet she still caught up with him.
	"Gods! Will you stop!"
	Just as they reached the crest.
	There  was  still  enough  sun.  The  two  Trenalbi
amongst grasses on the slope below them,  clothing scattered
carelessly. Sekher lay sprawled upon his back, twitching
spasmodically, mouth working  silently.  Dark  fur  engulfed his
hips  where  Chaiila straddled him,  rocking,  her head back,  eyes
closed,  and mouth gaping.
	Nersi  sighed and looked up at Seth'Nai,  standing tall
and pale beside her with his own mouth hanging open. "Seen
enough?"
	Of  course he didn't reply.  As happened so often he
seemed not to hear her. Unsure, she plucked at his sleeve. "Come
on,"she coaxed when he looked at her,"We'll leave them to finish,
ah?"
	When she took his arm - oh,  so carefully - to lead him
back to camp: he followed like a Shen on a rein.
	The meat was burnt.

--\o/--

	Warm, soft fur surrounded him. On his back, his head
resting upon  a dark lap.  Hands stroked at his face and  neck,
circling like  a  gentle breeze.  There was the strong  scent  of
crushed grass  and tingleweed,  the endless darkness  above,  the
silver light of the Daughters in his eyes,  the echoing traces of a
lust in his muzzle. . .
	"Che?"
	Darker fur bent over him,  amber eyes peering down into
his face. "Che, you there?"
	He closed his eyes again.  Still his limbs felt like  stone,
moved  like rusty armour.  He gave up the effort and  lay  there,
panting.
	"How're you feeling?"
	He bared teeth,  remembering the feelings: the
helplessness, the piercing pleasure from his groin,  confusion. . .
	"I. . . I don't know," he finally grated.
	"Your first time," the voice was soft. Sekher could feel
her breath. When  he opened his eyes her face was barely a span
from his  own,  her lap still warm under his head.  "It's  always  the
hardest for you."
	He licked his lips. "I don't understand. . . What. . . "
	"You were never told,  were you," she interrupted, her
voice a soft hum. "A small town. . . They never told you."
	It  was true:  they hadn't.  The Unity Homes along the
Wall were places cublin and youths were not permitted.  Males
came and went  through the doors watched by Small Guard.  He
had seen  the lights  through the high,  barred windows,  heard
the  music  and singing, the howls, but knew nothing of what
happened inside. His brother had warned him. . . had he known?
	Then he had to ask: "Why did you do it?"
	Chaiila looked surprised. "Because I like you. You're a
fine male:  healthy,  bright. . . If your seed takes,  I know it will  be
a promising cub."
	"Oh," he said, trying to think. "And where would you
pouch it?" he asked. "Our towns. . . "
	She  smiled  and touched his nose pad. "The  female
quarters in any town would accept it.  They would take care of the
hosting and the creche."
	"Oh," he  said again,  for lack of anything else.  There
was silence for a time.
	The  prevailing westerly breeze blowing over the plains
had cooled  with the going of the Lightbringer and now  chilled
with its touch.  Chaiila's fur fluffed out, her ruff raising around her
neck and atop her head, trapping her warmth. Sekher shuddered.
	Chaiila felt it: "You're freezing!  Gods!  I forgot!  Can you
walk yet? Alright. . . Here, I'll help."
	The fire,  even the pale features of Seth'Nai, were
welcome, familiar  sights after such strangeness.  Nersi and the
creature looked  up  as Sekher lurched into the camp with  an  arm
strung about  Chaiila's  shoulders.  They both stopped and  stared
with shock  at the small tube glowing with strong light.  It was
only when Seth'Nai arose and moved to take Sekher from Chaiila
that the dark  female cuffed him aside and lowered her burden
beside  the fire.  Whatever had happened to him was wearing off,
now he  was strong  enough  to sit himself up while Chaiila
draped  a  cloak about him.
	"Thanks," murmured Sekher.
	Nersi  leaned over toward Chaiila to mutter an aside, "Is
he all right?"
	"Yes, thank you." Sekher looked up, right at her. "He's
fine." Chaiila was late to muffle a bark.
	"Excuse me," grumbled Nersi. "It's just that. . . His first
time, right?  I'm  surprised  he could put one foot in front  of  the
other."
	Sekher's ears went down.
	"Sorry," Nersi    hastened to placate him. "I wasn't
thinking." She  passed him a stick on which chunks  of  bite-sized
chunks of meat had been skewered. "You're going to be hungry.
This should help."
	"Thanks." He took it and, methodically, began working
his way along the stick.
	Chaiila  had  been staring at the light-tube. "What  IS
that thing," she asked Nersi.
	Her cousin shrugged. "A torch of some kind. Not
dangerous, it seems."
	"Seth'Nai?"
	"Yah."
	"Figures."
	Sekher  smiled  to  himself at that.  Even  if  they  didn't
realise it,  they were becoming inured to the creature's  strange
ways: Anything peculiar happens these days, blame it on
Seth'Nai. That one bore enough strange in his hairless hide to
satisfy  any adventurous spirit.
	"What's  the  matter with him  anyway?" Chaiila  asked
Nersi with a curious glance at the creature. "He keeps staring at
me."
	"He  heard the howls," Nersi  explained,  looking
pensive. "I think he thought you were in trouble. . . Anyway,  he
saw. Who knows what he's thinking."
	"Not what a normal male would, I hope," Chaiila grinned.
Nersi's  ears flicked. "A Trenalbi male would have  been  out of his
howling mind at the first scent of you.  Him. . . Well,  he's
probably got about as much interest in your affairs as a stick."
	Sekher coughed and when the females looked at him
asked, "Is it always. . . like that?"
	Chaiila ducked her head,  flicked her tail around and
began grooming  the tip. "Your first time. . . it was like being hit
by  a house,  ah?  Now you know why some use copulation as a
curse." She grinned as she said that,  then grew serious. "You
should know  it grows  easier.  Next time, if  you  can  find  a  next
time,  it  won't  be so. . . traumatic for you,  but you will always be
slow and as  weak as a cublin."
	The light of fire and magic threw strange shadows across
her face as she spoke. "Also, remember the Unity Homes. They're
there for a reason,  as are the Small Guard and the Walls.  Where
there is mating madness,  there is also fighting.  Go there if you
wish to mate, for whatever reason, but be prepared to fight. And
obey their rules. Always!"
	"Rules? What?"
	She  shrugged. "They always change from town  to  city.
They share  the  same  roots,  but  details  change.  Usually
nothing drastic: Behave, Listen, Obey."
	"Huh," Sekher  rubbed  at his face. "And why  be
prepared  to fight?"
	"That," she  grinned, "is something you'll have to  learn
for yourself.  Now  rest  up  and get some food  in  you." She
stood, stretched, and yawned. "I'm going to wash off."
	"Watch where you step," Nersi warned.
	"You're starting to sound like Chaiila," Sekher pointed
out.
	"Ah, shave you," Chaiila spat with a grin.
	Sekher  returned the grin and took another mouthful of
rich meat,  watching  her gather up a cloak and blanket and  move
off into the bushes and darkness toward the sound of running
water.
	Nersi glanced at him then away again.
	The fire crackled away industriously as wet wood
popped  and spat.  Seth'Nai was sitting cross-legged at the
periphery of  the light,  toying with the thing strapped to his wrist,
occasionally glancing  up at them.  Sekher concentrated upon
eating.  She  had been right: he was starving.
	"You enjoyed yourself this night?" inquired Nersi.
"Huh?"Sekher  looked  up  with  juices  dribbling  down  his chin.
"Oh. . . Oh, yes . . .sure."
	"You don't sound so sure," Nersi smiled.
	Sekher  wiped  his muzzle with a sweep of  his  forearm
and considered. "It was. . . unexpected."
	Nersi sighed."She didn't mean to scare you like that."
	"Huh?" Sekher  looked  shocked.  He  was  almost
convincing; almost, but not quite.
	"Don't,  Sekher," she warned him. "I can see it and smell
it. She had your ruff on end, didn't she."
	Sekher's  hand  moved  to run across the back  of  his
neck before  he remembered,  so instead he hugged his arms
around  his chest. "Hai, she surprised me."
	Nersi  snorted.  "Did  she now?  Don't worry  about  it,"
she assuaged the male.  "She does things like that,  like chasing
off after a male who was probably dead.  Impulsive." Nersi sighed
and shifted to stretch her sore leg out before her,  pressing
against the bandage. That run after Seth'Nai had left it aching.
Would it ever be the same?. . .
	"She could have said something," said Sekher.
	"It  doesn't work like that," Nersi tried  to  explain,  then
shrugged  helplessly. "She  probably didn't know  either.  It  can
just. . . happen."
	Sekher  was  just  staring at  her. "I  don't  understand,"
he replied, still sounding defensive.
	"Sekher,  she chose you.  As I said, she's impulsive and
can be  blunt to the point of callousness,  but she's a  thrifty  one
when it comes to dealing out emotions.  You're the only male  I've
ever  seen her get so. . . close to.  She certainly never  meant  to
scare you away."
	"Huh! Yeah, well if that's how she shows affection. . . "
Sekher grunted  and tipped his ears. "It's like an affectionate
shen:  a friendship that could crush you!"
	Nersi  chuckled and  Sekher  took another mouthful,
chewing thoughtfully.
	When  Chaiila returned her fur was still  damp.  She
looked around the other Trenalbi's faces, as if well aware that they
had talked  about her during her absence.  It was a look that
Sekher found  himself unable to meet.  So instead he turned his
back  on the pair and found a hollow among Scellerian tree roots
where  he hunkered down and pulled his blanket close.  Several
deep breaths and  he  felt his heartbeat slowing,  his  nictitating
membranes drawing across his eyes.
	"Sekher," said Chaiila's voice.
	"Huh?" he  snapped  back  to awareness  to  look  across
the campfire to where the females were beginning to drift.
"What?"
	They both blinked at him. "What?" asked Chaiila.
	"You said something."
	They looked at each other. "Ahh. . . No."
	"Sekher," said Nersi's voice, but Nersi hadn't spoken.
	As  one their heads turned toward Seth'Nai.  He  ducked
his head  and  growled,  the  sound followed  almost  immediately
by coherent words from his wrist,  a jumble of words and voices:
his own,  Chaiila's,  Nersi's: "Sekher. Chaiila. Nersi," He looked
from one  to  the other as it spoke their names. "Can't.  Talk  help  I
you."
	A branch in the fire popped and hissed.
	"Huh!" Sekher  finally choked out. "It's been quite  a
night, huh?"

--\o/--

	Standing  unobtrusively  at  the  back  of  the  room   with
another advisor and that priest, Nerfith watched, the striped tip of
his tail twitching almost imperceptibly.
	The two males standing standing so casually before
Kissaki's desk were the source of his distaste,  their cloaks
sweeping  the floor, armour lacquered black against the elements.
One towering, massively  built,  the flesh beneath his fur layered
with  slabs of muscle and scars,  the other a nondescript fawn-
furred slender male  with notched,  black-tipped ears and almost
delicate  hands
automatically searching for the hilt of a sword he was  forbidden
to carry this close to the High Lord.  Bounty Hunters!  Nerfith's lip
spasmed in distaste.
	The smaller one was the voice of the pair,  and he used
his words  well.   It  had  surprised  Nerfith,  noticing  that  this
lowlife's words echoed a trace of a higher teaching. He failed to
quite place the accent, but it seemed to be eastern, maybe one of
the  towns further in toward the hub;  perhaps a  highborn  who'd
lost his standing due to clan feud. It happened.
	And at the moment he was addressing the High Lord.
	"If  I hadn't seen the damage for myself I might  have
some trouble   believing  this," he  said  with  a   slight grin. "And
they. . . overcome twenty battlegroups?"
	Kissaki  stared  at him with his ears laying back  into  the
dark fur of his ruff. "You have been given all the details we have
seen  fit  to give you.  There are four fugitives,  two  of  them
possibly female Trenalbi, one shaved male of noble birth, and
something else. We do not know what it is,  but it is the
dangerous one.  It is  the one we want. The others, all I want is
their hides."
	The Hunter laid his head to one side."Four.  That's quite
a contract."
	"For  which  you are being  paid  quite  adequately,"
Kissaki hissed. "You  are  good,  I know that,  but  not  uniquely
so." He emphasized that word 'uniquely'.
	The other smiled.  If he had been making a bid for more
cash, the look in the High Lord's eyes stalled him and he wisely
passed the  opportunity  by with a casual wave of his  hand. "Of
course, High One. May I ask what resources will be at our
disposal?"
	Kissaki stared at the pair,  then gestured curtly toward
the Priest who stepped forward with a rustle of robes and
acknowledge the High Lord, "Sire," then produced a scroll case
from within  his sleeve and turned to address the Hunters. "This
document is signed and marked with the Council's seals.  It details
your  assignment and  will  ensure the cooperation of the
Priesthood  across  the world,   also  giving you limited credit for
purchase of Temple goods."
	The  Hunter took the black leather  case,  hefted  it,  then
hooked it to his belt.
	"Watchkeeper," Kissaki waved Nerfith.
	"Sire," he bowed stiffly as he stepped forward. "Sir,  are
you sure. . . "
	Kissaki  growled,  deep and long,  shutting Nerfith's
mouth instantly. "You've had your chance,  Watchkeeper," he
snarled. "You lost it. Now get on with it!"
	"Yessir," Nerfith succeeded in keeping his ears from
wilting; barely.  The Hunter was casually waiting,  not bothering
to  hide the  amused  expression plastered across his face.  He
took  the scroll case with a poor parody of a salute.  Nerfith let his
lips part  to  flash  a  glimpse of white  teeth  before  handing  the
scroll  case he carried over. "This is signed and sealed with  the
Royal crest. It'll make sure you have the full cooperation of any
Lord in the Ch'sty demesnes.  It also requires that any  garrison or
other  military  body aid you in  any  way,  provided  it  is relevant
to your duty. Understand?"
	"Yessir," the Hunter smiled.
	Kissaki spoke again. "Now you know what is required,
start moving.  Watchkeeper,  accompany them and see they have
whatever they need." He paused. "Any questions?"
	"One." This time it was the large one that spoke. "This
thing you  want us to return. . . Ah,  just what condition do you
want  it in?"
	"Alive," the  High  Lord  replied. "As  long as  it  is  in  a
condition we can work with."
	"Understood." The  tall Hunter bowed. "Alright Sire,
you  will have your creature."
	Once  outside Kissaki's private offices their  weapons
were returned. Nerfith watched as the small Hunter sheathed his
rapier and slung a flail-blade from his belt. His partner slung the
long wooden  tube  of a heavy darter over his shoulder and took
up  a two-handed sword.  Steel, as Nerfith had noted earlier.
	"How can you afford steel?" he asked.
	The smaller one grinned. "Hai,  Watchkeeper. Just
because you can't  do your job,  doesn't mean we aren't capable
of  handling ours. We get by."
	Nerfith's   ears   and   ruff   went   tight   against his skull.
"Alright," he    hissed. "Take   your   documents   to the
quartermaster. Get what you need, then get your mangy hides out
of my town!"

--\o/--

	"Day not many I/we travel/go."
	Seth'Nai was improving rapidly. His syntax was
indescribably terrible, but his vocabulary was increasing at a
phenomenal rate. It seemed he never forgot anything he heard; or
rather the device on his forearm didn't.  He had also settled upon a
voice to  use. Now,  instead  of  repeating  words in a  mangled
collection  of Sekher's,  Chaiila's,  and Nersi's voices,  he had -
with Nersi's patient assitance - chosen male tones that Chaiila had
grudgingly admitted sounded more pleasant than the creature's
features.
	"You mean it is not far?"
	Nersi was speaking slowly to Seth'Nai, and even so there
was a pause before he tried to respond. He growled and words
came from his wrist: "Yes. Far not."
	"No, no. It is not far," Nersi corrected him.
	Seth'Nai looked confused.  He touched the speaking
bracelet and the next time he made noises the device didn't speak.
	Sekher  stroked the worn leather of the reigns  between
his finger  pads.  The  Shen  grunted and tossed  its  head  slighty,
feeling for any slack. Sekher tightened his grip. When he touched
claws  to its flanks it obediently stepped up its placid pace  to
move alongside Nersi and whickered at her mount.
	"He's learning," Sekher said.
	"Hmmm?" The  breeze toyed with Nersi's ruff as she
turned  to squint at him. "Huh!  Ya,  he's learning all right." She
glanced at the  creature. "He's  trying to ask questions now,  but
he  still doesn't know enough to answer."
	"You mean, What is he?"
	"How'd you guess,"she barked a laugh.  The sound was
echoed by the creature. Both Trenalbi stared.
	"Sekher," the  creature acknowledged him,  then  asked,
"Means what?" Again it sounded a laugh.
	"Ah," Nersi looked at Sekher, "How do you explain
that?"
	Seth'Nai waited, his shen plodding along.
	Nersi scratched her neck. "A Laugh. . . Like a smile," she
began.
	"Smile?" Seth'Nai asked.
	"Smile," Nersi repeated. "Ah, means happy/amusement."
	"Understand!" Seth'Nai bobbed his head. "Smile big
laugh is."
	"Yes," Nersi  smiled  her  approval and  Seth'Nai  bared
his teeth.  The  female  turned to Sekher and  said, "Well I  learned
something: that's his smile."
	"Showing   teeth?" Sekher   twitched in surprise. "That's
perverse!"
	"I know," Nersi agreed. "Strange."
	Sekher  scratched  at his nose where sun-reddened  skin
was peeling,  then  leaned forward in his saddle so he could see
the creature clearly. "Hai! Seth'Nai."
	The pale eyes and face turned to watch him.
	"Where are you from?" Sekher  asked. "Ah?  Where. . .
You. . . From? Up there?"
	Both  he and Nersi saw it.  When he pointed at the  sky
the creature flinched violently,  staring at him with wide grey eyes.
Then he kicked his shen and moved ahead to ride by himself.
	Nersi  blinked  at  the  creatures  back,   then  turned  to
Sekher. "Do you really think it comes from. . . " she pointed up.
	"I don't know," Sekher admitted. "One thing though:  I
reckon he  understands  a lot more than he lets on." He  shifted
on  his saddle  as his tail twitched. "I think it might be a good idea
to be careful what we say around him."

--\o/--

	The  small group spent the following night sheltering
among the  collapsed and overgrown ruins of a  long-forgotten
Trenalbi settlement while a storm flashed and thundered  outside.
Chaiila had  been  fortunate enough to stumble across the
remains  of  a garden  from  where she dug up several  tongueroot
tubers.  When cleaned and baked the roots took on the flavour of
spiced bread.
	Yet still Seth'Nai refused to eat them, claiming he, "Not
can eat."
	So much for him being a grass-grazer.
	Morning found the storm abated,  yet the sky still
overcast and  despite the best efforts of the Lightbringer,  a
persistent slow  drizzle  soaked cloaks,  trickled down necks and
kept  the ground beneath shens' hooves soggy.  It was,  Sekher
thought,  a thoroughly unenviable way to travel.
	The  rain,  as  did all  things,  passed.  The  Lightbringer
continued on its path. Another night passed. . .

