Paradigm Clutch

Prologue

 

She stalks as the night. Neither sense born of flesh nor mind betrays her. But for the moment of the kill, she is not there.

The scent of food makes her tendrils twitch. In the glade beyond, a herd has settled for the night. She smells their sated lethargy, knows they have spent the day grazing the new growth. Even the protectors of the herd are lulled by their full stomachs.

She glides around the edges of the clearing, taking her time to survey the herd. Hunger moves in her own gut, but she is patient. In her mind she has hunted like this since the first of her kind woke to awareness’ spark. All their memories live in her, their skills and knowledge gained through generations of living and hunting. So it is as if she has hunted since the world began.

The herd is sleepy, but not stupid. The young and the fertile females who are the herd’s future are safe behind the protectors. The protectors themselves are mature, mostly males but also some females who are past their breeding years. Their scars testify to the price they have paid for their role in the herd.

She could kill any of them. That certainty sleeps comfortably in her mind. But to do so is not part of the pattern. Right and wrong do not exist. There is a way things are done. Their role is to eat, breed, keep the plants under control, and provide her with food. Hers is to help keep their herd strong, alert, and to a reasonable size. The pattern works because everything plays its part. No malice passes between they and the living plants they eat, nor does any live between she and them for what she is about to do.

There. Among the protectors is an older male. Like the others he is strong and scarred, but some of his marks are fresher. He has lost more fights of late than he has won. The others know his prime is past, because the male and female flanking him stand a little closer than the rest. They are not protecting him. They know he will fall first when the herd is attacked, and are ready to close the hole his death will leave. He is the herd’s gift to her.

Before a predator less than herself, the herd’s torpor would be deadly. A more rapacious and wasteful hunter could break the protectors’ rank and be among the young and breeders. The herd would suffer losses that would be long to repair, if ever. They must be warned.

She could take the old male so quickly and silently, the rest would know only that he was gone but not how. That might wake them, or not. She does not deal in possibilities. She will remind them to pay attention.

She coughs a threat as she bursts from the trees, deliberately exhaling in their direction. They see, hear, and smell her. Likewise she does not kill the old male right off, but allows him time enough for a terrified bray. They know she has him, and that it could have been any of them. The young scream, the breeders bray, and the protectors bark futile warnings. She lets them see her a moment more, the old male in her jaws. Then she is gone.

They will remember, she knows. They will not let full bellies make them lazy again. They will be stronger, and even their weakest and oldest will be better food for her. Thus she helps them, and by doing so helps herself. Such is the way things are.

 

Before I Sleep

 

“I’ll not be long,” Zed promised, hugging Jonnal. “I have some promises to keep Earthside, that’s all.”

“The ascension is in four days,” Jonnal reminded her, squeezing back. “And our wedding only three days after.”

“The Ladies themselves could not keep me away!” Zed declared as they disengaged. “Now, go. You both have a lot of work to do!” She shot a stern glare at him, but couldn’t restrain the quirk at one corner of her mouth.

Zed watched the green brilliance of the portal whisk away Lord Jonnal Shad and his new Promised, Lady Melia Shayl. She grimaced slightly at the slight knotting of her gut as the hole in time-space opened and shut.

Amazing, she thought. A week ago, I’d have sworn nothing mattered as much as spending the rest of my life with Jonnal. Funny how a little thing like being shot in the face and brought back from the dead can change your perspective! Both of us took the other into a world we’d never known, and for two years the only things that mattered were each other, Bolt, and finding that damn bird. But it was never really each other we loved, not that way. He’s been her only love since they were kids, and she’s just what he needs, too. Ladies smiled on them, that they realized that.

A small knot of onlookers stood by, whether drawn by interest in the farewells, or the presence of a being as legendary as a Phoenix-Touched. She snorted in irritation at the latter idea, as well as the knowledge that she could fathom their motivations effortlessly, with just the slightest relaxation of her own shields. She wanted to grab them, shake them, and scream in their faces, “It’s just me! I’m nobody special!” Damn it, Tethwyn, she grouched silently. You should have asked me first. Even if you knew what I’d say, you should’ve asked! And you should have warned me about him!

