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...