--\o/--

	The  western Ramparts were visible on the  horizon,  like
a distant,   hazy  grey  line  stretching  from  one  side  of  the
grasslands to the other.  From here to that distant line lay  the
rolling expanses of the green-gold sunlit central plains.  It was in
places  like  this that you could look  around  and  convince
yourself that there wasn't a city,  a town, a village, or a house in
the entire world.
	Sekher settled back in his saddle,  rocking with the
shen's gait.  It was starting to worry him:  the further they
travelled westward,  the further from Che they went. He was well
aware that the  Chy'sty  troops  would be watching  all  borders
for  them, especially for a shaved male travelling with a daemon,
but still he  had to get back.  Still,  Seth'Nai had been leading them
for the past couple of days.  The path they followed was a
convoluted one,  sometimes  moving west,  then leading north
again,  always avoiding   any  sign  of  Trenalbi.   He  seemed  to
have   some destination,  but too much further and they'd have
their backs to the Ramparts.
	He flicked the stub of a claw along his forearm,  pleased
at the down-like new fur that was growing there.  Still like a cub's
pelt,  but it was growing.  Give it time. Cracking a jaw-breaking
yawn  he  flicked an ear toward where Chaiila  was  talking  with
Seth'Nai.  They were riding a slight distance from the other  two
and  keeping  their  voices low,  so Sekher was  unable  to  hear
exactly  what  was  being  said.  Chaiila  sounded. . . embarrassed?
Seth'Nai. . . Well,  Seth'Nai  seemed  to be getting  grasp  on  the
concept  of grammar;  now some of the things he said almost
made sense.
	Almost.
	Sekher  shrugged at the absurdity of it all and let  himself
slip down into drift,  letting the memories of the past insinuate
themselves from the depths of his mind. . .
	. . . the  book  flying across the room in a flutter  of
pages before  striking  the wall. "I don't want to do  this," he
scowled petulantly. "It's boring!"
	The Teacher sighed wearily and hauled himself to his
feet to retrieve the valuable book.  His grey furred hands calmly
dusted it  off  and  set  it  back  on  the  claw-scarred  desk   before
Sekher. "Youngling, you have to."
	"Why!" Sekher sulked.
	"You know why." The Teacher returned to his  chair,
lowering his age-worn body carefully. . .
	. . . Sekher  cocked his head to look up at the bulky
stranger who  bustled  around the dusty library, sorting out  the
precious collection of books and parchments. "Where's
Teacher?" he demanded.
	The  male  stopped what he was doing and  smiled  a
careful smile at Sekher.  It didn't fool him,  Teacher had taught him
too well for that. "I'm  Teacher  now,   cub," this new male
explained. "Old Hiler won't be coming any more."
	"Why?" Sekher didn't understand. "Doesn't he like me
anymore?"
	"Yes, of course he does. . . You know he has been ill. . . "
	Sekher  stood watching the sparks from the  funeral  pyre
spiralling  upwards to join the specks in the Well.  He found  it
difficult  to understand what was happening.  He saw his sire  on
the far side of the flames,  his head bowed and ears low, a small
length  of  blue  cloth in his hands,  like the  one  Sekher  was
wearing,  a gift from his Teacher. And Sekher watched as his sire
approached the fire and threw the cloth into. . .
	. . . he heard a strange cry.  Looking out through the bars
of the cage he saw. . .
	Sekher snapped from drift with a sudden intake of breath
and looked wildly around,  not quite able to believe his eyes.
Their shen  were  now plodding along a rutted track alongside  a
small pool  fed  by  rivulets of water still remaining  from  the  last
rains.  Eroded  banks rose above them to their  right,  tufts  of
grass  and  scratchbush sprouting at their rims.  The  track  was
worn,  obviously  used and littered with rocks tumbled  from  the
banks around them. He knew this place!
	Seth'Nai halted his shen and swung down from its back,
then began poking around the debris at the bottom of the
embankments. Sekher  dismounted  also and trotted  after  the
creature. "Wait! Hai!"   Seth'Nai   looked   around   as   Sekher
slapped his shoulder. "Why'd you bring us back here, ah?!"
	"Che!"
	Sekher turned at the shout,  leaving Seth'Nai with his
mouth hanging open. Chaiila was glaring at him, her ears back.
"You know where we are? Why don't you share it with us!"
	"I  don't know!" he protested. "I mean,  I know this is
where the Chy'sty caught him, but I don't know. . . "
	"They  caught him here?" Nersi looked around with  a
puzzled expression. "What was he doing in such a Gods forsaken
place?"
	"Visiting relatives?" Chaiila suggested,  then scowled.
"Male, did we come all this was just for this?!"
	Sekher shrugged,  then looked at Seth'Nai: "Well? Why
did you come here? Why. . . are..we. . . here?!"
	The angular shoulders heaved. "I come. Look."
	"Look?" Sekher blinked. "At what? For what?!"
	Seth'Nai  made a meaningless little gesture with his
hands, then ran those fingers through his head fur. It had grown,
Sekher had  noticed,  along  with the face fur.  He  stared  at
Sekher, studying him,  then looked around the weather-worn little
valley. "Different  now,   ah?" the  creature  asked  Sekher. "Afraid
not. No. . . " he  moved  his hands in a square shape over his
head  then drew lines in front of his face.
	"Cage," Sekher supplied.
	"Cage," the other said, bobbing his head. "No cage."
	"But why here?!" Sekher demanded.
	Storm-grey   eyes  met  his. "Stop  here,   not   long.   Go.
Not. . . far."
	"We've got further to go?" Sekher exclaimed. "How
far?!"
	The creature's shoulders heaved again,  then he returned
to poking  through dirt and rocks,  tumbled scrub.  The two
females dismounted,  stretching to ease out the kinks and aches
left from the  long  ride.  Sekher  turned  to  them  to  ask, "Answer
your question?"
	"In  a  roundabout  sort of  way;  yes," growled  Chaiila
in exasperation. "Why is it impossible to get a straight answer
from that thing?"
	"Why don't you ask him?" Sekher suggested.
	She didn't even bother to look at him. "Unfunny, Che."
Seth'Nai  kicked a couple more rocks aside,  finding only  a
scuttler that blinked up at him, then scuttled off in a flash of
green  scales.  Then Seth'Nai turned to peer into  the  murky water
and for a few beats Sekher thought it planned to go  wading
around  in  there,  but the creature growled something  that  the
device on his wrist garbled as, "¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ it! Done. We go?"
	Chaiila  looked  up  from where she  was  sitting,  chin  on
hand. "Why?" she snorted as she rose to her feet. "What can
possibly beat this place for sheer excitement?"
	Sekher wasn't sorry to leave that place.  It called back too
many uncomfortable memories.  He shuddered,  then nudged the
shen and moved up alongside Seth'Nai whose mouth twitched as
he  bared teeth. "Not far."
	"Not far.  Right," Sekher sighed, then cocked his head to
one side to ask, "How did they catch you?"
	"They ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ me. I fool. I fall," Seth'Nai pointed at one of
the  cliff  tops and indicated a bouncing path  down  the  nearly
sheer face. "¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ in cage. You looking at me."
	"Seth'Nai, what ARE you?"
	The creature turned away and scratched at his ear. For a
few beats Sekher believed he wouldn't reply, then the voice said,
"You wait. I show you. You wait."

--\o/--

	So Sekher waited.
	They  left  the trail behind and struck out  in  a  westerly
direction.  That  pathetic little trace of civilization  vanished into
the grasses and left the grasslands to the scattered  herds of
Longrazers that drifted across it on their yearly  migration,
Hitherdarts  perched on the backs occasionally taking to the  air
to  peruse  among the swarms of insects.  In the  sky  above  the
clouds  shared  the azure emptiness with the remote  specks  that
were Broadwings, searching the grasslands for their next meal.
	Sekher shifted awkwardly on his mount. With only two
saddles for  the shen they had to take it in shifts,  and at this
moment was his turn to use one of the worn coarse-weave
blankets in lieu of a saddle. It wasn't a very satisfactory
substitute.
	He stole a surreptitious glance across at Chaiila to see
how she was doing.  Drifting?  No,  just staring off into the
middle distance, one hand absently stroking her abdomen.
Thinking. About what? Sekher wondered.
	That night?
	And he wondered also,  not for the first time.  Had his
seed taken?  Was  she going to bear?  Gods!  He,  Sekher  Che,
siring cubs. . . the concept was. . . not an idea he'd ever harboured
before. How long would it be before she knew for sure?  He
glanced at her again  and  wondered  if she would let him be with
her  for  the pouching. Male or female? Pray for male. How
different would life be knowing there was a small part of him living
on in the world?
	Perhaps he may even get around to meeting them some
day. Huh. If, if, if. There was no way to be certain and it was a
sure  waste  of time to worry over something that may  never  be.
When the time was right surely Chaiila would. . .
	"GODS!"
	He almost fell off his shen in shock at Nersi's scream.
	"What are you. . . " Chaiila began,  then gasped, "Oh,
shave it! Not again!"
	From their left,  moving fast up the flank of a rolling hill
to meet them.  It was a low, blocky thing that was all angled
planes,  about the size of a shen,  a mottled yellow-brown that
blurred into the grasses and scrub behind  it.  Six  blackrimmed
wheels  sent clods of earth flying as it  sped  over  the rough
ground,  the  only  noise it made  was  the  crackling  of crushed
foliage.  It slowed as it approached, a turret on its top deck
rotating to keep several dark slots pointed their way. About
fifteen paces away it stopped, waiting.
	"Another  one," Chaiila  growled,  hauling her shen  back
to huddle  with the other two Trenalbi. "How many of them are
there? Where're they coming from?!"
	"It looked like it was waiting for us," said  Nersi,  staring
at it with pupils huge and square. "One beat it wasn't there,  the
next it. . . I only saw it when it started moving.  It looked like a
rock."
	Seth'Nai   was   watching  their   reaction   with   another
confoundedly opaque expression.  He bared his teeth then
reigned his shen around to ride back to them. "Is alright.  Is
friend," he assured  them  with  another flash of teeth.  As  if
THAT  would reassure. . .
	"Cousin," Chaiila started as Nersi nudged her shen
toward the thing. "Careful. . . "
	Nersi  rode close.  The turret on the thing turned to  track
her  as she leaned forward and tapped it with a  claw,  then  she
looked at Seth'Nai. "Metal. Machine?"
	"No understand," he said.
	"Like that?" she pointed at his wrist. "Tool. Machine."
	"Like  this," he held up his arm. "Yes.  Like this. "He
tapped the  thing  on  his wrist and the next time he  spoke  his
voice boomed out of the wheeled thing. "Like this.  All one.  All
same. Joined."
	Nersi jerked back in alarm.
	"Sorry," Seth'Nai's  voice  sounded  again,  at  more
normal levels and from the right place.
	Nersi's  lip  twitched to flash teeth and this time  it  was
Seth'Nai who appeared discomforted. "Not far now,ah?" she said.
	"No. Not far,"he replied then turned his shen around and
set off again. The machine waited.
	The Trenalbi hesitated,  then Nersi followed Seth'Nai,
then Sekher  followed her tracks.  There was another pause
before  he heard a muttered curse, then the snort as Chaiila clawed
her shen into motion. With a crackling of scratchbush beneath
wheels, the machine rolled after them.