As if in response to the last sentiment, Nicholas appeared at her elbow. “Done?” he asked simply.

She nodded. “Aye.”

“Good,” he said. “I thought they’d never leave!”

Zed blinked and looked at Nicholas. His grin betrayed the joke of the sentiment, as did the corresponding amusement in his thoughts. She couldn’t help grinning back. Even more than his physical proximity, Nicholas was a persistent presence in her mind, a bottomless reservoir of cool, relaxing blue. Her twin brother, he was literally the other half of her soul. Zed knew she could dive into those azure depths and be lost to the world, hidden from the cacophony that raged outside her head, her own power soothed from its constant push to plumb the universe’s whorls and eddies.

No, she denied the temptation. I spent sixteen years benefiting from his abilities. Then for twelve more I learned to get by on my own. I’m not going to start depending on him again!

Together they turned, and walked toward Morphy’s sleek maroon bulk. The smooth cobbles of Rock Bend’s central square still had gaps here and there, testament to the ravages of a vampire horde that had overrun the town two days ago. Zed had missed the battle to destroy the ghouls, and was sorry for that. She didn’t seek out combat as a general rule, but neither did she shrink from it. No denying it, she told herself. It’s a heady rush in a fierce battle, moreso to be standing at the end. I just can’t stand the idea that Nicholas and Jonnal went against those things without me along to protect them!

Bolt stood casually next to Morphy, resting one elbow on the vehicle’s roof. “Right. Where’re we goin’?” he asked, grinning.

Zed’s smile widened even more. No matter how bad things got, it was impossible to stay depressed with the irrepressible Tantareli around. Mentor, partner, almost lover, best friend, a’ivshien – family of the soul – the goofy giant centaur had helped fill and heal the hole torn in Zed’s spirit during the years she and Nicholas had been apart. He’s my brother by spirit as much as Nicholas is by blood, she thought. Now they were both back in her life, she felt such an overload of goodwill and support, it made her dizzy. Good thing he’s staying here, she thought. Ladies help me if the two of them ever get together!

She shook her head at him. “No, Pony,” she told him. “Earthside’s no place for you, even for a little while.”

“Why not?” Bolt challenged. “It made you, an’ him.” He waved a massive hand at Nicholas. “Place can’t be all bad!”

“You wouldn’t fit in,” Zed persisted.

“Would too!” Bolt argued. “Yer brother’s been tellin’ me about it. Thing happened ten years back, same time as the Rifts! Made lots of it kinda like Shenn, includin’ some people. There’s even centaurs there now!”

Zed glared at Nicholas, who spread his hands defensively. “I just answered questions,” he assured her.

“I can speak the language, too!” Bolt added, saying the words in English.

“Just tell them he’s from Canada,” Nicholas quipped.

“You’re not helping!” Zed rebuked her brother, kicking him in the shin.

Zed had to concede that her memories of her birthworld were more than a decade out of date, so she might not be the best judge of that criterion. Still, her instincts rebelled against the idea of Bolt on Earth. She searched for a justification for that feeling, and realized that Bolt was leaning against Morphy’s roof. “Maybe,” she allowed. “But how are you going to get inside?” She pointed at Morphy’s door, which was obviously intended to accommodate only human-sized passengers.

Bolt’s ears, shoulders, and tail drooped. His arms dropped to his sides as he looked at the door. “Meh,” he muttered, frowning and turning away. “Whistler all over again. Pony’s always too big.”

Zed’s heart suddenly tore at his words. Whistler was the mountain where they had seen each other last. Where I died, she amended. Their farewell replayed in her mind, and suddenly she saw into Bolt’s memories of the days that followed. His world shattered, she realized, and was ashamed she hadn’t thought of it before now. He lost everybody that mattered to him at one time, never knowing how it happened, all because he couldn’t fit into those passages. And I should go lay in the yard like the turd I am, for teasing him about it.