--\o/--

	Atop  a  broad,  windswept  hilltop  littered  with  twisted
scratchbush and weather-worn rocks Seth'Nai stopped his shen
then threw  back his head and let out a howl that set Sekher's skin
to crawling and caused his mount to balk.
	"That's  it," moaned  Chaiila,   spreading  her  arms  as  if
appealing to the Gods. "It's gone mad!"
	"Huh!  Well something's got him excited," said  Nersi.
"Anyone curious?"
	Seth'Nai was waiting for them,  his face contorted in a
grin fit to petrify cubs.  As the Trenalbi approached he waved his
arm in a broad sweep as if offering to them the land that lay ahead.
	They  stopped  and stared,  squinting,  at a  distant
shape squatting on a hill.
	"So, what is it?" Chaiila asked.
	"Can't  really tell," confessed Sekher. "Looks like a  hut
of some kind. . . To far to see."
	"Seth'Nai," called Nersi. "Is that it?"
	The  creature  looked  at her and  the  grin  wavered,
then vanished. "Yes.  Go there. Please. Not you. . . you do not be
afraid. Not hurt you. No afraid." He stretched out a hand to her,
"Please, trust?"
	Nersi glanced at Sekher,  then Chaiila, then nudged her
shen forward and touched the outstretched hand. "All right.
Trust." Seth'Nai's  pale digits closed around  her  hand,  squeezed,
then released her.  Without further ado he awkwardly reigned his
shen around and started it trotting toward the far-off structure.
The Trenalbi exchanged glances and set off after him.
	It was Chaiila that noticed they were being watched.
	"Over  there," she  pointed at a bush.  Something  small
and many-legged  scuttled for the cover of  shadows. "Also,
have  you noticed anything strange about that broadwing?"
	Sekher looked up at the circling flyer. "No. . . It has been
up there a long time, ah?"
	"Yeah,  they  don't usually hang around one place like
that unless there's something dying, then there's plenty more than
one of the greedy bastards. . . Look! There!"
	Sekher  snapped  his  head around in time to  see  a
small, silver  thing  scuttling through the grass on six  jointed
legs. Small  glassy eyes stared back at him then it was gone
behind  a rock.
	"Ka!" Chaiila was coughing in distaste. "What in all the
hells was THAT?!"
	"Another of Seth'Nai's toys?" Sekher suggested. "He's
got eyes everywhere."
	"Huh!" Chaiila was still staring at the spot where the
thing had  disappeared. "Do you you think that's why he was
telling  us not to be scared?"
	"Uh. . . " Sekher wasn't watching her. "No."
	"No?"
	"No. Huhn. . . I think THAT'S why." Sekher pointed
ahead, noticing without a great deal of surprise that his finger was
trembling.
	Chaiila looked and her ruff went flat.
	The  structure  they'd seen earlier wasn't  a  hut.  It  was
simply the top of something bigger.
	Much bigger.
	Not quite the size of a garrison stronghold, although
coming close,  it nestled in a trail of torn,  churned earth.  A
nearby hill had had its crest violently removed and scattered
around the construction.  Cliff-like  walls of a white material
etched  with peculiar markings rose a sheer forty paces into the
sky. Its flat apex  was topped by a ridge running from one tapered
end  to  the flared other and bristling with peculiar projections.
That ridge rose above the hilltops. That was what they'd seen.
	"A   hut   of  some   kind." Chaiila   braked,   then began
chittering. "A hutttttt. . . "
	She  was chittering still as Seth'Nai led them  down
toward the edifice.  Only as its shadow fell over them did she fall
silent. It  was there that Seth'Nai dismounted and bade them do he
same. None  of  the  Trenalbi  spoke  as  they  followed  suit,
mutely unloading  the  weary,  nervous  shen of  cargo  and  tack,
then hobbling them and setting them free to graze.  They
continued  on foot.
	Sekher could feel his ears stuck firm to his skull, his tail
as  rigid as a moss-covered stick.  It loomed. . . it towered  above
them.  The torn earth around them was littered with tracks of all
kinds,  flattened  where heavy wheels had rolled.  As they  moved
closer Sekher was able to see the whole structure was raised  off
the  ground on four huge constructions of struts and  beams  that
vanished into slots in the underbelly.  The area was  alive,  was
seething,  with scurrying shapes,  some tiny, multilegged things,
others  large wheeled things the size of wagons,  others with  no
means  of support visible at all.  Metal glinted and clanked  and
grated among the shadows as the things darted about their  tasks.
Trails  of  twisted  cables and wisps of  smoke  came  from  dark
tunnels  bored  into the ground.  A large wheeled  vehicle  would
approach a hole,  line itself up,  then roll down into the tunnel and
out  of  sight.  Away in the distance  there  were  metallic clashing
noises.  Periodically a high screeching sound could  be heard
accompanied by a shower of sparks from the far end of  the
edifice.
	The  Trenalbi had fallen into  shocked,  absolute,
silence, staring  upwards  with  square eyes as they  moved
beneath  that incredible  mass.  Sekher  cringed as a  wheeled
monstrosity  of battered  metal rolled towards him then smoothly
detoured  around to continue on its way.  Chaiila yipped and
skipped into the  air as  a scuttling silver thing on legs skittered
underfoot.  Nersi was  staying  close by Seth'Nai with one  hand
clutching  almost unconsciously at his arm as he strode arrow-
straight through  the madness.
	Between the massive front legs a thick ramp led down
from  a door  in the underbelly of the behemoth.  The opening was
easily the size of a peasant's small cottage and flanked by odd
symbols, black  and  yellow stripes,  and flashing lights.  The
ramp  was metal,  solid  metal,  and  cold against Sekher's  toes  as
they started  up.  At the top a vehicle with four solid jointed  legs,
flashing red lights,  and a cluster of powerful arms was standing
motionless. As soon as they were out of the way it clattered down
the ramp.
	Sekher was beginning to feel ill.  Too much strangeness!
Too fast!
	And this chamber!
	There was metal.  Everywhere metal!  Gods! There wasn't
this much  hard  steel  in the  world!  It  glittered,  it  clattered.
Flashing  red and orange lights reflected from polished  surfaces
and  spills of liquid.  The floor was a mesh of metal grids  that
were  uncomfortable to stand on.  Above,  the ceiling was  hidden
behind convolutions and clusters of tubes and beams and
stranger things.  Walls  were dark,  broken faces of shadowy
alcoves  and dazzling  lights,   dark  metal  glistening  with
condensation, clusters  of  small glass squares blinking  green
lights.  Small machines  with  six legs scuttled across  the  floor,
walls  and ceiling  with equal facility.  The air was heavy with  the
tangy scent one smelled before a storm, along with other less-
definable scents  and also the faint,  underlying spice of  Trenalbi
fear. Booming noises reverberated as larger devices manoeuvered.
Sparks flew as brilliant lights flared in the distance.
	At  Sekher's  side,  Chaiila's  eyes were  eclipsed  by  the
milkiness of her nictitating eyelid.  Her lips moved  soundlessly
and  she  walked  as if in drift,  clutching  her  saddlebag  and
stumbling occasionally on the awkward footing.  With nowhere
else to go,  the Trenalbi followed Seth'Nai as he led them through
the dim  confusion  to a section of wall that,  at a touch  from  his
hand, slid aside in a spill of cool, clean white light.
	The  noise  was abruptly cut off as the door  closed
behind them.  There  was  a small room with white walls  and  floor
and another  door in the far wall.  Beyond was an octagonal
corridor and more metal,  more of that accursed grillwork on the
floor. No noise,  save  for a soft,  pervading hum.  The light
coming  from rectangular panels set along the ceiling and walls
was bright and even, with none of the flickering or smoking so
characteristic of oil or wood.
	Another  metal door - incredibly thick - slid aside  with  a
high  whine  as  they approached and they  entered  a  room  with
several more similar doors around its periphery.  The walls  were
covered  with  what  looked like small cupboard  doors  and  nets
clamped  pieces of what could be either machinery or art or  junk
to  the  floor.  Seth'Nai  slapped his  hand  against  a  glowing
triangle beside a door and after a pause the door hissed and slid
back  into  the wall.  The room beyond was  small,  and  with  no
apparent  exit.  It  resembled a cell.  Seth'Nai stepped  in  and
looked back at the reluctant Trenalbi. "Come," he said, beckoning.
	"Uh-uh," Chaiila  took  three  steps  backward. "No. . . I'm
not going in there!"
	Seth'Nai's forehead wrinkled. "Please. Come."
	"No." This time it was Nersi who spoke against him.
"Seth'Nai, not until you tell us: What IS this place!?"
	Seth'Nai  blinked  and rubbed at his  chin. "Is  ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨."
The words sputtered into incoherence. "Is my home," he said
again. "I am ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨. Come, I show you."
	None of the Trenalbi moved.
	"Nersi?" Seth'Nai appealed. "Please, is safe."
	She  hugged  the saddlebags she was carrying  close  to
her chest,  her claws scoring the leather,  then uttered a  strangled
sound  and  stepped forward to stand  beside  the  creature.  She
flinched  as Seth'Nai laid a hand among the fur on  her  shoulder
while they waited.
	Sekher  looked  at Chaiila. "You really want to  wait
around here?"
	Chaiila's  ears went back and she huddled close by
Sekher's side as he walked across the threshold.  Seth'Nai's mouth
twisted up  and he tapped a symbol on the wall.  The doors
thumped  shut, they jumped then abruptly Sekher staggered.  It
was as if someone had  dropped a weight on his shoulders and to
judge by Nersi  and Chaiilas'  startled  yelps they felt it too.  As
quickly  as  the feeling  came it turned,  like his guts were  floating,
then  he staggered as they dropped back into place.  The doors
opened  and the Trenalbi,  all three,  leapt out,  the fear-stink
pouring out after them.
	Seth'Nai shook his head and picked up the bags the
Trenalbi had dropped before joining them.
	This wasn't where they'd entered. . . !
	What?!
	Sekher stared,  trying to understand.  The room was
gone, as was the bare metal and noise. This was a corridor,
octagonal like the others,  but the wall were a clean white,  washed
with bright light.  The  discomfort  underfoot  was  gone,  the
metal  grids replaced by a beige floor covering softer than sand.
The air. . .
	And Sekher inhaled deeply,  curling his tongue to taste
the scent the better.  It was. . . strange.  Fresher,  for certain,  but
also laced with unfamiliar traces that told him nothing.
	It  was less intimidating than the scenes they'd  seen
just beats earlier, but all these changes, one after the other. . .
	"All right?" Seth'Nai asked, touching his arm.
	Sekher  sucked a lungful of air and shook his head to
clear it. "I think so."
	"You be fine," Seth'Nai assured him. "Come."
	The  floor covering was warm underfoot.  Along the
corridor walls were floor to ceiling white rectangles that could
have been doors.  Spaced  along between them were pictures of
things  that made  no  sense  to Sekher:  brilliant balls of  light
beyond  a desolate  rock  landscape;   forests  with  strange
plants and multicoloured  creatures  flying;  a ball of blue and
white  and green suspended against black. . . There was simply no
time to study them.
	And the room the corridor opened out into was enough
to take his mind off such things.
	There was bright light,  a room with a sunken section in
the middle  in which large cushions embellished with  exotic,
almost alien, designs were set. Boxes of what looked like glass
were set around  the  rim of the sunken area,  with dew beading
on  their inner faces.  Sekher moved closer and saw a tiny bush,
no. . . tree, set amidst immaculately kept sand.
	It was no plant he had ever heard of.
	Chaiila was staring at the windows situated around the
room. Huge strips of glass from the floor to the ceiling,  then
Sekher realised  that  beyond  the  windows,   instead  of  the
plains, mountains  and valleys surrounded them,  the view was as
if  they were  atop a high peak.  Pictures again?  No,  they couldn't
be; there were distant flyers riding the skies.
	There was a motion in the corner of his eye. He jumped
again and  shied back as one of the many-legged things scuttled
up  to him and just stood there,  its glassy eyes locked on him.
Another of the things approached the females who hastily backed
away. "Ah,  give  bags," Seth'Nai  told them.  By  now  Sekher
was certain  the grin it gave at times like this  bespoke
amusement. Gods burn it!
	He stepped forward and handed over the weight of the
saddle and tack, then unslung the bag. The forelegs came up and
the feet seemed to. . . reform,  parts slipping and realigning,
turning into pincers that took the burden that was easily the same
size as its carapace. Without a sound the things turned and
scuttled off down another corridor.
	"Please," Seth'Nai waved a hand toward the cushions,
"sit."
	An intimidated procession of Trenalbi moved  across  to
sit.  Their surprised yelps sounded as one as the cushions  moved
and shifted under  them.  They  sat  motionless, hardly daring to
move while Seth'Nai left them and returned a few beats  later
bearing a tray with four glasses on  it.  He  passed one  to each of
the Trenalbi,  who cautiously sniffed  them  then looked at him.
	He  took  a sip then noticed  their  stares. "Just  water,"
he assured.
	Sekher  plucked up the courage first. The glass was made
of something that wasn't glass. It rattled against  his teeth  and
the water tasted like. . . water.  He stared at the  cup, somewhat
surprised at this mundanity.
	"Seth'Nai," Nersi leaned forward,  holding her drink
between her knees in shaking hands. "What. . . what is this. . .
place?"
	The   creature  took  another  drink  before   answering.
"My home," he said. "I come here. . . couple day before I see you,
Sekher. I not know Trenalbi here. Mistake."
	"But this place!  The metal!  Where. . . ?" Nersi's mouth
opened and closed as she tried to give voice to the logjam of
questions.
	"I am a ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨." He frowned as his words were garbled.
"What I do. I. . . dig. I find metal."
	"Miner," Sekher  provided automatically,  then shrugged
when the females looked at him.
	"Yes, miner," Seth'Nai bobbed his head. "I have
accident, have to  come here,  then find Trenalbi. Not . . . not what
I wanted to do. Now I have to stay. Not able to leave  for. . . two
around Lightbringer."
	"Two around lightbringer?" Nersi puzzled.
	"Two years," Chaiila provided.
	"Two years, yes," Seth'Nai agreed.
	"Seth'Nai," Sekher leaned forward,  his muzzle  wrinkled.
"You came  a  couple  of days before you met me.  How  can  you
build all this," he swept an arm, "in just two days?!"
	Seth'Nai mulled that over,  then shook his head. "Not
make. I come in this."
	The Trenalbi exchanged glances.
	"From where?" Sekher asked.
	Seth'Nai stared at him.
	"BURN  YOU!" Sekher  howled. "Tell us!  You  drag  us
halfway across the Gods-spawned world, you owe us an
explanation! I asked you before and you turned you tail: are you
from the sky?!"
	Seth'Nai stared,  his throat bobbed.  He growled
something, then said, very softly, "Yes."
	There was silence.
	"Are you a God?" Chaiila asked.
	Seth'Nai blinked. "What is a 'God'?"
	They looked at one another. What WAS a God?
	"Uh," Nersi scratched a ear, "a Creator.  One of the
Balance, the essence,  the all. They are everywhere. They build
the world, all life, the Lightbringer."
	Seth'Nai looked at one of the windows and growled
something. There  was  an  answering  growl  from  nowhere  and
the  window vanished,  to be replaced by a smooth blackness on
which lines of peculiar green symbols appeared. For a few beats
Seth'Nai studied these, then said, "No. I am no God."
	"Then WHAT?!"
	He  hung his head and the whole strange body  heaved.
Then, with  a  peculiar grimace he met Sekher's  gaze  with  stone-
grey eyes. "I  am  human," he said.  That word,  it was  a  sound
never intended  for  normal  mouths:  low  and  moaning. "Like
you  are Trenalbi,  I  am human.  I come from. . . ah,  I think you
call  the Hole."
	They stared.
	"There," Seth'Nai grinned. "I have just broken all ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
in the book telling you."
	"This. . . " Sekher choked, "Can you prove this?"
	Seth'Nai's other voice rumbled.
	The light dimmed, the windows vanishing, until only a
minute glow lit the room.
In the blackness a blue-white crescent swam into sight. Slowly it
moved toward them,  rotating until the appeared to hang above it
as it slowly rolled below them.
	There  were gasps from the Trenalbi as a rim of fire  flared
over  the horizon and a brilliant white orb climbed  above  them.
Below,  white  swirled  and circled across blue,  then  the  blue
turned to browns and greens.
	The  view tilted and the horizon shifted and began
climbing the  screen.  Gradually the blackness began to fade to
blue,  to black,  then back to blue.  The whiteness reappeared,
this  time directly  before them in a solid mass that ripped toward
them  in an eyeblink and parted. . .
	Clouds. . .
	The land below. . .
	Sekher watched,  spellbound. He saw the world, the
circle of mountains  upon  the  face  of  that  giant  ball.   Beyond
the Ramparts. . . lands only dreamed of.  It was as it had been back
in the  tower,  the air above Seth'Nai's wrist shimmering with  that
blue-white ball. . .
	This.
	The  sea,  glinting like grey metal under the sun, flashing
by too fast to follow,  then land  again,  then  the nightbound
Ramparts.  If the world was that  big,  yet  appeared small on the
face of the ball, and they had just circled it, then how FAST. . . ?!
	Clouds. This time black, threatening, and they were in
them. Lightning flared, dazzling them. They were slowing, circling
and dropping from the clouds and the ground was huge, coming
up everywhere, a hill.
	Instinctively  Sekher threw his arms up and the lights
came on.
	Chaiila started chittering and gasping uncontrollably.
	Seth'Nai moved toward her, "She is all right?"
	"KEEP AWAY!" Chaiila yowled at him.
	A shaking Sekher touched the creature's arm. Seth'Nai
turned toward  him,  his eyes. . . confused? "I am sorry," he said.
"I  didn't know. . . "
	"Please," Sekher said. "Just leave her for a while."
	The pale head bobbed. "For Chaiila and Nersi. There is a
room to rest and wash. Another for you."
	Sekher   tipped  his  head  to  the  side. "That   would   be
appreciated."
	The  room  was  back down the corridor  they'd  entered
by. Seth'Nai  demonstrated how to open the door.  Inside was a
short corridor,  just a couple of paces long where he touched a
glowing square  and the lights came on.  As with the rest  of
Seth'Nai's domicile the room was odd, with angled walls panelled
with a dark wood  with a peculiar grain.  Hanging plants nestled in
recessed niches while above what looked like a chair and a desk
of  some black  material, a wide window looked out over  jagged
mountains. Set  at right angles to each other in the corners to the
left  of the  door,  two beds were set into alcoves in the  wall.
Shelves enclosed  by  a  faint shimmering on  another  wall
supported  a multitude  of small object.  Spots of light from  no
discernible source  were  cast  on the walls,  illuminating  the
room  in  a comfortable light.
	Seth'Nai   pointed  at  another  door   opposite. "Water in
there," he said. "To wash. I show you how to use. . . "
	"Not  now," Sekher stopped him. "Thank you,  but can
we  rest now?"
	Seth'Nai blinked at him, then bobbed his head. "I
understand. I go. If you have questions, just ask."
	"Ask who?"
	"Just ask." Seth'Nai waved an arm, "¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ will answer."
	"Oh," Sekher's  ears wilted in confusion as  Seth'Nai
turned and  left the room.  The door made a hissing sound as  it
closed behind him.  Sekher waited a few beats, then went to the
door and pressed  his  hands  against  the  pad  in  the  wall.  The
door obligingly whipped open almost too fast to see.  He waited
and it shut again.
	Chaiila  slumped  on the edge of one of  the  beds,
staring across  the  room at the window beyond which the
mountains  rose like jagged teeth to sink into the underbellies of
clouds.  Nersi had opened the other door and was poking around
in the next room.
	Sekher sat down on the other bunk without speaking.
Nersi's small bag of belongings had been set there.
	"Che?"
	Chaiila was regarding him with wide eyes. "How can you
be  so calm! How can you. . . Che, what's wrong with me?!"
	"Wrong?  Chaiila, I'm as scared as you , we all are, you
can smell  it!   There's  nothing  wrong  with  you.   Chaiila,   you
smoothtalked your way into one of the most heavily guarded
places in the world, then practically walked out again. You've
weathered things that would have most Trenalbi shedding."
	"It has," she sighed glumly,  reaching  up  to pull  several
strands of fur from  her  ruff. "That. . . picture  he showed us. . .
That was the world,  wasn't it. He does come from the sky."
	Sekher's ears twitched. "Yah, but he is no god."
	From  the  adjacent room came the sudden  sound  of
running water and an insulted yowl.  Nersi emerged, dripping wet.
"I think I just found the bath," she said sheepishly as she wrung
her cloak out.
	Sekher  caught his tail to stop it lashing and moved
across to the desk while Nersi tried to dry herself.  The chair
would be uncomfortable;  there was no provision for a tail. The
desk was a featureless slab of something that wasn't stone or
wood or metal. He leaned on it to examine the window behind it.
	"Does this view change too?"
	"Yes," said the desk.
	A bodylength from a standing start.  In retrospect it
wasn't a  bad jump,  but then a severe shock can be a  great
motivator. This was going beyond a joke,  the thought spun
through his  head as  he crouched panting hard;  too many things
were  starting  to speak.
	It  had  been Seth'Nai's voice,  but he was  nowhere  to
be seen."
	Who said that!" Sekher snarled. "Seth'Nai?!"
	"No."
	"WHO?"
	"I  am  ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ ten-tens and  five.  Made  thinking  machine
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ at ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨. . . "
	"SHUT IT!" Sekher yowled.
	The voice stopped.
	"Now," he  was  trembling again,  dammit all to  the
deepest hells, "you are not Seth'Nai."
	"Correct."
	"What was that you said. . . machine?"
	"Correct."
	Sekher's mind whirled helplessly.  A. . . machine?
Talking  to him?  No. A machine was a water-clock, an arbalest, a
wagon. They didn't talk, they didn't think.
	Yet all those devices down below were working by
themselves, with no guiding hand.
	He  sank down on the chair,  rubbing at the bristles on
his face. Well, Seth'Nai had said to ask questions. . .
	"Do you have a name?"
	"To say your way may be 'first-female'. Or cooking tool."
	He frowned. "You're female?"
	"Not male or female. Just a name."
	He thought about it and supposed it made sense. "So. . .
First, can you change the picture?"
	"Yes. To what?"
	"Show us a town."
	"I cannot do that," the machine replied.
	"What? Why?"
	"I am forbidden."
	Sekher's lip began to curl in a snarl and he glanced
around at  the other Trenalbi.  Nersi had backed away and  was
watching warily, but with interest. Chaiila. . .
	Chaiila was curled in a ball up on the bunk,  ears
plastered flat, hands locked across her eyes.
	"Gods  burn  it. . . Show  something  restful;  water,
plains, something flat! Then shut it!" He spat the words, heedless
of the result as he turned to Chaiila.  Behind him the window
flickered and they were looking out across a golden savannah,
distant herds moving against a backdrop of purple cloud,  the rain
below nearly a solid column supporting them.  The air in the room
also  seemed to change: he could almost smell rain and freshness.
	Chaiila  flinched as he touched her  shoulder.  Her
muscles felt like darter springs. "Chaiila? It's alright. You're safe.
Ah? Come on, nothing's going to hurt you."
	She made a small sound.
	Slowly  Sekher began ruffling the fur on her  shoulder
with his fingertips,  carefully preening through it, then tongueing
it smooth,  tasting the dust,  the dirt, her scent as he cleaned her
slowly, the ancient way, then grooming again with his fingers and
stubby claws. . .
	She  rolled  over  and wrapped her  arms  around  his
neck, burying her muzzle against his chest.  She didn't  speak,
didn't moved,  neither did he; they just lay there, taking their
comfort from the other's heartbeat.

--\o/--

	Grooming.
	Nersi  watched  the  pair  huddled  together  on  the
bunk, Sekher's hands and teeth working at knots in Chaiila's dark
ruff, feeling a peculiar wave of envy wash over her. She shook her
head and smiled at the absurdity of it.  Envy,  huh!  This Sekher
was probably  the best thing to happen to her for a long time and
he had  done a remarkable job in reassuring her.  Amusing  to
think that only a couple of days ago he had never so much as
touched  a female before.
	She  scratched  at her still-damp arm,  then looked  at  the
window  where rain was spattering soundlessly against  the  pane.
For  a  few  beats she stared,  then left  the  others  to  their
togetherness.
	The corridor was empty when she stuck her head out,
no sign of  Seth'Nai  or anything else.  There were other  doors  in
the hall.  She approached the next one down the corridor and
touched the red triangle in the centre.  Nothing happened.  She
frowned; did that mean she had done something wrong? or was it
locked?
	She ran a finger over the smooth material the door was
made of,  thinking.  Then  she  moved to the door  opposite  the
room Chaiila  and  Sekher occupied.  This time the portal  slid
aside at her touch, the sound and smell of water wafting out.
	Another  strange room.  Well,  in general appearance it
was similar  to  the  other one,  with the bed  and  window,  but  it
differed in details.  The floor covering was a different color, a light
brown. The shelves were filled with an impressive number of
books,  enough to rival a royal library.  The adjoining room  was
filled  with  misty  clouds of steam that refused  to  cross  the
threshold.
	Cautiously,   nervously,  Nersi  stepped  inside,  her  feet
soundless  on the floor covering,  tracing fingertips  along  the
wall.  She  breathed  out in awe at the books on  their  shelves,
tucked  safely  away  behind  glass:   So  many,  and  with  such a
worn and ancient air about them.  Seth'Nai's bag was tossed  on
one of the beds alongside a pile of clothing that would suit only
something like that creature.
	A  familiar  low rumbling sounded above the  running
water. Nersi  cocked  her  head,  turning  to regard  the  door  to
the adjoining  steam-filled  room curiously.  What WAS  he  doing
in there?
	Her third eyelid flicked out and briefly blurred her  vision
when  she  stepped through the door.  She  stopped  to  orientate
herself,  squinting through the murk. The white room was similar,
not identical,  but similar to the one in the other  room.  There was
a small chamber like the one in which she had  inadvertently
drenched  herself,  Seth'Nai was standing beneath the  shower  of
water, his back to her and face upturned to one of the jets.
	She studied him curiously.  He really was different
without clothing, and by the Gods, not having a tail looked
strange. When he reached up to wipe water away from eyes you
could see  exactly how the muscles moved under that fragile hide.
	Then Seth'Nai turned and recoiled with a loud bark. "Uh.
. . Hello," said Nersi.
	He  sagged,  leaning  against a wall of  the  cubical,  then
glared and growled at her.
	"Oh,  I startled you, ah?" she fought back a muzzle-
twitching smile. "Sorry."
	He  blinked at her with droplets of water running  down
his pale face,  and she realised he couldn't understand her.
Without his little device he was as deaf and dumb as the day she
had  met him.  She remembered that;  seeing him like an apparition
through the smoke in the dungeon. Now, she was seeing him
blurred through steam  and there was none of that fear that had
flooded  through her.  Almost hairless hide slick with water. He. . .
He was he. . . she was  jolted  with shock and disbelief as she felt
the  stirrings deep within her, scents barely perceptible tinged the
air.
	She looked away in a wave of embarrassment.
	"Ah,  sorry," she mumbled again,  abruptly anxious to be
away and clumsy in her haste. Her claws didn't help, catching in
piece of clothing left on the smooth floor,  tangling around her
feet, skidding  out from under her and sending her over
backwards  into pouring  water and a pair of smooth hands
catching her under  her arms before she had a chance to hit.
	"Gods burned clumsy fool," she berrated herself while
sitting on the floor with water pouring down, soaking her and
pooling around her and a weird  male kneeling over her.  She
looked up into  the  grinning face of Seth'Nai. "That wasn't the
most graceful thing you've ever seen,  ah?  Almost  as bad as you.
Thank the Pantheon you  can't understand me."
	Still,  she  took the hand he offered and clambered  to
her feet  to  look  down  at herself in  a  mixture  of  disgust  and
amusement:  fur  sopping wet,  her breeks soaked,  both  dripping
trails  of mud that swirled away down grills in the  floor.  That
wave of emotion earlier,  that had abated. . . .Ah,  well,  at least the
water was warm.  Wonderfully warm.  She closed her eyes  and
sighed as the stream pulsed on her head, caressing her as she had
never known water could.
	A  few  beats later Seth'Nai was helping her  balance
while she  struggled out of grimy clothes that seemed to have
grown  to her. He threw them from the cubicle then helped her get
clean.
	"Who  would  think  to make water  do  this?" Her
rhetorical question  was unanswered and she kept tapping a claw
against  the small grid of squares marked with little pictures.  Each
one made the  water  come  from different  directions.  A
horizontal  bar with  a  blue-to-red  gradient let her change  the
pressure  and temperature.
	"Hot  or  cold water," she grinned and changed the
water  to hot  pulsating  needles that struck her from head  to  toe.
"Gods, that feels good. . . Higher. . . No lower, down there. . . "
	Seth'Nai  rumbled  something and moved the  brush  to
scrub the  spot between her shoulders where she pointed with her
tail. The dirt was long gone down the drain and what with the
grooming and the hot water,  the knots in her muscles were going
the  same way.  He took some time to examine the still-healing
wound on her leg that still gave her twinges of pain when
pressed.  When she hissed in sudden pain he just patted her flank
and left it.
	There were strangely scented liquids and soaps that
Seth'Nai assisted  in  rubbing into her pelt,  his fingers  lingering
and swirling through her fur. When rinsed out she smelled odd
and her skin tingled, but her pelt felt. . . clean.
	Drying off was no ordeal.  Nersi flinched when the the
jets of  water  turned  to  blasts  of  hot  air  that  buffeted  her,
insinuating itself beneath her fur in warm waves.  She closed her
eyes  and let the wind wash around her. "You  know," she
sighed, "I think I could get used to this."
	Seth'Nai  dried  off a lot faster than  she  did.  He  left,
taking  her trail-stained clothing with  him,  returning  shortly after
with others that he left outside the cubicle for her.
	Nersi's  fur was gleaming,  her ruff puffed out in  glorious
golden  disarray when she stepped from the booth.  She picked
up the clothes Seth'Nai had procured and examined them
curiously;  a pair  of  long breeches and a jerkin,  both of unusual
make  and texture.  She discarded the jerkin and tried the
breeches.  They were  of  a copper color that was  almost  metallic,
with  black angular markings down the legs and around the waist.
Stretchable bands  around the hips and legs stretched and held
them in  place as  well as any belt could.  The slot in the back
wasn't  fitted with  clasps as with normal breeks,  so she had to
spend a  short while threading her tail through.
	Seth'Nai looked up when she stepped out into the main
room. He was sitting at the desk,  wearing a  loose-fitting,  one-
piece white garment that appeared to be breeches and jerkin in
one. "Look better," he greeted her. His talk-device was once again
strapped to his wrist.
	"Thanks," she replied. "Ah, there's something else I
wanted to ask. . . "
	Seth'Nai listened,  then his speaker barked a laugh. He
took her back into the washing room and showed her the facilities
she needed, then left, shutting the door behind him.
	It was an awkward and new experience.  Still,  she
finished her  business without misshap,  touched the square
Seth'Nai  had shown her,  then nearly hit the roof when warm
water squirted  up to clean her.
	When  she finished she found Seth'Nai lounging back  in
the chair,   his  heels  planted  up  on  the  black  desk.   He  was
avidly  studying  the window which now  displayed  a
bewildering assortment of lines,  symbols;  a crosshatched-
missmash of colors and  shapes.
	"What is that?" Nersi asked.
	He  looked up at her,  then waved at the window and
said, "A map.  See." The lines filled in,  becoming a view of the
building they  were  in.  As she watched it began rotating  and
spinning, showing every side.
	"First, ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨," commanded Seth'Nai. The image dissolved
from a  solid  mass  to a mess of lines again,  then  seemed  to
whip towards them and they were twisting and turning through
corridors inside.  Then  the image solidified and Nersi saw  a  tiny,
dark tunnel  where a metal device wielded a  brilliant  blue flame
that  struck  gouts  of spark when  it  struck  the  wall. Seth'Nai
spoke again and the picture flickered.  Nersi found  she was
looking into a room where a Trenalbi and a peculiar  creature were
watching a window where a Trenalbi. . .
	Nersi shook her head and grimaced in shock.  Hells, that
WAS her!  She wheeled,  trying to find the eyes watching her.  In
the window the other figures copied her, down into infinity.
	She pointed at the desk, "What IS that?"
	His forehead furrowed. "Is a ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨. . . A part of the
machine that runs," he made a gesture with his hands,
"everything."
	"Like in the other room?" Nersi asked.
	"Yes. Same thing."
	"Does this also talk?"
	"Talk?" Seth'Nai  blinked  at  her,  then  grinned. "You
have already met First?"
	"Yah. . . What is it?"
	Seth'Nai  sighed and leaned back. "Hard to explain.  First
is not a ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨;  is only machine, a  tool. It knows more than both of
us together,  but it cannot. . . feel. It only ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ think. You say
something to it,  it will do as you say.  It can  make  only ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨." He scratched his chin,  the corners of his mouth twisting
down. "Burn it, I do not have the words to tell you."
	That brought to mind another thing Nersi had been
wondering about: "You are talking much better suddenly."
	His  shoulders heaved and he moved his arm to show
her  the device  strapped to his wrist. "This is a machine like  First,
but much  smaller.  By  itself  it  know only  few  words  and
makes mistakes,  but when it is close enough to talk to First,  it
works better, no?"
	Nersi wasn't sure she understood that.  All she grasped
was that  they  had to be close to work. "But why do you  need  it
to talk?"
	Seth'Nai looked startled. "Without it, you cannot hear me
and I cannot hear you. Your speaking is too. . . high for me to
hear." He grinned, "I see your mouth move, but nothing comes
out."
	Nersi blinked. "And why did it take so long for you to let
us know  you COULD speak?  Why didn't you say something
back in  the Ch'sty rim?"
	His  head  shook  from side to  side. "I  could  not.  I  had
to. . . change  this," he tapped the band around his  forearm, "so
it could hear you."
	"Oh," Nersi   said,    not   entirely   understanding    that
either.  It was all stretching her capabilities to absorb. She licked
her lips nervously. "You must have powerful priests to work such
sorcery."
	Seth'Nai grimaced at his wrist, then looked at her. "I
didn't understand that. What do you mean by 'sorcery'?"
	She   clicked  her  claws  together  whilst  gathering her
thoughts before explaining it.
	He listened,  his forehead furrowed. "No!  No,  not
sorcery. There is no. . . magic."
	Huh,  the  way he said that.  One would almost think he
was denying magic existed at all!
	"It  is  just a machine," he continued. "We make it  with
our hands and what is up here," he tapped his head. "There is no
magic or gods involved."
	"We?" Nersi asked. "How many of you are there?"
	His shoulders heaved. "I am not sure. Many. Very
many."
	She  cocked  her  head to one side. "Can you  tell  me
about them? What is it like where you come from?"
	He  looked  back at her,  then dropped his feet  and
leaned forward in the chair,  hands dangling between his knees.
"Nersi, I came here by accident. Things. . . happened. I have done
many things I am not allowed to. Just having you here. . . "
	Her ears wilted. "I don't understand."
	"No,  you  wouldn't," he  said softly. "The ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ is  a  big
place.  We  have  never  met anything  like  your  kind,  but  we
had. . . rules  to follow if we did.  I have broken a lot  of  those
rules."
	"Rules?"
	He  waved  a hand. "There were plans for the ways  our
kinds were to meet.  Had to be.  What happen if we just walk in
and say 'hello'? ah? I think  it may cause some trouble."
	"To  say the least," Nersi agreed,  then the  realisation  of
what he was saying hit her.  She stepped back in shock and
sudden fear. "But you brought us here!  You are telling me this!
W. . . what are you going to do with us?!"
	Seth'Nai stood then,  looming over her while his eyes
locked with her's. "What I am going to do," he said, "is ask you,
and your friends,  to  give  me your word and keep your  silence."
Then  he reached out and lightly rubbed the downy fur on her
muzzle.
	Nersi's hand rose to touch the ruffled spot in her fur
while she warily watched Seth'Nai.
	His mouth twitched again. "Nersi,  I don't know how you
keep going,  but I've got to ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨.  That didn't translate,  did it?
Never mind. . . Well,  I cannot answer your questions now, but
there is something that may help.  First can show you a. . . moving
picture that tells about my kind. Are you interested?"
	"Uh. . . yes," answered Nersi nervously.
	"¨¨¨¨¨¨¨," Seth'Nai  bobbed his head and tapped at the
desk. Burning  green patterns flared within the dark surface and
his  pale blunt-clawed   fingers   flashed   across    them. "All right.
Is yours.  If  you have more questions,  ask First.  It  will  answer
as. . . simple. . . as it can. ¨¨¨¨¨¨? Just tell it when you are ready.
Good night."
	Leaving  her  standing he rose and ambled across  the
room, where  he  stripped off his clothing and hung the garments
in  a concealed  recess at the head of the bunk,  then  he
practically fell into the bed.
	"Why do you have to do that all the time?" Nersi asked
after him.
	Seth'Nai   rolled  over  and  blinked  at  her. "Do what?"
	"Do that." Nersi gestured uncertainly at the beds.  Two
beds in one room was certainly a luxury and waste of space that
would seldom be incorporated into Trenalbi architecture. "Go
unconscious all the time."
	He  rolled onto his back and grinned at the ceiling  of  the
alcove. "It is the way I am.  I wonder why you never  ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨.  It
seems impossible to me."
	"But drifting is. . . normal," Nersi pointed out.
	"To  you. . . " He  shook  his  head  slightly  and  closed
his eyes. "Have First show you.  That should explain."
	Nersi stared as his breathing slowed and deepened.
What kind of  a life was it to spend half of it in an  unconscious
stupor? She hissed, then turned to the desk. Alright. "Ah, First?"
	"Yes?" the disembodied voice sounded.	"Are you
ready?"
	"No," she said, "but whatever you're going to do, do it."
Lights dimmed and the mirror,  cleared, fading to a black so deep
Nersi felt she could fall into it. Tiny white specks gleamed steel-
hard in the blackness.  Slowly,  a curved expanse of  bluewhite
rose into view.  With a jolt Nersi realised it wasn't  the view of the
world that Seth'Nai had earlier shown them: the brown shapes
were different and. . . and there was only a single daughter, a huge
silver crescent rising beyond the curve.
	With all the ponderous,  inexorable grace of clouds
drifting over  the  plains that orb rolled beneath  her,  growing
larger, filling the window, the brown curve of land directly ahead.
	Faded to black.
	The  light rose on broad savannahs speckled with
outlandish plants.  The sky was a cobalt blue,  the Lightbringer
swollen and yellow.  The  carcass of a utterly unfamiliar animal lay
in the grasses while a number of squat,  four-legged animals that
bore a disturbing resemblance to Trenalbi tore at it with powerful
jaws.
	Then  something  disturbed the predators at  their
feeding.
	They began pacing around the carcass,  snarling at
something out of Nersi's field of view.
	Dark  shapes  appeared  in  the  picture,   screeching and
scampering forward,  retreating as a predator rushed  them,  then
milling  forward  again.  A predator  turned,  distracted  for  a
second,  and intruder dashed forward, knobbled white clubs rising
and falling on the creature's flanks.  It yelped and limped  off, its
tail tucked.  Other beasts managed to snatch a few  mouthfuls
before also being driven away.
	Dark-furred creatures shuffled forward to gather around
the carcass, tearing at the flesh, screeching and squabbling.
Females and young hovered around the peripheries,  occasionally
diving in for a scrap.
	First's voice came as a shock:
	"Terra,  long ago,  long before there were writings or
even talking.  There  were  many different  types  of  animals:
giant predators, fast and strong, grass-eaters either huge and
armoured or small and swift,  but there was one creature,  small
and hairy that  was different from the others in one,  important
way  -  it moved  on  two legs instead of four,  leaving its hands
free  to gather food."
	One of the animals filled the screen, rearing up on its
hind legs  and  seemingly  staring back at her  with  dark  eyes. Its
hands. . . forepaws? clasped a bone. Nersi flinched as it
brandished the  bone above its head.  Gods,  that face. . . a small
muzzle and nose,  the  round ears.  She'd seen something vaguely
like  that before.
	It was lying in the bed behind her.
	The scene faded on the group dragging the carcass
away.
	"It  was much later they learned to use their hands to
hold other  things.  Bones from dead animals were used as
weapons for hunting,  then,  still later,  a  ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ human learned to
break stones to make a sharp edge that could cut food."
	Another view appeared:  a rocky arroyo with a group of
the dark  haired  creatures gathered around the carcass  of  a
longlegged  furry  animal.   These  were  slightly  different,  being
taller,  far  less  hirstute  and with  features  that  resembled
Seth'Nai  even more.  One of them was using a sharpened  rock  to
sever a leg from the body.
	"With stone tools early humans were able to make use of
new lands  that were colder and less ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ than the  ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
warmlands where they had originated. They learned to work
together to survive  and the small groups they lived in became
larger.  They learned to tame fire."
	Another view:  a narrow cave with a smoky fire
sputtering in the   opening.   Again  another  group  of  the
creatures. . . the humans. . . were different. Their fur was thickest
in patches on the head and groin,  elsewhere it was thin and
limited. The ones with the  visible  sex  organs were male,  then
the  others  must  be females.  Gods,  strange. . . Still, even the
males looked different from Seth'Nai: their skin blacker, the
features coarser.
	First continued to herald the changes as they appeared
in the window.
	Crude  huts of animal skins clustered around a  fire.
Dusty cubs  scrambled  and tussled in the  dust.  Females  ground
food between rocks.
	A  river  where boats made from carved trees bobbed  in
the current.
	A  male squatted before clay  tablets,  laboriously
etching wedge-shaped markings.
	Later,  cold  plains:  a string of the creatures wrapped  in
heavy  furs and mounted on animals moved across the  wind-
blasted landscape towing their possesions in crude wagons.
	Nersi stared spellbound at the pictures,  watching
thousands of  years unfolding before her.  Seth'Nai's  kind, from  a
beginning as simple animals,  slowly growing,  as  a  cub grows.
	There  were towns,  then cities.  Buildings of  white
stone rising  on  verdant hillsides beside a  glittering  ocean.
Roads stretched across the countryside.  Strange looking ships
set sail from ports to vanish over the horizon,  unfettered by the
lethal and unnavigable reefs that so restrained the Hub  ports.
Empires rose  and fell across the continent,  kingdoms so vast the
World could be lost in them.  From their ruins others would rise,
only to disintergrate again.
	Castles  rose over the landscape.  The towns were
masses  of narrow houses surrounded by high walls, the narrow
streets within congested and so uncomfortably familiar; like a
Trenalbi city.
	There  were wars.  Mounted and armoured warriors and
filthy foot-troopers fighting in muddy fields.
	A new continent was discovered. Settlements grew, then
split away.
	More fighting.
	The cities grew.  Huge smokestacks belched  fumes.
Machines growled  and pounded.  Incomprehensible amounts of
metal  pouring from mines into smelters and founderies.
	The  images and eras passed.  Nersi had questions,  but
she restrianed them, always wanting to see what happened next.
	Ships crossed the waters between continents. Cities
grew and spread.
	Giant cylindrical flying devices wallowed into the skies
and crossed oceans,  their shadows covering towns. She saw one
crash, enveloped  in  flames  that engulfed it in a  beat  while
humans milled  in panic.
	Vehicles  on  the ground moved without  animals.  Still
the cities spread.
	A  war.  Battlefields where humans fought from holes in
the ground,  ranks of troops taking turns to advance on their
enemies to be mown down without a chance.  Explosions churned
the dirt to mud.  Mobile fortresses lumbered across torn
landscapes while  in the skies above flying devices looped and
spun and burned.
	There  was  peace  again,   then  war  again.  Weapons
more fearsome,  different  machines,  flying machines in numbers
that turned the sky dark. Cities were levelled.
	Guarded gates were opened on horrors. They weren't
Trenalbi, but still Nersi felt ill when she saw the living  skeletons,
the stacked piles of alien corpses. If they weren't gods, then
surely there were some who were demons.
	Peace again.
	Cities grew.  Towers reaching for the skies. Machines
flying around the world. She saw twisting infants being birthed
and felt a sick sympathy for the female. Vehicles filled the roads.
	Another war in a jungle: A major power being humiliated.
Then  a  tower of white and black being held by  metal  arms that
dropped away as flame and smoke blossomed around the  base.
Ponderously,  it rose on a column of fire,  faster, arrowing into the
sky.
	A bulky white figure like a cubs stuffed toy bounced
across a grey landscape to plant a flag of red,  white, and blue. In
the black sky behind it a blue and white globe rose.
	They went even further.
	Their cities spread above their planet. They built
cylinders and  sprawling,  fragile-looking constructions in  the
blackness where   they  lived  and  produced  things  impossible
on the surface  of  the  world below.  In time huge  vessels  plied
the darkness   to  neighbouring  worlds  where  cities   were   built
underground:  tunnels and caverns of metal and rock as they
began to  change the red deserts on the surface to suit them.
More  of the floating cities began to appear high above it.
	When the change came, it was abrupt.
	A  single,  metallic vessel,  like a glittering fish in  the
darkness,  riding  atop  a lance of blue-white  flame  before  it
rippled, then vanished. Distance was no longer a barrier.
	Like migrating Longrazers others followed it,  spreading
out from their world and Lightbringer,  bound for the distant
points of light in their sky.  There they found other Lightbringers,
and worlds of unbearable heat and cold, giants of gas, balls of
rock, but nothing like the one they had left behind.
	So they built new ones.
	The cities they had built above their own world were
dwarfed by these vast structures.  They used machines to build
them,  and other machines to build more machines.  Devices
sought out  rocks floating  in  the  emptiness and stripped them
of  their  metal. The Daughters dancing around massive worlds of
gas and winds were cracked into fragments and melted by titanic
mirrors.
	Their  homeworld tried to spread its influence over the
new worlds  they were building.  Vast,  ominous vessels of metal
and stone  drifted into the shadow of these cities.  Sometimes
there was fighting,  and new Lightbringers would be born as a city
or a vessel died.
	Still,  like ripples on an infinite  pond, they continued to
spread.  Whatever their council on their homeworld was  like,  it
realised  there was no way a single world could police that  kind of
territory.  It  finally,  however  reluctantly,  conceded  to
acknowledge the new territories' independence.
	The  centuries that followed saw them spreading  across
the skies.  It awed Nersi to see just much territory they controlled,
and in all that vastness,  in all the time these humans had spent
searching,  her own glittering world locked away in its  secluded
corner  of creation,  was the only other speck of life  they  had
found.
	Nersi  sat and stared at the window as it faded to
darkness for the last time.  Her world, everything she had been
taught and had taken for granted; in a matter of a couple of hours
a machine had  successfully desiccated it.  The Gods,  she knew
they  were there.  The magic and powers of the Priests,  they were
something that could not be denied. Was it possible that these
humans never had gods in the first place?  or that their deities had
foresaken them?
	Or that they no longer needed them?
	Burn  it!  There were others better suited for this kind  of
thing:  scholars  who  would be only too willing  to  delve  into the
intrigues  and  paradoxes of  theological  debates.  It  was
something she had been taught not to think about.
	She rubbed her temples with her fingertips: hard.
	There was something else. . .
	"First, humans are aggresive. . . I mean, they have fought
a lot of wars, right?"
	"Yes."
	Her ruff twitched."Do they still fight wars?"
	"Large  wars  are no longer fought:  they proved to  be
too expensive for all involved.  Small battles between provinces
are fought, but such actions are rare and limited."
	"Would they. . . " Nersi anxiously began to speak, then
lowered her head. "Forget it."
	First said nothing.
	"I'd like to rest now,"Nersi said."Think things over. . .
can I ask you some questions later?"
	"I  am  always  ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨  to  answer  questions,"the  machine
replied.
	Nersi  bowed  her head to the black  desk,  then  stood
and worked  the stiffness out of her back and cramped  tail
muscles. Behind  her the window shimmered and turned into  a
mirror,  the green lines in the desktop fading away.
	Seth'Nai  was  unconscious.  She  stood  for  a  time,  just
watching his face. He twitched and growled something then
settled again.   Did   he   see   anything   in   his   drift?   Was   it
just. . . nothingness?  Perhaps  that  was the price they  paid  for
rejecting their gods:  they lost the time the gods gave them  for
contemplation.
	She sighed - loud in the stillness of the room - and
turned to  the  other  bed,  letting the copper  breeches  fall  to  the
floor,  stepping out of them.  The bed was soft and already warm,
but she lay there, an empty feeling nagging at her.
	Seth'Nai  stirred  slightly when she slipped  into  the  bed
beside him,  but that was all.  She huddled up against his  back,
his hairless hide exuding a gentle warmth and feeling  incredibly
soft against her fingertips as she stroked his ribs.  Gently  she
breathed  against his shoulder,  inhaling the green freshness  of
water,  the transient tingle of salt. He rumbled faintly when she
licked the nape of his neck,  then there was a vague, indefinable
sensation of well-being glowing deep inside her as she tucked her
head against him and settled into drift.