She bounded forward and leaped, catching his harness and dragging herself up with practiced ease, until her face was level with his. She tapped his forehead and locked her molten gold eyes on his mismatched ones, no jest in her manner.

“You’re right,” she told him. “And I’d love to show you. If there were any way to get you in there –“

A loud, mechanical whir blared from Morphy, overriding Zed’s words. Bolt leaped to one side and landed with his hooves apart, ready to sprint in any direction, if not several at once. Reacting reflexively to his motion, Zed shifted her grip on his harness and swung herself counter to the direction of his jump. The motion was as smooth and practiced as any Olympic exhibition, ending with her standing on Bolt’s barrel, just behind his torso, hands now looped through handholds in the back of his harness.

Nicholas started and stared. His attention was torn between Zed’s gymnastic demonstration, and the cause of the noise coming from Morphy. A full third of the RV’s hull split in two sections, bottom and top. The top section hinged up and back, folding onto itself, while the bottom further divided into stairs. The resulting entrance gave directly onto Morphy’s spacious main salon, and was more than adequate passage for the giant centaur.

In the salon stood Nathan St. John, partner and friend to Nicholas as Bolt was to Zed. The stormcloud-haired Ausin had obviously been at his leisure, shirtless and sipping from a steaming mug. Now he stared, leystone-green eyes bugged, at the sudden alteration of their home. From his manner, one would think he’d been caught naked. That was halfway accurate, as he wore no shirt.

Bolt grinned. He twisted his torso completely around, and hugged Zed. “Y’had me goin’ there for a moment, Spoons!” he exclaimed happily. “Right, let’s get goin’ then!”

“By all means,” Nathan said, his attempt at grace belied by the slight crack in his voice. “Welcome aboard.”

Bolt eagerly trotted inside. Zed slid from his back, dropping the remaining distance with practiced ease. The Taranteli suddenly stopped and looked around. Then he turned around, and stepped back out into the square. He circumnavigated Morphy’s outer hull, coming back around to the gaping entrance, stepped inside again more gingerly, and stopped just inside. He bobbed his head back and forth between the outside and inside. Nathan and Nicholas understood his reaction, and were both able to regain some composure at the familiarity of it.

“It’s bigger on the inside!” Bolt proclaimed at last. Zed caught her brother and his partner both mouthing the statement as Bolt said it.

“Good thing, too,” Nathan said. “Or we’d all be very cramped on our trip back. Can I offer you a drink, Seeker Bolt?”

Bolt favored Nathan with a sidelong look, torn between suspicion of his surroundings, and the allure of a tasty beverage. “What you got?” he asked.

“What would you have?” Nathan replied, slipping comfortably into the role of host. “Morphy’s very versatile, in more than just access. Morphy! Do you have any Black Lake Ale on tap?”

“Of course, Nathan,” the smooth voice came from the walls, making Bolt start again. A panel slid aside in the salon table, and a keg-sized tankard hove into view.

Bolt’s nose twitched at the familiar oaty scent, his ears and tail perking up. He lifted the tankard, sniffed once, and cautiously sipped. Then his face split in a smile of surprised delight, and he tilted the huge container back. His first draught drained half the tankard. He licked his lips as he came up for air, then dumped the field pack which sat just forward of his rump, folded his legs underneath himself, and settled to the floor. “Y’know how t’make a body feel welcome,” he rumbled, and lifted the tankard to get the other half.

“Close up, Morphy,” Nicholas directed, smirking at Bolt’s obvious pleasure.

The roof and wall unfolded and rejoined, sealing as though there had never been a division. The salon ceiling rose as it closed, further accommodating Bolt’s proportions.

When were you going to tell me Morphy could do that? Nathan demanded mentally of Nicholas.

You found out the same moment I did, Nicholas replied. Our ride just got a lot more interesting. I’ll look into it as soon as we’re back.

Zed’s reaction to the demonstration was more succinct, silent, and directed not at her brother, his partner, or her best friend. Smartass.

Nicholas asked, “Morphy, do you need help to get us back to Earth?”