--\o/--

	"Che?"
	"Huhhnnn?"
	Sekher reluctantly rose from his drift,  luxuriating in  the
warm,  spent  feeling that enveloped him.  Other sensations  made
themselves known as he drew his faculties back to himself.  Gods,
he was starving!
	Chaiila  leaned  over him,  nipping at his neck  with  sharp
teeth. "Hai, Che. Come on."
	He blinked at her. "What?"
	"Feeling better?"
	Sekher  had  a brief flash of Chaiila  straddling  him,  his
muscles  turned  to  water.  He raised an  arm  and  flicked  her ear.
"Yes. . . Hungry though."
	"Huh," Chaiila  tweaked  his ears in return.  It  was
common courtesy for the female to have some food ready for the
male when he recovered. "I wish I had something," she
apologized.
	"What about you," he asked.
	"Me? I'm hungry too. . . "
	"Not  that.  Stop thinking about your  belly,  will  you?"
he mock-growled,  then  fell  serious,  stroking her pelt  with  the
barest touches. "How are you feeling?"
	She   fell  silent,   taking  stock  of  her  emotions and
surroundings.  Rain was falling on the plains beyond the  window,
fat  drops  spattering soundlessly on  the  glass.  The  lighting
seemed dimmer and whiter than it had been before. Restful.
"Better," she said at length. "The way I acted. . . I don't  know
what. . . Sorry."
	"Don't worry about it," said Sekher. "Too strange,  too
much, too quick, ah?"
	"Yeah," she nodded, then cocked her head. "Where's
Nersi?"
	The  lights slowly came up when they left  the  bunk.
Their clothes  were gone,  as were their weapons and the rest of
their equipment.  And  Nersi wasn't in the room,  nor in the
adjoining washing room. Chaiila's claws were out as she stalked
toward the door.
	It hissed open.
	"Morning  and waking," Nersi cheerfully greeted them
as  she swept  into  the  room with an armload  of  multicoloured
cloth. Carefully cleaned and groomed,  her fur practically glowing
and decked out in ankle-long, metallic-copper-coloured breeks
decorated   with angular black patterns, she grinned at them.
"Enjoy yourselves?"
	"Quite," Chaiila said amicably,  then exploded: "And
where the damnation were YOU?!"
	Nersi  stared  at her,  one ear  wilting  slowly,  then  she
said, "With Seth'Nai. Come on; you two were busy. Anyway, I've
got clothes for you, and there's food waiting."
	"Our weapons. . . " Chaiila began.
	Nersi  snorted  and went to open a locker at the head  of
a bed.  Their equipment was neatly stacked within,  swords
hanging from hooks.
	"I  wouldn't  worry about the  weapons," Nersi  grinned.
"They wouldn't  be  much  use here anyway.  And our  cloths  are
being cleaned. I brought these for the meantime," she tossed the
clothes on  the rumpled bed and looked the pair up and down.
"But I  think perhaps you'd like to wash up first."
	Now THAT was an experience. Even Chaiila smiled and
barked a laugh of pleasure as they shared the hot streams of
water.  Then she leaned against him,  half-drifting while the hot air
buffeted them.  She was impressive after,  her dark fur polished to
a glory that had Sekher staring.
	The breeches were comfortable,  if slightly  overlarge,
and with  odd color schemes.  The pair Sekher took were a  deep
grey with  blue  and yellow patches of shades Sekher  had  never
seen before.  There  was  a  matching  jerkin  that  Sekher
curiously examined,  then pulled on. Chaiila received a pair of
breeks made from  a strong,  fine-woven blue material with seams
accented  by brown stitching and a real belt with a cunningly
designed buckle.
	"Not too bad," she admitted, cocking a hip. "The built-in
pouches are a  good idea."
	"Ah,	 Nersi," Sekher    caught   the    younger
female's attention. "Were you saying something about food?"
	They  could smell it as soon as they stepped out  the
door. Immediately, Sekher's mouth began watering. He licked up a
thread of drool dangling from his lips.
	The room at the end of the corridor was unchanged,
save for the mist that now wreathed the peaks.  The aroma was
coming  from an adjacent room,  accompanied by bright lights,  a
rattling  and clattering,  and  a familiar rumbling.  It was a room
colored  in white and grey,  with flat benchtops,  machines
scattered  around the  walls,  and  a table set in an alcove.  The
scent  of  food brought  the air to life while Seth'Nai buslted
around at one  of the  worktops,  placing  containers into a
cupboard.  He  looked around  when  they  entered and  his
mouth  twisted  up, "Sekher, Chaiila. Rest well?"
	"Very  well,"  Sekher replied,  then saw the spread  on
the table. He stared. A thread of saliva dripped from his jaw.
	Seth'Nai bared teeth."Go. Eat."
	It  was  a meal like none Sekher had ever  dreamed  of,
his hunger lending an edge to his appreciation.  There were
longrazer steaks  and ribs,  still warm and dripping.  Bowls  of
Bluespeck Berries and Breadroot. Also there were stranger dishes:
stacks of round,  flat  cakes with a rich  syrup;  small,  crescent
shaped pasties;  buns topped with sparkling icing that tasted like
sweet ice.  There were pitchers of water, a tangy orange liquid,
also a hot,  brown liquid that Sekher tried and choked on the first
few mouthfuls, yet after that, it went down smoothly.
	Seth'Nai  used peculiar utensils to devoured something
that resembled  eggs  along  with sausages and rashers  of  a
strong-smelling reddish meat.
	Chaiila noticed that: "You do eat meat!"
	Seth'Nai looked up,  then back down at his plate.  "Yes."
He seemed puzzled.
	"Then why didn't you eat earlier?"
	"Oh,"  His  fingertips absently stroked the  device  on
his wrist. "There are. . . metals in your food that are dangerous to
me. If I eat too much, especially meat, I will die: slowly."
	Nersi  looked  dubiously at the food  she  was  eating.
"What about your food. Is it safe for us?"
	"Some  of it.  All this," he waved his hand at the  table,
"is safe for you. But eating meat could be very dangerous."
	Sekher stopped wondering what that meat Seth'Nai was
eating tasted like. "Ah, how dangerous?"
	"Lethal."
	Chaiila was still eyeing her meal uncertainly.
	"THAT is safe," Seth'Nai reassured her.
	"How can you be so sure," she grumbled.
	"Well,  if you die, then I was wrong, ah?" his eyes
glittered and he took another mouthful of food.
	"Gods!" Chaiila hissed, yet continued eating as though
trying to prove a point.
	When  they were through and done,  a machine  scurried
from its niche to begin cleaning up after them.
	It  was  Nersi who took it upon herself to  show  the
other Trenalbi how to use the facilities in the wash room.  The
devices were  new and uncomfortable for Sekher,  giving rise to
the  idea that Seth'Nai may be different in ways not immediately
obvious.
	Nersi  was standing at the desk,  quietly contemplating
the plains visible in the window. She blinked when Sekher
emerged and tipped her head toward the grasses, "That's where
they come from."
	"Who?"
	"Seth'Nai and his kind." She touched the wound on her
leg and sat  down in the chair. "Last night he showed me a. . . I
guess  you could  call  it a story.  It showed  their  history,  from
their earliest memories."
	Sekher wasn't quite following this. "Their?"
	"Their," she confirmed. "Sekher,  there are a lot of them.
You wouldn't believe how many.  And they aren't Gods either;
they're bone  and  blood,  like  you or I."
	She  gestured  again to the window, "That's where  they
come from. Their world. Look at the animals."
	Sure  enough,  there  in the distance there was  a  herd  of
things that weren't of the world.
	"Oh," said Sekher. And it had looked so like home.
	"They've got cities that float in the sky,  huge numbers
of them. . . " she  stopped  there,  her  hands  twitching. "Perhaps
you should see for yourself. First?"
	"Yes?"
	The quiet,  disembodied tones startled Sekher. The voice
had changed and now sounded slightly. . . female?
	"First," Nersi continued in businesslike tones that
suggested she  was carrying out a normal conversation, "ah,  that
story I  saw last night, do you know what I mean?"
	"That  was  ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨  name ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨:  a  general  history  for
children."
	"Oh," Nersi's ears wilted in embarrassment. "Oh well,
can you show it again?"
	"Yes."
	It  was then Chaiila came out of the  washroom.  She
looked around in suspicion: "It's that damned voice again.
What's  going on?"
	"You  interested  in knowing what Seth'Nai  is?" asked
Nersi with a smile.
	Chaiila stared at her, taken aback. "You know?"
	"I  know," Nersi confirmed, "He showed me last  night.
You're interested?"
	"Yah."
	"Have  a  seat," Nersi  motioned the carpet  beside  her
and Chaiila slowly sat,  tucking her legs beneath  her. "First,
lights down."
	The  lights dimmed and in the light from the  window
Sekher saw the dark-furred female glance sharply at her cousin.
	Nersi never noticed. "All right, First, show the story."
The plains in the window faded to blackness. . .

--\o/--


	Sekher  followed the bobbing bead of green light as  it
led him  through the noisy metal corridors with  their
uncomfortable grillwork floors.  A heavy door prominently marked
with black and yellow  diagonal  stripping  slid open and closed
as  he  passed through.  There  were metallic servants
everywhere,  numbers  of every  different  size and shape:  from
large boxes  that  rolled through  the  corridors on wheels to tiny
things  that  scurried among  the  machinery in the walls.  He
snorted as the  smell  of scorched metal assailed his nostrils.
	The  guiding speck of light turned to dart  through
another doorway  into  one  of  those big,  dimly  lit  rooms  filled
to overflowing  with bins and storage lockers,  parts of
machinery. A  deep  growling accompanied a pair of legs
protruding  from  a crawlspace  beneath  a mass of pipes  colored
grotesque  orange. Sekher squatted down beside the legs. "Hai!"
	No response.
	There was a metal bar lying atop a handy box. Sekher
took it up,  hefted it,  then pounded on the pipes. The howl from
beneath was almost drowned by the clangs.
	Seth'Nai was out like a projectile from a darter, glaring at
Sekher  while stabbing at the translator on his  wrist. "What  the
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨  you  think  you're  doing?!  I  almost  had  the  little ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨!"
	Sekher stood,  looking down at the pale face. "Seth'Nai,
can we talk?"
	Seth'Nai sat,  his grey eyes flicking from Sekher's face  to
the metal bar he was holding. He swallowed."¨¨¨¨¨¨¨, alright."
	The  bar  clattered when Sekher dropped  it  and
cautiously found a place to lean against a piece of metal ."I saw
that  story you showed Nersi. We all did."
	"Ah," Seth'Nai nodded. "You were supposed to."
	"I have a few questions."
	The round head bobbed. "I will answer if I can."
	"That story. . . it was true?"
	"Yes."
	"Then your people are powerful.  You said you aren't a
God, but some of those things your people do. . . " he shrugged.
"And  they are warlike, aren't they." It wasn't really a question.
	"Warlike?"
	"They fight."
	"Ah. . . " Seth'Nai understood. "I have to say we do
fight."
	"And our world is the only one like it you have found."
	"Yes."
	"Then you could destroy us. What chance would we
have if you wanted to take it?"
	"None."
	Sekher stared.
	Seth'Nai sighed and settled himself. "Sekher,  your world
is beautiful,  but it is not only valuable for that. It is you. Your
kind. All Trenalbi.
	"Until now my kind has been alone. We have looked for
a long time, and now we have found someone we can talk to, do
you really think we would destroy them?"
	Sekher thought.
	"God," Seth'Nai  shook  his  head, "I'm  not  the  one  to
be speaking for my kind. Anyway, there're agreements and rules
about what we would do if we found. . . something like your kind.
They say we stay away and watch from a distance."
	"Studying us," Sekher said with distaste.
	"Sort of. . . Yes,  studying you.  We would stay away,
until we could understand each other."
	"You haven't," Sekher observed.
	"No." Seth'Nai  rubbed  his  narrow  nose  and  twitched
his mouth. "I told you, I have been a bad ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨."
	"A what?. . . Never mind.  Why would they stay away?
You could teach us so much.  Your machines. . . and your metal. . .
Any  demesnes would pay a fortune for such knowledge."
	Seth'Nai  hesitated. "There's  more than  that.  If  we
gave you. . . things  that made you live longer,  stopped  diseases,
and made sure cubs didn't die at birth. Would you be grateful?"
	Sekher stared."Of course! Who wouldn't be?"
	"Would  you still be grateful when you couldn't grow
enough to feed them all?  When they started fighting over the
land? When your  cities became so crowded that the smell became
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨  and Trenalbi were dying in the streets?"
	"Oh."
	"If we gave you machines.  How would you fix them
when  they break?"
	"Then you could teach us."
	"Yes,   but   that  takes  a  long  time.   And   to   teach
everyone. . . "Seth'Nai  shook  his  head. "You  saw  our  story.
We learned  all this ourselves, like cubs growing up."
	"You are comparing us to cubs?"
	"You said it, not I."
	Sekher opened and closed his mouth a few times.
	"Imagine  if  your  people suddenly learned  the  world
was round,  not  flat.  If they learned they lived on a ball of  rock
going around another ball of fire."
	"Huh, wouldn't that make the priests' fur stand on end."
	"Priests?" Seth'Nai's  forehead furrowed. "They were the
ones wearing long clothes?" his hands described patterns that
could  be a priest's robes.
	"Yes."
	"Do you know anything about their machines? Like the
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ coil?"
	Sekher's ears went back. "Huh? Machines? What
machines?"
	And Seth'Nai flinched back. Sekher had known him long
enough to  think he could read the creature;  the emotions were  in
the eyes,  not  the  ears,  and  that particular look  meant  he  was
surprised.
	"You  do  not know?  The ones that made the lighting  I
was attacked with."
	"Machines?" Sekher  was still confused. "They didn't
use  any machines. They're Priests, they don't need them."
	Seth'Nai's mouth opened,  then closed again.  Now he
was the one  who  looked perplexed. "No.  There had a  ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨  in
there. That's  the only way you could ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ power like that.  Is
that how they stay in control, by making a few sparks fly?"
	"No," said  Sekher,  not understanding where this debate
was leading. "Some of them make fire.  Some of them move things.
Some heal  or  see  far  or  talk  without  saying." His  ears  flagged
helplessness. "There are too many Gifts."
	"What is that word 'Gifts'?"
	"Uhhnnn. . . A present, a gift. Something that is given,
out of goodwill."
	"A gift," Seth'Nai echoed,  his forehead wrinkled. "Ah. . .
Gifts from whom?"
	"The Gods, of course," Sekher sniffed.
	"Of  course," Seth'Nai rubbed a hand across his  scalp.
"Of course, the Gods."
	Sekher frowned at that. "You don't believe me."
	"Believe  you. . . "  There  was a sound  that  the
translator rendered  as  a Trenalbi laugh,  but Sekher felt it
couldn't  be expressed so simply. "Sekher, I have always
understood that there are no Gods."
	"No Gods?" Sekher grinned. "Perhaps yours' rejected
you, but not  ours.  Look at the Priests and the temple;  how can
you  not believe?"
	"I will believe it when I see it," Seth'Nai retorted.
	"What about you?"
	"What about me?"
	"The fact that you're here," Sekher said smugly.
	Seth'Nai stared.  "What the ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ has that got to do  with
anything.  It was an accident;  just an accident.  It could  have
happened to anyone."
	And  Sekher grinned.  "Anyone?  Your kind  spends
centuries searching,  then just as I need help,  your 'accident'
sends  you here. What would you call that?"
	"¨¨¨¨¨¨¨!"  Seth'Nai answered  instantly.  "Chance!
Nothing more. Sekher, gods are just something I cannot believe
in. I have never seen anything I haven't been able to explain."
	"Then you haven't seen a priest."
	"You. . . " Seth'Nai began to say,  then stopped cold and
shook his head, saying quietly, "I should not be talking about
this."
	"Your rules?"Sekher inquired.
	The other didn't answer.
	Yah,   his  rules,   Sekher  thought  glumy.  How  was  this
happening?  He had thought this creature a godsend,  now,  he
was being told there were no Gods.  There must be,  the Gifts of
the Priests were certainly genuine enough.  But suppose. . .
	Suppose Seth'Nai was right.
	No.  The  end  of  their Gods;  the  ramifications  of  that
could. . . would!  tear his world apart.  Sekher bit at a claw, then
spat in disgust. How could it be true?
	Was this what Seth'Nai had meant when he said his
people had a  policy about not talking to other people they might
find?  He was  right!  If his kind suddenly appeared,  refuting
everything Trenalbi  believed,   with  the  ability  to  support  what
they claimed. . .
	They had planned for that?
	Seth'Nai casually leaning back against the pipes,  his
arms folded,  watching  Sekher who shook his head and blinked
at  the outsider and asked, "Why'd you bring us here anyway?"
	An  expression that meant nothing to Sekher:  "I  wanted
to learn more about you."
	"More  about us?" Sekher was suspicious  about  that.
"Such as?"
	"Your speech. What you are. How you live. . . things like
that. I  really don't know anything about you." He paused  then,
eyeing Sekher  curiously. "Such as;  what were you doing in that
cage  in the first place?"
	"Ah," Sekher  flashed  the other a white grin that  made
him flinch visibly. "Do you have to know that?"
	"I  was curious.  First I thought you were  a. . . a. . . one
who does wrong. . . "
	"Criminal," Sekher  growled,  then relented and  wrapped
his arms  around  himself,  dredging up the  memories. "No,  that
I'm not. . .  At least outside the Ch'Sty lands I'm not.
	"My  full name is Sekher Che Meas,  youngest  son.  My
home is. . . was  the Che holding to the north.  Not a big place  in
any eyes. . . "
	Give Seth'Nai credit where it was due;  those ears may
have been absurdly small, but he was still a good listener.

--\o/--

	Chaiila  was  trembling  visibly.  Her  ruff,  all  her  fur
bristled  and her claws were unsheathed.  Fear or  anger?  Sekher
wondered. A little of both most likely.
	Beyond the transparent screen was a brightly lit white
room, about seven paces by seven, featureless save for the table
in the middle.
	Nersi lay naked on the table,  her unconscious eyes
staring up at the ceiling without seeing it while an arch of
otherwordly materials  covered her lower body and the puckered
wound  on  her leg.  Occasionally she would twitch or her jaw
spasm  soundlessly behind the window.
	"Gods,   I  hate  this," Chaiila  moaned  and  asked, "Is
she all right?" for the hundredth time.
	Seth'Nai  cast  a  practiced eye over  glowing  pictures  of
Nersi's  body. "She's  fine.   Don't  worry,  nothing's  going  to
happen to her."
	The standard reply Sekher noted.  He looked at the
pictures again. Huh! Sekher suspected Seth'Nai was doing more
than healing her  leg;  to  him  it looked like he was  mapping  her
insides. Studying her. Learning about them, as he had told Sekher.
	There  was little talking from then on.  They  watched
over her:  Chaiila  fidgiting,  Sekher  standing close  by  her  side,
Seth'Nai  watching his machines,  peculiar light  washing  across
his face and turning it into something from nightmares.
	An  hour  later  it  was  over.  Seth'Nai  moved  the  still
unconscious  Nersi  back  to her quarters  and  clipped  a  small
bracelet  to  her wrist.  There was a furless  strip  around  her
thigh;  where the torn and angry red wound had been there was
now only a mere pucker in her flesh. She stirred groggily and
mouthed meaningless noises.  Chaiila was instantly at her side,
touching and reassuring until she fell silent, into a rest far deeper
than any Drift.
	"Is that normal?" whispered Sekher to the human.
	"With your kind, I think so."
	Sekher  grabbed  his  arm  and  hauled  him  out  into the
corridor. "Think?" he hissed.
	The grey eyes flickered. "I did the best I could.  It
seemed to go well, but you are different. . . "
	"What? What's that got to do with it?"
	"Medicines for me could kill you," the other answered.
Sekher blinked, swallowed. "Like your food, you mean."
	"Same."
	"Gods!" Sekher  glanced toward the  closed  door.
"Look,  just don't let Chaiila know about that,  alright?  She would
rip  your face off."
	Seth'Nai grinned. Those marks from last time were still
pale reminders on his cheeks.

--\o/--

	There was nothing.
	It scared her.
	Her.
	Her? Who was her? She?
	Oh. Of course.
	It was gradually coming back.  Slowly - like ice
dissolving under a flame - thoughts and memories began to stir.
There was a glimmer of the light of reason after so. . . long?  there
wasn't any way  to measure the time she had been sunk in a
blackness;  that hole deeper than drift,  the utter depths where
nothing  stirred. Oblivion. Death. . .
	She  snapped  to  awareness with a  strangled  cry  and
lay panting hard.
	The  room  was  silent and still.  On  the  other  bunk  two
Trenalbi lay tangled in each other's limbs.  Chaiila twitched and
shuddered  and burrowed deeper into the Che's  side,  hiding  her
head.
	Nersi  lay  quietly,  just  staring at  the  softly  glowing
panels above her.  That coldness still lingered,  a touch of  the
darkness inside. She needed warmth, familiar company.
	Che's head lolled her way when she swung out of the
bed, but she was familiar enough that her movement didn't trip his
drift as made her uneasy way to the door. She still limped,  albeit
more through habit than necessity. It  was after she'd left the room
that she realised the  pain  in her leg was gone. The pale line that
remained merely tingled when she touched it.
	It  was  almost  completely black  in  Seth'Nai's  room.  He
stirred when she slid into the bed beside him.  When she moved
to huddle  up to the warmth of his back he growled  something,
then yelped and twisted around, face to face in the darkness. She
grinned.
	"Nersi?"  He wasn't wearing his translator.  She could
feel his body vibrate with the depth of his voice, the words she
could understand coming from a small shelf above the bed.
	"A," she murmured.
	"After last time I thought I said. . . "
	"I know," she broke in. "I was lonely."
	"Lonely?"
	"Alone. By myself. I needed to be with someone."
	The translator made a sound that could have been 'oh',
then said, "I understand. Lonely."
	Nersi  shifted  and  carefully  touched  his  shoulder.   He
flinched. "Do you always drift alone?"
	"Uh, usually."
	"It doesn't hurt?"
	"Hurt?" He looked confused. "Like pain? Hurt?"
	"Ai."
	"I don't understand that."
	"Seth'Nai," she stroked his ribs,  "a Trenalbi can go mad
if left  alone  for  a  long  time.  That  doesn't  happen  to  your
kind?"
	"No." He lay back to stare up at the roof. "No,  that's
why  I like my job. I like being alone."
	That stung her.  She peered at his face,  indistinct in  the
darkness. "You want me to go?"
	His head turned her way,  yet she knew he couldn't see
her at all. Not in this light. "No. No, not now."
	His  hand touched her arm and his fingers moved
through  her fur, just touching.
	"My leg," she said,  feeling his fingers on her arm,
watching the pale shadows moving.  Darkness, the great
equalizer. "I wanted to thank you."
	"It. . . is not neccesary," he said. She touched his face
and felt his mouth twisted in his smile.
	They lay there for a time, just close.
	Her hand on his chest could feel his warmth,  solidity,
the slow  drubbing of a heartbeat beneath muscle she had  never
felt before,  ribs feeling completely unlike her own. . . and  her
hand  moved,  down, touching  him in that coarse fur between his
legs and  his  whole body stiffened with a jolt of breath. Then he
caught her hand and moved it away.
	"Nersi, no."
	"Hnnn?" She made a small sound,  confusion at his
rejection. Why?  he  was  responding,  doing something, she
could smell  his  scent  changing, becoming heavier, while her
own loins tingled.
	"Nersi,  we can't. I would hurt you."
	"No. . . " she began.
	"Yes!  I  wish  I could,  but I would hurt you  very  badly,
Nersi.  We're  just  too different." He caressed the side  of  her
face. "Understand?"
	She didn't. Not really.
	Until she touched him again. Yes, he was responding,
but the differences. . .
	"Oh," she said, understanding. Gods and Demons! Their
females took that?!
	There was another silence before she leaned over and
gently lapped at Seth'Nai's neck, tasting the slight salt. "Ah, well.
Not your fault."
	"Thanks. . . I think," he replied.
	She  grinned  and  nipped at him and for a  while  the  talk
wandered around their differences. His kind wasn't like Trenalbi;
the females,  they birthed fully formed young.  She had seen  the
pictures, but even so it shocked Nersi to hear this, even more so
to find it caused pain.  Those were nipples on his chest,  in the
same location as human females',  but useless for him. The dimple
in his midriff was another peculiarity and she still wasn't  sure she
understood his explanation.  When she let him,  his  fingers were
gentle against the sensitive skin around the nipples in  her pouch.
	"Feels strange," he said.
	"Ah, from you that's irony."
	"Nersi?"
	"Huh?"
	"May I ask you something?"
	"Sure."
	"Your  towns. . . why  are  they split  into  male  and
female sections?
	She   blinked,   taken   aback  at  the   naivete   of   the
question. "Uh. . . because they have to be, of course. Aren't
yours'?"
	"No."
	"Oh,   Gods.  That  figures. . . You  mean  males  and
females are. . . together all the time?"
	"Yes."
	"Then how do you get anything done?"
	"What?" He pulled away and propped himself up with
one elbow, looking down on her. "I don't understand."
	She  sighed. "You  are  different.  Look,  when  a  woman
is wanting. . . when she wants to mate,  she scents.  We can't help
it, and the males,  they smell it and it twists them  crazy.  They'll
fight  for a female,  then when they get close to her and she  is
ready  the scent flattens them.  It's like their muscles turn  to
string; They can hardly move."
	"Sekher and Chaiila," he muttered.
	"Yah.  You  had me worried,  running after them  like
that. Males generally don't get on well when there's a mating
going on. But  you see what it'd be like if we were integrated;  a
riot  at the smell of a scenting female."
	"I. . . see,"came  the response after a couple  of
beats."Then the female sections are really different towns?"
	"No. . . They  are under the dominion of the High  Lord.
Male, almost  always.   There  is  a  female  Medium  who  acts  as
an intermediary  between  the Lord and the Sister  Group,  also
the Guilds of both sexes have their own Pleaders who negotiate
trade among the quarters;  cloth for metal,  embelished tools for
rare foods and so forth."
	This  time there was a longer silence. "I  didn't
understand much of that," he finally confessed. "It is all one
town,  but  the two sides only talk to each other through special
Trenalbi?  Like they are ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ different?"
	Nersi mulled that over, then said, "There was a word I
didn't understand,  but yes,  sort of like that." She felt him
shifting, moving a little closer to her.  Perhaps he liked her
warmth.
	"Then how. . . how do you choose your mates?"
	She grinned and stretched,  then began trying to explain
the unity   houses.    From   there  the  talk  drifted  off at tangents,
Seth'Nai asking about the most inconsequential things, and
listening with fascination to her replies.
	And when she grew tired he was the one who made her
stop. Nersi listened to his breathing slowing.  Several times  his
legs  twitched as the muscles relaxed.  Finally he was  gone,  as
helpless as a cub.  With a final grin she set a hand on his chest
and  settled down into the stillness of drift with his heavy scent
like a  blanket around her.

--\o/--

	"Gods burn it! He did! I can SMELL him on you!"
	"Cousin! We didn't mate! We can't! He. . . "
	Chaiila wasn't sounding too pleased Sekher noticed.
Finding Nersi and Seth'Nai curled up together had not set her day
off  to a good start.  After dragging her cousin out of there her
initial shock  had  rapidly turned to anger and heedless  of  where
they were, she still wanted to go and rattle Seth'Nai's teeth.
"Dammit!  I saw! He was all over you. He was. . . he was naked! by
the gods!"
	"Listen to me!"
	Sekher sighed and let the door slide closed.
	Seth'Nai was in the common room at the end of the
corridor. He  was still wearing the ridiculous-looking fluffy robe
he'd thrown on  when Chaiila stormed into his quarters and
literally howled him out of it.  Now  he  had one of the glass cases
open  and  was  kneeling before  it,  meticulously  clipping  away
at the  branches  of  a twisted little bush. Sekher watched this
ceremony.
	"She's  really got her fur in a knot at  you,  you  know,"
he finally said
	Seth'Nai   settled  back  and  studied   the   bush.
"Nothing happened."
	Sekher  grinned  in amusement. "That's exactly  what
Nersi's saying."
	Seth'Nai's  flat face turned to stared up at  him. "Then
why don't you believe her?"
	"I    do," Sekher   said   then   crouched   down   on his
haunches. "Chaiila  probably  does too.  It's just  that  you  and
Nersi. . . uh. . . " he hunted for words. "Drifting  together. . .
Chaiila's scared of you. She doesn't understand you."
	"And you do?"
	Sekher blinked, nonplussed."Ah, well. . . good point."
	The  other  bared teeth and carefully snipped a few  of
the miniature leaves from the tiny tree, click, snick. Sekher
watched the ritual, fidgiting uneasily. How was he going to put
this? And he already had a good idea what the answer would be.
	"Can you help us?"
	He cringed. The way that blurted out. . . that wasn't what
he'd planned.
	Seth'Nai's  hand  froze,  then carefully  set  the  clippers
aside."Help you?"
	"I  told you,"Sekher tried to explain."I told you about
the Ch'sty  Rim. . . our homes.  Chaiila and Nersi lost  theirs';
under Kissaki's claws. My land. . . I don't know what's happened
to it."
	The other looked away.
	"Ah. . . you. . . "Sekher  licked  his lips."You've  got  so
much power. Can you help us?"
	"No."
	Just that. Flat and straight. Seth'Nai gathered up the
tools in a small pouch and stood to leave.
	"Hai!  Wait!" Sekher  scrambled  after him,  through  to
the galley. He stopped in the doorway: "Why?"
	The human's pale,  long-fingered hands worked at a
cupboard latch,  then  froze  and  he leaned his head  against  the
white wall. "Sekher. . . " He  sighed  and  moved across the  width
of  the galley  to prop himself against the edge of the table."I
wish  I could, but it's impossible. I have already done far too much
I am not  supposed  to.  I  can probably justify what  I  did  against
Kissaki,  but  interfering  with  your wars. . . it is  out  of  the
question." He rubbed at his face.
	Sekher stared. "People are dying."
	"Sekher!" Seth'Nai's hand clenched,  then pounded
against the tabletop. "Don't!  There  is  nothing  I can do."
	"Then  what ARE you going to do?!" Sekher  snarled.
"Just  sit here until the Ch'Sty Rim troops find you and lay seige
to you?"
	The human's lips pressed into a straight line. "And what
am I supposed to do? A?"
	"Fight them!"
	He  nodded. "A.  How?  I am not a fighter.  This is a
mining  ship. It is damaged."
	"All the machines. . . "
	"Are for work.  They are not ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ to fight.  They  cannot
and  will  not.  There  is simply not enough  power  left  to  do
anything that would help you.  And the Rim will not find  me.  As
soon  as  the repairs are finished I have to use what's  left  to
leave."
	Sekher's short fur stood bolt upright. "You are going
home?!"
	"I  can't  do that.  I just have to get the ship  away  from
here. It is not exactly inconspicuous, and someone's going to see
it and report.  Then. . . " His head shook from side to side.  Sekher
had  thought that meant 'no',  but apparently it could mean  more
than that.
	"Then where are you going?"
	"Wherever   I  can.   The  other  side  of  the   mountains.
Somewhere."
	"There is no way to change your mind?"
	Again the head shook. "Please, Sekher."
	His  tail dragged on the floor behind as he turned and
left to tell the others.  Behind him the human slumped,  then drove
a fist into the wall.
	"Gods ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨ it!"

--\o/--

	The  trio  of  shen picked their  way  through  the
charred skeletons  of incinerated trees at the edge of the  river
plain. Green  buds were only just beginning to force their way
from  the blackness.  These  plants  were used  to  fire.  Lightning-
struck blazes weren't a rare occurance on the plains,  but always
the trees grew  back. The two riders hauled their animals to a halt
at the very edge of the riverbed, smelling the carnage before they
saw it: a ripe stench hanging on the breeze.  There were blackened
Trenalbi corpses and skeletons  scattered among the rocks and
wood;  just bone, metal, and tatters of rotting flesh rejected or
missed by scavengers.
	The larger Hunter chittered: impressed.
	His  smaller  companion  glanced  down  at  a   half-
decayed skull.  It grinned back at him: "You still think they're
paying us enough, Travi?"
	"Huh!" Travi's  head turned on his massive shoulders
and  he settled  his  heavy  darter in  its  saddle  holster,  dark-
brown roadcoat shifting. "All right,  so the illigit cheaped us.  We
still do the job?"
	Yenitira scowled.  They had a reputation:  anyone,
anywhere. They had never missed a target, and he wasn't about to
start. Not for anyone, not for this. The scent was still there.
	"Yah, we still do it."
	The  shen  picked their way down the bank to  the
riverbed, hooves  clattering on the rocks.  There were more
corpses  here, both Trenalbi and shen,  scattered like chaff.
Yenitira  noticed the  fur  on the bodies,  the front burnt  away,
the  back  only slightly singed. There were only a few where it was
the other way around. So whatever had happened to them had
happened quickly.
	There was a crater,  now a circular pond, on the edge of
the river.  The  ground  crunched  under their feet  as  the  Hunters
dismounted.  Glass.  The  sand  was crusted with a thin  film  of
blackened, cracked glass.
	"Perhaps they killed themselves off," Travi suggested.
	"Perhaps." Yenitira  eyes  lost  their  focus  as  he  looked
around. "Perhaps, but I doubt it."
	"You still feel them?"
	"A."
	There was a pile of boulders,  large enough to form a
small island  when the river filled its banks during the  rains.
There was a small pile of weapons tucked undisturbed under one
edge  of the  rock.  This  place had gained a bad reputation  for  a
good reason,  so the dead were left to their peace.  If there had
been tracks the weather had erased them days ago, yet it was here
that Yenitira went to stand,  letting his hat fall back on its  strap,
head  turning  from side to side with nostrils working as  if  he
could scent them. Travi crouched nearby, watching his partner
and
holding the shen.
	"They were here?" he asked.
	Traces,  not scents,  but more like colors he could smell
in his head, each distinct and unique. He KNEW, knew without a
doubt they  had  been here.  There was that one trace that  was
unlike anything he'd ever encountered.  It. . . felt,  for lack of a
better word,  disquieting. If he was to describe it, it would be a
bluegreen sense,  not the shifting orange sensations of a trenalbi.
He stood and stared westwards. "That way. Ah. . . Fourteen days.
On foot."
	Travi  brought the shen over and they mounted  up.
Yenitira settled  his hat and roadcoat and stared westwards,
towards  the invisible Ramparts. West, huh? Very well. They had
never lost one yet, but this one was like nothing else he'd ever
sensed.
	This one was going to be very interesting.

--\o/--

	Chaiila was inspecting the shen, going over them a span
at a time.  Sekher lounged back in the warmth of the Lightbringer
and watched through slitted eyes as she examined hooves and
claws and teeth.  Fussy.  Always wanting to be sure.  He grinned
and rolled back in the grass. Gods, but it was a pleasure to feel the
breeze again.
	The   castle-sized  bulk  of  the  human's  vessel   was   a
scorched  white cliff behind them with metallic shapes  scuttling
around  in the shadows beneath it.  Whatever they had been
doing around  the rear of the vessel appeared to be nearing
completion and now esoteric equipment was being carted back up
the underside ramp on battered and tough-looking machines.
	He  blinked when he saw Seth'Nai and Nersi emerge  from
the shadows   near  a  piece  of  machinery,   engaged  in
animated conversation.  At least Nersi was; Seth'Nai seemed
unable to meet her  eyes.  Abruptly he put aside the bundle he
was carrying  and set  hands on her shoulders and hugged her
close,  touching  her forehead with his lips.  When he released her
she stared at  him, then cast a worried glance towards the other
Trenalbi.
	Sekher hastily looked away. Chaiila, thankfully, hadn't
seen that, and Gods strike him down if HE had.
	Grass rustled under Nersi's feet. "He said he was sorry. . .
"
	"But  he  won't help us," Sekher  finished  for  her. "Yah,
I figured." Yah. The same as yesterday.
	"He spoke about it last night.  He really did seem sorry.  I
think he. . . "
	He what? Sekher wondered. "You were with him again,
a?"
	Nersi  cast a glance across to where a  stone-faced
Chaiila was  arranging gear on the shen.  She knew where her
cousin  had spent her evenings,  and now she had given up trying
to stop it. She would be rid of Seth'Nai soon enough. They were
leaving.
	And  you,  Nersi,   Sekher thought,  How do you  feel
about leaving him?
	And Seth'Nai. . . He had never asked what he thought of
Nersi, but there was that parting gesture;  disturbingly  intimate.
How far have you gone? You're denying it, but. . .
	Nersi  shook  her head as though clearing her  own
thoughts from her mind and went to see to her own mount.
	No; There were some things that weren't meant to be.

--\o/--

	"I've got your weapons," said Seth'Nai as he rummaged
through his bag. "Ah, here."
	The Trenalbi took the swords he handed them and it
wasn't  a heartbeat before Chaiila snapped, "Hai, these aren't our
blades!"
	"I'm  giving  them  to  you," Seth'Nai  replied, "So they're
yours."
	Sekher examined his.  Chaiila was right:  it wasn't his  old
weapon,  the one taken from the Rim troops.  This one was new,
so new he'd never seen one quite like it before. Excellent weight
and  balance with a grip that seemed to melt into his  hand.  The
crossguard  was pierced and engraved with intricate  patterns  of
interlacing  curls and loops in a design that brought  images  of
clouds to mind.  A simple disk was used for the pommel, carved to
resemble  a stylised Lightbringer:  a Trenalbi face  with  flames
around it. Overly fancy perhaps, but it still had a good heft to it.
The blade. . .
	Gods, the blade!
	Lighter than any Sekher had ever wielded.  It gleamed as
he withdrew it from the darkwood,  silver-bound scabbard.  The
metal carried a slight,  blueish matt tint and  was  utterly  smooth;
without a single rune,  marking,  or other embellishment.  Sekher
squinted to see what kind of an edge it carried.  It just  seemed to
fuzz out of vision.
	Chaiila sniffed at hers. "Doesn't seem very impressive."
Seth'Nai grinned and reached back into his bag,  pulling out a
bronze sword.  He held it upright with a two-handed  grip. "Try
it."
	"What?" Chaiila looked confused.
	"Swing at this."
	She did so.  There was a sharp clang,  then the top half
of the sword Seth'Nai held spun to the ground.
	Chaiila stared at her sword with newfound respect.
	Seth'Nai grinned. "You won't be able to break it, and it
will never need sharpening or cleaning. Just make sure you
always use these sheaths and don't touch the  edges.  It  will go
though your fingers a  lot  easier  than metal."
	Sekher moved his hand and carefully sheathed the
sword. "Also,   there  are  these." Seth'Nai  produced  a  trio	of
circlets  of  gold metal with a strip of green stone  around  the
circumference. He passed them to the Trenalbi.
	There  were fine inscriptions on the metal,  the same
marks that  decorated Seth'Nai's machines,  while the raised  strip
of stone around the equator of the circlet was of a deep,  beautiful
green and unbroken save for a small, silver disk set into it.
	"What do we do with these?"inquired Sekher.
	"Put them on your wrists. Just pull them and they'll
open." Sekher  tried  and it did.  It clicked shut  on  his  wrist,
snugly.  With  a lurch of apprehension he tried removing  it.  It
popped  open  again as easily as it had gone on.  He  hissed  air
through his teeth and replaced it.
	"Only you can open them," Seth Nai told them. "And
they've got their uses.  Point that dot at the sword and squeeze
the bracelet with your other hand."
	Nersi  tried  it.  There was a hissing sound and a  curl  of
smoke  rose from the ground beside the broken  sword  blade.
She moved her arm and bronze spurted into nearly invisible flame
and a flare of molten metal as she cut the  blade in half. Sekher and
Chaiila tried it; quartering the halves.
	"It does not go far," Seth'Nai said, "and will only work
for a short  time  before it has to be  ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨. . . the  power  replaced.
Just leave it in strong light light for a while.  They would make
good fire lighters. You can probably find other uses."
	He had other parting gifts.  There were pieces of
clothing, breeks  and  cloaks that looked perfectly normal,  but
these produced  their  own warmth.  There were pouches that
kept  food fresh,  canteens like Seth'Nai's,  and purses filled with
silver and gold.
"I'm sorry that's all I can do," Seth'Nai apologised.
	"A,  so  are  we," Chaiila  retorted,  then  looked  slightly
guilty and reluctantly added, "But thanks."
	"You're  welcome.   Good  luck," Seth'Nai  said,   then
took Sekher's  hand in a firm grip and clapped his shoulder  with
the other. He went around the females and did the same.
Astonishingly Chaiila  tolerated it.  Sekher would have been less
surprised  to see the Lightbringer go out.
	"Gods smile on you," the human wished them.
	"Thought you didn't believe," Sekher grinned.
	"Sometimes I hope I'm wrong."
	"Perhaps we'll see you again?" Nersi said,  making it
sound more like a hope.
	"Perhaps." The human stared at her,  swallowed. Then
said, "Go on; get out of here. I hate long farewells."

--\o/--

	Hours later and the Trenalbi noticed the faint second
shadow that began to appear before them. As one they turned to
look back in the direction from which they had come.
	Another  Lightbringer was rising into the  heavens.  A
pale speck rising on a ball of white light.  It seemed to hang in  the
sky  a  short time,  pulsing like a heartbeat against  the  azure
backdrop.  A faint rumble like faraway thunder rolled across  the
plains.  The light flared,  moving. Slowly, then more swiftly the
light  began to recede,  shrinking with the  increasing  distance
until it vanished over the Ramparts to the west,  faint trails of
white cloud marking its departure.
	Thunder faded to a growl, then died.
	Fliers hauled their way into the sky, shrilling in fright.
	"So, he's really gone."
	Nersi was still staring at the mountains where high wisps
of vapour  were  slowly  dissolving. "I'm  going  to  miss   him,"
she murmured.
	"Don't." Chaiila's  voice sounded  distressed,  taut.
"Please, don't. He's gone home. Where he belongs."
	"No," Sekher murmured.
	"A?" Chaiila looked startled. "You know something we
don't."
	"He hasn't gone home.  He said he couldn't. Not at the
moment. Just away from Trenalbi.  He's  still over there
somewhere." He hissed meditatively and cocked his  head as  the
final remains of vapour trails were dissipated. "He  might turn up
again, somewhere."
	Snow on distant mountaintops sparkled;  grey and white.
Like pale eyes. Sekher grinned:
	"You never know."

--\o/--

	"You're really going back there."
	"I have to. It's my home, it's my. . . "
	"Gods  male!  Don't say it!  Dying's got nothing to do
with your duty." Chaiila bore an agonised look,  understanding
what  he was going through yet knowing what awaited  him.
"Sekher,  there's nothing you can do!"
	He  touched the hilt of the sword at his waist;  he  had
no illusions. "Don't  tell me!  I have to be sure.  I can't just  run
without even seeing."
	"But if they find you. . . "
	"I know." He swallowed hard. "Gods, but I know."
	Nothing  either  of the females could say would  change
his mind.  They had all known this had to come, this moment they
went their own ways.  Now it was here and they stood atop a
wind-blown knoll under dull skies as they made their farewells.
	"Then where are you going?"
	Chaiila  frowned  and  looked at her  cousin,  then  at  the
clouds: "Can't  say for certain.  North;  then perhaps  down-river
towards  the  Hub.  If  we  find a place  we  like  that'll  take us. . .
well,  we'll hang our blades there a time." Then she  touched her
stomach and smiled at him. "And there'll be a stop at a Creche
along the way."
	They  moved  together  for a final  time,  arms  around
the other: "You'll take care," Sekher told her.
	Her ears twitched. "A. You also, male."
	He touched her mouth with a finger,  then moved it
down,  to her  stomach.  Chaiila flinched and trembled in pleasure
when  he touched  the hot flesh of her pouch. "I would. . . enjoy
meeting  you again."
	"A." A  single sylable.  She laid her hand over  his. "As
you said before: you never know."
	Later:
	Riding  eastwards,  Sekher twisted in  his  saddle,  finally
succumbing to the impulse. Perhaps he imagined the pair of
specks on the distant northern skyline. Then again, perhaps not.

--\o/--

	Days  passed  by;  long days and cold nights  alone  on
the plains,  deliberately  avoiding other Trenalbi.  Once a group  of
soldiers  had  spotted  him as he turned away  from  their  their
patrol. Their interest turned to suspicion by his avoidance, they
pursued him for a whole day until he lost them in the tangles  of a
gallery forest. It was the only thing he could do: although his fur
was  growing  back  it was still sparse  and  his  ruff  was blatantly
patchy, crying out 'criminal!' to all and sundry.
	Yet he continued west,  following the sun,  after a few
days angling northwards until he reached the Marshlands river.
He was another two days searching for a spot to ford it, but once
across was on the borders of the Che Plains domains.
	The roads were filled with refugees,  fleeing.  Rim
soldiery was  everywhere:  troopers  and cavalry,  wagon  trains
carrying troops and supplies.
	Smoke hung in palls over gutted towns and villages.
	Carrion  hunters fought and squabbled in streets paved
with bloated corpses.
	And Tsuba?
	Sekher  could see the smoke long before the walls came
into sight.  He  urged  his  already-exhausted  shen  into  a  gallop,
reigning  up as he crested a hill.  The gatehouses were  toppled,
the  walls  in  ruins.   Beyond,  the  buildings  were  blackened
skeletons and ruins where guards watched as slave force
struggled to  demolish them.  Outlying farm buildings were  being
ploughed under and already the palace,  without a chance of
withstanding a seige,  was  a  pile of rubble,  some of the walls
looking  half melted due to the Rim priests.
	And  outside  the walls a forest of gibbets  festooned
with tattered bodies.  There were soldiers milling around a cluster
of impaling  spikes  where a struggling  figure  was  raised,  then
lowered.  The  distant  screams rose rapidly  to  insane  heights
before dying.
	The stench of mortality was faint, but everywhere.
	Rim troops swarmed like a plague. Their tents and
pavilions and weapons  of  war surrounded the town.  All the time
patrols  and convoys  were coming in or setting off to more
remote corners  of Che.
	None of which had escaped Kissaki's revenge, Sekher
knew.
	He  howled  in  pain and loss and the shen  shrilled  as
he yanked it around.  He rode hard,  not knowing or caring where
he was going.
	Damn  you,  Chaiila!  You'd been right!  Damn your eyes
for being right!
	He hunched down in the saddle,  burying the still-blunt
tips of  his  claws into its tough hide,  urging the shen on  across
fields where farm buildings and peasants huts lay in ruins,  cattle
gone and crops burnt to ash.
	Why so much?!  Burn them! Why'd they gone so far?
His people were  never  any  threat  to the  Ch'sty  Rim.  This  was
simply retaliation for what he and his companions had done to
Kissaki's troops?  What kind of a mind would do that!  What kind
of a  mind could. . . Sekher clenched his teeth and howled.
	The shen ran until it was spent,  and then some,
ultimately  staggering  to a standstill and collapsing to its  knees.
Sekher kicked  and  swiped at its hide,  cursing as he tried to  get
it moving  again.  He  dropped  from the saddle and  hauled  on
the bridle. It rolled its eyes back at him.
	"Rot you! GODS BURN YOU ALL!" he screamed at the
sky.
	The  twisted leaves and interlaced branches  of
Wovenboughs bobbed  and  nodded back at him.  The small
grove  of  trees  was peaceful,  far  from  the smoke and violence.
He  stood  panting hard,  then yowled and drew his sword,
wielding  it like a bat as he swung.  The steel slid through a trunk
as  thick as his leg with no more resistance than if it had been  fog.
The tree  stood,  seemingly untouched.  Until the wind caught in
the branches and it slowly toppled.
	He stood there, shaking violently, then dropped to his
knees and snuffled and choked uncontrollably; weeping.

--\o/--

	The  fire flickered like a beacon in the darkness.  The  Rim
patrol  had  built  their campfire in the lee  of  the  burnt-out
farmhouse. Several of them were crouched around it, their
shadows creating lopsided spokes in the warm-orange disc of
light,  their low  voices  carrying  as a  subdued  susurration.
Away  in  the darkness shen whickered and stirred.
	Sekher licked his lips and snarled silently.  Grain  rustled
almost inaudibly as he inched closer, his sheathed sword
clenched in  a  death-grip.  His nostrils widened as he sniffed  the
air; there was food and drink,  also blood. That was old. There
was no scent of alarm.
	Closer.
	The shen chirred and stamped.
	"What's wrong with 'em?" a voice voice asked.
	"Don't  know." One  of the troopers by the fire rose  to
his feet, staring out towards the shen.
	"A! Perhaps a Che guard?"
	There was laughter at that.
	"Or worse, a Burrowrunner!"
	Laughter barked out again.  The one who had stood had
moved towards the shen, then glanced Sekher's way and
hesitated. Sekher saw  the silhouette of the Rim trooper's head
cock and he took  a couple of steps forward:
	"Hai! There's. . . GODS!"
	Sekher  launched  himself forward,  his  blade  leaving
the sheath with a hiss. The Rim trooper stumbled back a step, but
his hand was only beginning to move for his own blade when the
alien steel  swept through his neck,  nearly severing his  head.
Blood fountained in a dark spray,  knocking the head back on the
spine as the body collapsed in a clatter of armour.
	"ATTACK!" The others were screaming, scrambling to
their feet while drawing swords.
	They  couldn't  know how many there  were,  Sekher
knew. Another  died before he could get up,  falling face-down  in
the fire in a cloud of rising sparks. His fur caught and the stink of
roasting meat filled the air.
	Another  trooper.  Armour  of scale mail.  His sword  up
to block.  Sekher  swung wildly and his opponent stared in shock
as his  sword was reduced to a useless stump.  He was still
staring when  Sekher's  blade came back and eviscerated him
through  the armour. He went down clutching at his own entrails.
	Two more.  Sekher struck at another sword and this time
felt an  impact.  That blade had been steel.  That warrior  howled
in sudden  terror and staggered back,  throwing up his arms to
ward off the sword.  The alien blade would sever steel; it found
flesh posed little difficulty.  The Rim warrior staggered,  then
stared down  at  his  arm twitching on the ground while  his  own
blood was  black  in  the moonlight as it  soaked  his  side.
Uttering horrified squeals he staggered off into the grain.
	More  Trenalbi  spilled from the farmhouse with
weapons  in their hands.  The remaining Rim soldier backing away
from  Sekher was screaming, "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" Then
Sekher's slender blade thrust forward  through  his breastplate
and ribs and the heart  behind.  The Rimmer  stared,  then
coughed blood and scrabbled at  the  sword. That final act lost
him several fingers.
	The body in the fire was burning brightly now.  The fur
and cloth blazing in a twisted bonfire that sizzled and stank.
	More Trenalbi appeared in the light.
	More of them!
	The sword slid out again and Sekher crouched to face
the new opponents. Three. . . four of them. No matter. . .
	They  melted  back  from his  charge.  Sekher  tried  again,
swinging at another dark warrior who danced back from his  blade.
Again and again,  then something wrapped around his ankles and
he cried out as his feet were yanked out from under him and
abruptly claws  were  tearing at his skin as hands  grabbed  him,
an  arm curling  around his neck.  Sekher lashed out madly,
snarling  as he  drove an elbow into an unprotected gut.  The
warrior  holding him in the hammerlock dropped away with a
choked grunt and Sekher managed  to  break  away but that chain
dropped  him  again.  he twisted  around  and  chopped at the
links to be  rewarded  by  a metallic  rattle as a chain was severed.
Shouts of surprise  and the warriors dropped back.
	Sekher swung wildly and one-handed,  trying to keep
them  at bay as he hopped around working the chain loose,
finally kicking it  off  and finding himself staring at the recurved
tines  of  a heavy  crossbow  held in the grasp of a  very
competent  looking male.
	Wearing a heavy roadcoat.
	Panting  hard  Sekher  blinked and  looked  around.  He
was surrounded,  but  none  of  them  were  dressed  in  Rim
armour. Mismatched armour and weaponry; all looking very used.
	"You're Wanderers!" he heaved between breaths.
	There were other weapons out by now. By the firelight
Sekher could see two of them bore small darters,  doubtlessly
poisoned. There  were grins.  The one carrying the crossbow drew
his  head back a fraction. "A. And who in all the hells are you?"
	Sekher  looked around at the weapons and warriors.
Four  of them,   but  they  were  Wanderers;  they  knew  what
they  were doing. "Ser.  Ser Kysi." He lied and glanced down at
the bodies  of the  Rim  troopers,   then  back  at  the  Wanderer
bearing  the crossbow. "Youre with them?"
	The  other  lowered the crossbow and studied him for  a
few beats before saying, "Were with them. Looks like our
contract's done."
	"Contract!" Sekher  snarled. "That's what you  call  it?!
Try murder for size! I saw what's happening at Tsuba!"
	The  other bared his teeth in return. "We had nothing  to
do with that lot.  Kissaki pays well, but we've got our honour.
Now, speaking  of  murder,   that's  an  interesting  blade  you
have there." He nudged a fragment of steel sword with a toe. "I've
never seen one that slices good steel before. Where'd you pick it
up?"
	Sekher tightened his grip.
	"Kenner,  see:  he's been shaved," one of the others
pointed out.
	"A,  I  noticed," Kenner replied. "That where?  You steal
it? Perhaps  it comes from the Temple?" He grinned and  gestured
with the crossbow, "Tell me, youngling: What's to stop me
skewering you here?"
	"I don't know," Sekher said even as his hand found the
bracelet's stud,  then Kenner howled and clutched at his arm as
flame flicked across his fur and sparks flew from the crossbow.
The lefthand crosspiece was cut in two, the tension snapping it
back with a whiplash that just missed the Wanderer's face as he
dropped the weapon.
	The  others had reacted in confusion:  freezing in place
or flinging their arms up at the flash.  Anyway,  whatever they did,
it  gave  Sekher time to lay his sword at  Kenner's  throat.  The
Wanderer  struggled briefly until he felt the edge   cut  through
his hide and spots of blood bead on his fur.  There was a
blackrimmed  gash  burned through the Wanderer's shoulder  and
Sekher could  feel  his heart racing as he scrambled around
behind  the Wanderer  with  his sword still at his throat and
hissed  in  his ear, "How about this for starters."
	The  others shifted in dismay at this turn of  event.  "He's
Godburned GIFTED!" one of the others hissed.
	"Drop the weapons," Sekher growled. "Drop them! Tell
them!"
	"A," Kenner gestured to his companions. "Do it."
	There was hesitation, then they did it.
	"All right," Sekher gasped.  Gods,  he was tired. "Now,  I
don't have an argument with you. . . "
	"Sekher Che."
	"What?!" He started. Kenner made a choking noise as
the blade bit  a  little  deeper  and a  whiff  of  fear  reached
Sekher's nostrils.  Gods  knew his own was strong enough to be
smelt  all around the campsite. He looked to see who'd spoken.
	"Sekher  Che." A  wanderer in leather kilt and  cuirass
worn atop  a  tunic stepped forward to stare at  him. "He  matches
the descriptions.  The  Rimmers  are  baying  for  him.  I  heard  he
destroyed  half the palace at Jai'stra,  along with about  thirty
battlegroups. That's why they came down on Che so hard."
	Sekher growled.
	"That true?"Kenner choked out. "You got a reason to
be. . . " He cut  off with a gasp as Sekher twitched the sword.  It
would  be less than a fingerbreadth before the blade cut arteries.
	"I  don't  have  any argument  with  you," Sekher  hissed
to the group. "Now, just move back. I'm taking your friend here for
a walk."
	There were low growls.
	"When I'm away he'll be released."
	Sekher  eased up on the sword a little;  enough to  let
the Wanderer walk, then directed him off into the darkness, away
from the fire and his shen. He'd circle around later.
	"You got nerve,  youngling," Kenner grated. "Either that
or  a deathwish."
	"Huh!" Panting hard,  Sekher glanced back at the
campsite, he could  see  them through the  trees.  Still  there;
They  hadn't followed.
	"You're good, but you didn't kill off thirty battlegroups."
	Sekher grinned. "Nah,  it was only twenty.  And it wasn't
me who killed them."
	"Who then?"
	"Keep going."
	Kenner stumbled a little.  The burn on his arm was
beginning to bleed. "All right. I wouldn't mind meeting him."
	"We went different ways."
	"A."
	"Here," Sekher stopped the other and moved away.
"Now;  Get down, bite the dirt."
	Kenner  lowered to a crouch and hesitated. "You know
we  can track you down easily enough if we want to."
	That made Sekher pause. "I told you I've got no
problems with Wanderers.  I  could have killed you earlier.  I could
kill  you now. . . "
	"But you aren't going to,"Kenner finished."Look, you're
Che. Che is gone;  no more. Where you going now? Aski says the
Rimmers are looking for you. He usually knows what he's talking
about."
	Sekher  stared  at the Wanderer. "What in the hells  are
you talking about?!"
	"Where do you think WE come from?!" Kenner
demanded. "Most  of us are clanless or outcasts.  Sekher. . . Ser. . .
whatever you want to be called, don't you just want to talk about
it?"
	"About. . . " Sekher stepped back in confusion,  then the
light dawned. "You are asking me to JOIN you?!"
	"A."
	Sekher stared.
	"Youngling,  you look like a good fighter,  but I don't
see you as the sort who's going to survive on his own.  I'm
offering you a chance here. You willing to talk about it?"
	Sekher realised he was still staring. He looked at the
sword in his hand, then at Kenner: "Uh. . . "
	"You have my word nothing will happen to you if you
agree to talk."
	What?!   This  was  not  what  Sekher  had  been
expecting. Wanderers. . . how the hells did one handle this?!  The
fine tip  of the  sword  wavered,  then lowered. "All right," he said
in  a  small voice.
	"Excellent." Kenner grinned at him,  then called  out,
"Right! He's going to talk!"
	"Great!" someone  shouted back. "And is he going to
put  that sword away too?"
	Sekher stared out into the darkness and saw nothing but
the outlines of trees and bushes.  Grudgingly,  he slipped the
sword back into the sheath.
	Undergrowth   rustled  slightly  and  two  other
Wanderers materialised  from the darkness,  the darters in their
hands  not quite pointed at him.

--\o/--

	"Drink?"
	Sekher  stared at the wineskin but made no move to take
it. The  Wanderer  chuckled  and took a sip himself  and  offered  it
again.
	"Thanks," Sekher  said.  It was wine;  not very good
wine  - bitter and with an undertone of the skin's own leather - but
wine nevertheless.  He  drank,  wiped a forearm across his  mouth
and passed it back. Still, he couldn't feel comfortable here. Why
the hells did they want him?
	Altruism was something he didn't entirely trust.
	Two of the Wanderers,  two named Diksi and Veydiu,
had drawn the  short  straws.  They were out disposing of the
Rim  bodies. Kenner  was grimacing as the one called Aski
wrapped  a  poultice around  the burn on his arm.  He was  older,
considerably  older than Sekher,  with touches of silver creeping
into his ruff. More heavily built,  with the worn fur and callouses
on his hands that betrayed  long familiarity with a sword.  The
scorch mark was  an angry  black  and  red  streak  against  the
bronzed  fur  of  a highlander. "Ah!" his heavy face wrinkled at
sudden pain.
	"Hold still," Aski growled. He was a slightly built
Trenalbi, with  a most unusual roadcoat:  It seemed to be lined
completely with pouches.  All the medicines and dressing Aski
was using came from his coat.
	"Easy for you to speak!" Kenner muttered. "You know,
Che. . .
	"Kysi. Ser Kysi."
	"Probably  a good idea," Kenner  grinned. "Alright  then,
Ser Kysi it is. As I was saying: you're pretty good with a sword,
but not  quite good enough to fight your way out of  Jai'stra.
How'd you do it?"
	"I told you, that wasn't my doing."
	"A. Your friend. He's a better swordsman, is he? Good
enough to take on thirty. . . "
	"Twenty."
	"Twenty  battlegroups.  I would really like to meet such
a virtuoso with a sword. Who is he?"
	"A daemon."
	The  Wanderers  stared,  then Aski coughed. "You did
say a daemon?"
	"A. That's right."
	They exchanged glances. "Look,  if you don't want to tell
us, that's your business."
	"Then how would you explain this?" Sekher asked,
patting the alien sword's sheath.
	"I don't know," Kenner  confessed, then pointed  at  the
sword, "May I?"
	Sekher didn't move.
	"You have my word you will get it back. I am quite
satisfied with my own blade, thank you."
	The youth scowled, then handed it over. The Wanderer
examined the craftmanship closely,  turning both sword and
sheath over  in his   hands.   He  used  a  claw  to  trace  out   the
stylised lightbringer on the pommel.
	"Don't  touch  the  blade," Sekher  warned. "It'll  take
your finger off before you know it."
	"A." Kenner  acknowledged the warning. "I've never
seen  work like this before. Aski? Your opinion?"
	Aski  took  the sword and squinted at it, then produced a
small bundle  of  black cloth  from  the depths of his coat and
unwrapped a  small  glass disk. He squinted at the sword through
it.
	Sekher's curiosity was piqued. "What's that?"
	"Some gadget he picked up from some of his
associates," Kenner replied. "Makes small things look bigger."
That might have been astonishing.  Might have been.  Once; a
few moons ago.  Now Sekher had seen things that made tricks
such as that resemble cublin games.  Kenner may have noticed his
lack of surprise, but he didn't comment.
	Aski  concluded his scrutiny. "This is new to  me.  It's
not steel. . . and  the  craftmanship;   I've  seen  work  that's more
intricate and fiddly,  but nothing like this style." He hissed and
passed the sword back, "It's a new one to me.  This daemon
you're talking about: tell us more about it."
	And Sekher hesitated, looking from Wanderer to
Wanderer. "You worked for the Ch'sty Rim.  You start asking
questions. . . " He took a deep breath, "How the hells do I know
you won't turn me over."
	"Sek. . . Ser," Kenner  leaned  forward. "Do  you  know
anything about Wanderers?"
	"A little. You're mercenary. You work for whoever pays. .
. "
	"Huh!" Kenner scratched his muzzle. "You know what
you've been told,  and that's not a whole lot.  Look, we're an old
affiliate, almost  as old as the Priesthood.  You could say we're
almost  a clan in ourselves, and we look after our own."
	"Then  why  me?" Sekher asked. "We draw blood trying
to  kill each other, then you go and ask me to join you. Why
should I?"
	"You  need us more than we need  you," Kenner
grinned. "Trust me, youngling, I've got a good sense about these
things."
	"True," Aski agreed.
	"Yeah,  thanks.  Anyway,  the  way  you go  charging
around attacking  Rim  soldiers,  you're not going to  last  long
doing that."
	"I think I did alright."
	"They were conscripts. If they'd been a bevy of royal
guards or  veterans  you'd  be  walking  with  your  ancestors.
Listen, youngling:  you're  own your own.  You've lost your entire
clan. Where else are you going to go?
	"We all saw you fighting,  and I reckon you've got
promise. You  had a good teacher,  whoever it was showed you
the spit  and polish approach,  not a foot wrong,  but no
imagination. Clanless and inexperienced, I doubt you'd last long.
I'm just offering you a chance to live."
	Clanless.  Those were cold words.  Sekher shuddered
and drew his kness up,  hugging them as he looked to the pale
orbs of  the daughters  swinging through the night sky.  How
could he be  sure this was the truth?  There was always the
chance that Kenner  was lying,  simply intending to hand Sekher
over to Rim forces at the first opportune moment.  But. . . he
seemed sincere enough,  and  he was - Sekher considered -
probably right: He'd never been outside Che before; what did he
know of the world? How could he last? was he  sure he wanted
to?  What was there ahead?  Nothing  but  more running. Home
was something he no longer had. . .
	Yet there was Chaiila. There was a female who had
marked him as her own and carried his seed. That was something
to aim for.
	Slowly  he clenched and unclenched his  fist,  watching
the stubs  of  his claws sliding in and out of  his  fingertips.  Why
weren't they growing back?  "All right," he said, not looking at the
Wanderers. "Alright. I understand. Well, you wanted to know."
	So Sekher told his tale,  from the K'streth campaign
onwards to this moment.  However,  it was a carefully edited
version:  He made no mention of Seth'Nai's origins and people,
nor his  metal vessel.  He never named Chaiila or Nersi, or even
mentioned their sex.  In fact if Sekher had heard this story from
someone  else's mouth, he'd have never recognised it as part of
his own life.
	Still,   Kenner  and  Aski  listened,  quietly.  There  were
doubts, Sekher could see that, but they kept their questions. . . at
least until he'd finished.
	"And  did  this daemon also have something to do  with
your Gift?" Aski asked.
	"A."
	Kenner  glanced  at Aski.  The slight  Wanderer  rubbed
his jaw. "Huh!  I've  heard of Trenalbi finding themselves  Gifted
as they grow older,  but I've never heard of anyone actually
meeting his benefactor."
	"But  it  didn't  do  anything  to  help  my  people,"
Sekher growled.
	Kenner  touched  the  bandages on  his  arm  and
grinned. "I wouldn't  complain.  It doesn't seem that useless.  That
was  an excellent crossbow you ruined."
	"But  he  could have. . . he could  have  stopped  them."
Sekher turned  to  stare in the direction of  Tsuba. . . what
remained  of Tsuba. Blood scented metallic as his nostrils flared.
	"Youngling," Kenner spoke, his words slow and
measured. "Look, that's  behind  you.  It's gone.  What can you
hope  to  do?  one against  the Ch'sty,  a hero appearing to save
the  clan. . . Kysi, don't make a fool of yourself."
	Sekher started to snarl,  caught himself.  Wasn't that
what he'd   been  told  before?	Rush  in  and  carry  the day
to triumph. . . That time by a female.  Huh, perhaps it was some
advice he could take. He sagged. "A."
	There  were  voices approaching,  the  other  two
Wanderers returning  from disposing of the Rim corpses.  Kenner
glanced  in that direction. "All right.  You've got a shen
somewhere. Yes? Well, you may as well bring it in then get some
rest. We leave at first light."
	"Where?"
	Kenner  shrugged."Well,  for  starters  we get  out  of
Rim territory, then. . . Well, the world's a big place."
	A,  Sekher thought to himself,  bigger than you can
imagine. Alright, for now he'd trust them. Fool that he was. . .

--\o/--

	Could they trust him?
	He was a strange one, that youngling. What else could
he be? Charging  a Rim patrol; his sword; that Gift. . .   What
about  that story of meeting a daemon. . . Huh! He seemed all
right, but there was perhaps that chance that he wasn't entirely
sane.  It wouldn't be altogether surprising,  after losing his clan,
his entire  land, then going through a term in the dungeons in
Jai'stra.  That sort of ordeal would be enough to loosen anyone's
hold.
	Kenner touched his burn wound.  Then again there was
that.  That and the sword did corroborate his story.  The
youngling had shown skill with his blade;  also restraint. He had
known when to stop, when to listen,  and when to talk.  There was
something there  he could work with.
	Huh!  Kenner  shifted  the  reigns  and  squinted  into
the windblown dust. The Che youth was riding before him,
hunched down into  a cloak that seemed far too thin to offer
much  protection against the westerly - straight off the Ramparts.
It had been  a long time since he had had an apprentice.  The last
one,  now  he had been quite good,  but still foolhardy and unable
to hold  his liquor. The last Kenner had heard he had gotten
himself killed in a tavern brawl. A tavern brawl for godsakes!
	Still,  he'd been the same way himself.  Once. How long
ago? Gods!  That long?  He shuddered.  Growing old was
something  he'd never liked thinking about. It just snuck up on
you, never giving you a chance to face it. Worst of all, there
would come a time he would be too old for this kind of travelling,
but the thought of being relegated to rotting in the confines of a
town, freezing to death slowly in an attic somewhere,  that
brought a bad taste  to the mouth. He coughed quietly in disgust.
	Yet,  there was still time. He had a couple of decades left.
Eventually,   he  would  find  something  more   dignified.
	For now. . . there was some teaching to be done.

--\o/--

	Elsewhere:
	The river was a sparkling blue ribbon along the green
floor of  the alpine valley,  almost metallic as it glittered in patches
of sunlight pushing through the clouds. On either side the
mountains rose:  forest  rising to rock climbing higher to
snowbound  peaks that buried their heads in a ceiling of shifting
clouds.
	Animals  moved  in  that  valley.   There  were  the   small
herbivores   and   scavengers  and  hunters  scuttling   in
	the undergrowth, hiding from the larger predators who
occasioned down from the heights. There were things analogous
to fish in the river. Christo only knew how  they  came  to be
there;  perhaps  through  an  underground channel. Perhaps
they'd been there since the mountains raised themselves from the
oceans.
	From  a distance none of that was apparent.  There was
just the mountain valley.
	Hayes  perched himself upon a sun-warmed outcropping
of  red rock  high in the northern end of the valley and just
watched  it all.  Before  him the sheer drop fell away for more than
seventy metres.  Beyond that,  behind him,  all around,  the sea of
dark green  twisted leaves of countless trees rustled in the
shifting air.  The  brilliant  yellow,  work-scarred metal  frame  of
the loading  waldo waiting beneath a nearby tree didn't fit  here  at
all.  Nevertheless, no matter how motionless the machine may
have appeared, the sensor cluster inside the chassis cage never
ceased its survey of the surroundings.
	This  place  was so different from the vast openess  of
the plains;  so much greener and. . . vertical.  Hayes had never
seen so many  trees  in  one  place in all  his  life.  There  were
some agrohabs that had parks set aside, several hundred square
kays of 'wild'  terran flora and fauna.  One could find a high  spot
and watch  it spreading out along the curve of the horizon until
the green vanished beyond the blue of the projected 'sky'.  But
they couldn't compete with this.
	And there were no natives here.
	That was something Hayes had made absolutely sure of.
Drones had scoured the valley from end to  end.  Thermal,  IR,
Kirlian, EMR,  ECG,  enhancement,  contrast,  seismic. . . none of
the  sensors had uncovered anything,  either natives nor their
artifacts.  If they had been hiding, there would have been some
trace.
	There  was  little doubt that if there  had  been
something intelligent here,  it would have seen him arrive.  A black
scar, seven-hundred metres long, was burned into the
mountainside where trees had been vaporised by plasma.  This
landing had been better than  the last,  but still the module had
taken  damage.  At  the moment  it  was  further up the
moutainside,  perched  drunkenly  on  damaged landing  jacks and
looming over the trees like a  gigantic  white glacier.
	The flight had been little more than a hop, but getting
that mass   airborne   had  taken  power.   A  lot   of   power.   The
superconducting  accelerators  for  the  Aggies  chewed   through
megawatts  while the plasma engines did the same to  reserves  of
both  solid and ionised fuel.  Running systems like that  from  a
single PCU was like trying to run a firehose from a  bathtub.
	"9.056   percent   remaining   before   reaction	mass is
insufficient to sustain PCU core. Shutdown will be initialised at .26
percent."
	Hayes sighed helplessly and pinched the bridge of his
nose. "How long?"
	The  vaguely gorrila-shaped machine couldn't  shrug.
"At  minimum consumption, a estimated minimum of thirteen
months."
	"Burn it! And with repairs?"
	"Four months. And I do not have the onboard facilities
to fully repair the  number  three and seven extensors in landing
jack  three  or realign  structural  bulkheads in the  starboard
services  pods. Lifesupport  filter  units 69  percent  operational.
Rebreather service pods damaged. . . "
	Hayes  propped his chin in his hands and listened
morosely. The list went on.
	Jeet! But that last hop had been necessary! What else
was he supposed to do? Sit around and wait for those fuzznuts to
catch up to him?  Then what? Sit around and wait while they tried
to  crack  his shell.  They wouldn't even have anything  able  to
breech  the  outer hull!  Hordes of them trying to burn  him  out
while their bogus priests pulled their parlour tricks. What then?
Perhaps turn one of the module's KK cannon on them?  A burn
from the engines?
	He raked his fingers through his hair.  Who'd have
believed it?  The  first terra type world;  inhabited!  To beat  that,
by things  that  looked more like two-legged hairy wolves  than
people.  He'd  never thought  to  scan for a pre-industrial society
without  even  the most basic filament lighting,  their small towns
built from stone and wood, not much agriculture for a primarily
carniverous species. They ate their meat raw, RAW for Christo's
sake! Go out and kill something and eat it while it was still warm!
Eating  a meal  with them was something you wouldn't forget
quickly.  When they  stood close you tended to remember  that,
especially  when they chose to grin.
	And  it was stranger yet that he found he had come  to
call some  of the friends.  He still wasn't sure of their  real  names,
he could only hear them as a squeaking and trilling tickling the
upper edges of his hearing. Their language was pronounceable if
lowered into a range audible to humans,  but he'd been making do
entirely with  software and electronics,  splicing  code-crackers
and translation lexicons and algorithms together in an  operating
shell.  It worked,  and the software learned a great deal  faster than
he could and never forgot,  but there were times he felt the
machine didn't really convey what he was really trying to say.
	Such as that night he'd woken up to find a hairy body in
his bed.
	That still confused him.  They had talked,  but what she
had wanted. . . it was also what he had wanted.  And that was
physically impossible.  He had liked her,  she had been openly
friendly. The talks  they'd  had told him so much about their
society  and  the natives themselves; the Trenalbi.
	She  had been related to the other feamle in some way,
the dark  one  with the volatile temper.  What did he think  of  her?
Hayes wasn't too sure. As first impressions went, she came
across as abrasive as a sandblaster. She was stubborn, vicious,
touchy, and intolerant,  but  she'd managed to trick her way into a
frigging castle,  she  was  perhaps overly protective of  Nersi,  and
her affection  and trust for Sekher was obvious  enough.  Perhaps
it took some searching, but there was enough there to like.
	And then there was Sekher,  that other one he called
friend,  the one who'd scared  him spitless in the cage,  also the
first who'd begun  to treat him as something more than an animal.
He wasn't the convict Hayes had first thought him. A political
prisoner, Nersi had told him.  The son of the king of one of the
dozens of small provinces the  crater was fragmented into,  to be
used as a hostage in  the coming war.
	Murphy,  but he'd had a good run, Hayes sighed.
Contact with pre-industrial  cultures  prohibited and he'd gone so
far  as  to detonate  a PCU,  killing hundreds of them.  Sekher's
appeal  for help was something he'd hoped would never come,
but it did,  and when it came,  there was nothing he could do but
refuse.  Things had already gone too far.
	Hayes  picked up a fallen stick and twirled it idly
between his fingers.  Shit!  He hoped Sekher would make it home
all right. There was nothing he could have done for him. He
swung the stick, then  began  breaking small pieces off and
flicking  them  away, watching as they spun away over the cliff.
Now, he was following regs,  and  where did that get him?  A
damaged ship on  its  last ergs.
	Another piece sailed down.
	Now?  Power was ebbing all the time.  His lifesupport
relied on  that,  food and atmosphere recycling,  also  the
maintenance systems,  computer,  comms.  After lifesupport went
he'd be  onto ratcakes; maintenance down and the servo's would
run on batteries for  a  time,  then  grind to a  halt.  Pan. . . the
computer  had fission  power  cells  capable  of  keeping  the
system  up  for centuries,  but the scanners and auxilieries that
gave the system its  power would be crippled.  The gravitic links
with  the  main body of the miner would fail.  Before that
happened he'd have  to upload a copy OS,  control systems,  and
relevant addresses to  a tempcore in the mainship. Once
communications were reduced to the timelag  and distortion of
old-style EM pulses,  it would be  the only  way  the  mainship
and  factories out in the belts could  continue their work on
replacement modules.   When maintenance died the servos would
stop;  any damage in the module or  equipment would have to be
repaired by hand.  Not  easy.  The human   body  wasn't  designed
to  squeez  into   conduits	ten centimetres across.
	He  flicked  another twig over the edge.  Was  there  a
way around  this?  With  the juice left,  there was no way  to  build
another  reactor.  Sia!  but  he couldn't even  depend  on  solar
panels. What?
	"First,  what  have you got on supplementary energy
sources? Something that can be used downside. Non-emitting,
passive, non-polluting."
	"Searching. . . Entries   found  under   library,   historical:
Hydroelectric,  fossil-fuels  including natural  gas,  windpower,
tidal power,  geothermal,  and solar.  Is there a particular item you
had in mind?"
	"Ah. . . What   would  be  most  effective  in  this  sort
of environment?"
	"More  geographical  data  is required  before  an
accurate recommendation  can  be made.  On existing  information
possible suggestions   are  windpowered  generators,   solar
collectors, hydroelectric and possibly geothermal."
	"Hydro,  huh?"  Hayes gazed thoughtfully at the
river."What would that take?"
	"A  full survey of the watercourse to find a suitable  site.
The  resources  involved depend upon the  location.  An  estimate
based on optimum conditions downloaded to matrix now."
	Hayes flicked the matrix display on and scanned the
listing on  the projected screen.  Murphy!  Most likely types
looked  to be  either  the  arch  or butress  dam.  Core  samples  for
soil analysis.  Steel  and plascrete into the kilotonnes.  Servos
and heavy  waldos by the dozen.  Construction of  a  cofferdam,
high capacity pumps. . . Perhaps that could be circumvented.
Provided the current  wasn't too powerful plascrete and
compressed rock  could be worked underwater.  That would mean
ensuring the machinery was waterproof. Then there were the
spillways, generators. . .
	And in damming the river,  what would that do to the
valley? Put that on hold for the time.
	There  were more problems with  windpower.  Namely,
finding enough   square  acerage  where  windmills  could   be
erected.
	Geothermal power, now that had possibilities. There were
hot springs in the valley.  They had a source.  Perhaps that could
be harnessed. Steam turbines were ancient, but they produced
power. For  a long time Hayes sat muttering to himself and  staring
into the middle distance,  completely lost in thought.  When  the
inspiration  came,  he could have kicked himself for  not  having
though of it earlier.
	"Dammit! First, what about the exchangers in the PCU!"
	The  AI hesitated,  then did its best to answer,"Thirty
two Cromwell carbon-rhenium exchange envelopes each
generating. . . "
	He  waved that aside as he scrambled to his feet  and
began pacing  on  the rock.  "Yeah!  I know all  that!  You  know
what temperatures they can take?"
	"Recommended operating temperature is 1500 c,  but
they  can withstand temperatures up to approximately 3700 c."
	"So suppose you were to use a,  say. . . R-19 worm, fit it
with the  exchangers,  then bore down through the crust until you
hit magma. How would that compare with the PCU?"
	"Theoretically,  the idea is feasible.  However, there
could be technical difficulties aside from the heat.  Pressure  and
moving rock might cause damage.  If enough magma congealed
around the exchangers it could degrade performance and cause
damage."
	Hayes  shrugged. "Shielding and reduced  friction
treatments should  do  it.  The grounds not going to move that
much in a year. It's  been  done  before  on  Terra.  Check  the
references, then get to work."
	"Acknowledged," the AI responded.
	Hayes  turned  to  watch the valley again.  A  trio  of  the
featherless alien birds were circling the treetops like miniature
aircraft.  If  they were calling it was in the auditory range  of
everything else on this world, he couldn't hear them. Christo, if he
screwed up and turned this mountain into a volcano quite a few
people were going to be blowing blood vessels.
	Hah!  What did one volcano matter;  he already had
enough on record  to get the 'crats and contact specialists  ripping
their hair. He'd be lucky if they contented themselves with
dumping his licence,  slamming him in some forsaken refinery
orbiting an iceball somewhere and melting down the key.  Again,
HAH! Grinning, he kicked at a stone, sending it clattering down
the cliff.

--\o/--

	Pale walls of sand-colored stone encircled the town.
Behind it,  the sluggish brown snake of the Mestrie river wound
through the plains,  the colors of the crop fields along its banks
like a crazypatch blanket in earthen tones.  Dust hung in choking
clouds above the road as a steady supply of wagons,  shen,  and
Trenalbi on  foot  braved  the summer heat.  The bright  colors  of
their clothes and the tassles of their animals and wagons were
travelstained but still stood out cheerfully against the golden
sienna of sun-bleached grasses. Festival time; outlying farms
journeying to town to sell their wares, socialize and join the
festivities.
	Tenada.  Not a large town;  an outpost at the peripheries
of the Soli Clan holdings, a realm itself at the western edge of the
world, several kingdoms removed from Ch'sty lands.
	Perhaps here.
	Chenuk  hitched up his carrybag and started walking
down  to the road. His shen was gone, sold. Now a sword hung
from his hip. It wasn't much:  bronze,  no embelishments, but it
was almost all his  silver.  His  food was gone,  he hadn't been able
to  catch anything over the past couple of days.  The coppers in
his  purse would buy a modest meal this night,  but no more.  He
would spend the  night. . . somewhere;   a  disused  attic,   under
the  walls, somewhere.
	Festival time.  Would there be work here?  Perhaps the
Watch would be desperate enough to take him on.  He had been
practising -  wrong  handed he could make himself look
dangerous  with  the sword, but was it enough?
	His  stomach growled.  With a sigh he hitched his bag
again and wondered if someone would offer him a ride.


--\o/--


To be continued



eventually...