“Thank you for asking, Nicholas,” Morphy replied. “I have gathered extensive data from our last two passages. I believe I can proceed unassisted. Do you wish to monitor the procedure?”

“Yes, thank you!” Nicholas replied. Nathan and Zed both smiled at the familiar tone of excited interest in his voice. Then each of them saw the other’s expression, and from reflex exchanged glances. Nathan’s smile widened and changed as he looked at Zed. Instead of something shared, it became something directed at her.

Zed’s own smile froze. Her eyes widened and flashed briefly. Then she relaxed, nodded at Nathan in a friendly acknowledging way, then turned to Bolt and tsked. “Ladies love you, Pony!”

Bolt lowered the empty tankard and looked at her, absently licking the foam moustache from his upper lip. “Rrh?” he asked.

Zed flipped open Bolt’s field pack and rummaged briefly before coming up with a wide, flat, stiff brush. “I go away for a few days,” she scolded, expertly vaulting onto his barrel, “and you let your grooming go all to hell.”

“Oy, hold on!” Bolt cried indignantly. “Ye were dead, an’ I was fightin’ vampires!”

“You’ll need a better excuse than that,” she shot back, tugging the brush through his sun-bleached locks.

That was on the outside. Inside, Zed was thinking nononononoNO! Ladies no, not now, not him! How much did I give away?

Zed had been in love, had loved, before. There had been Jonnal, of course. Before him had been a fellow Seeker whom everybody had known only by the sobriquet of Chains. She’d had her the near-miss with Bolt. And while she’d still lived on Earth, there was a girl named Sabine, another gymnast from a competing school.

In each case, the relationship had followed the same progression. Strangers united by a common interest, they had become comrades, friends, best of friends, then that sweet thud in her chest. They had all ended differently, but every one had gone through the same steps.

Then she looked into those leystone-colored eyes, found her attention straying to those shoulders and chest, and exchanged what had started as a friendly smile at her brother’s eccentricity. Zed’s heart had skipped from Strangers straight to Sweet Thud.

It’s not supposed to happen like that!

Adding to the confusion of her first experience with Love at First Sight –Don’t call it that!– was consternation over how much she might have betrayed her reaction. Nathan had spent decades Earthside, but he was Arasidhe born and bred, adept at reading subtle clues of stance and expression as any highborn courtling.

Zed reviewed the details of her outward reaction as she tugged snarls from Bolt’s hair and mane. You might as well have batted your lashes and swooned at him! she rebuked herself.

“Transition,” Morphy announced.

Zed swooned.

 

A Mad Breed

 

Humans were in her woods.

She did not call them ‘humans,’ of course. She neither knew nor cared what label they gave themselves. To her, all things fell into three categories.

Trash.

Prey.

Threat.

Within those categories, everything was defined by its scent, sound, taste, and what experience had come from encountering it, throughout her kind’s history. Some might fall into one category or another, depending on how many of them there were.

‘Humans’ were annoying, because they defied easy categorization. They were small enough, soft enough, and slow enough to be Prey. That they used tools was not in itself a factor – many of her prey were tool-users, having been denied gifts such as she had.

But the tools they used! Most of them hurt, some of them even injured her. If she ever encountered enough of them at one time, they might actually kill her. And there lie the most troubling aspect of these things.

Sensible animals understood that when she killed one of them, that was according to the pattern of it all. They might move on, stay and be more careful, or offer her gifts of the weak to help strengthen themselves. But they always reacted the same way. Always according to the pattern.

Not these! They valued even their weak and stupid. When one of their young wandered off in defiance of all good sense, they would endanger themselves to find and retrieve the errant child. If one of them were killed or eaten, there was no predicting how the rest would react. They might accept the loss and do nothing. They might all leave. Perhaps they would stay and keep closer watch over their weak. Most annoying of all, they might decide to band together, tools in hand, and go hunting that which had killed one of them! As if losing one who was too stupid, slow, or old to escape were a challenge!

Worst, was that their reaction could not be predicted. If they had a pattern, it was so different one from what she understood that it might as well not exist. She had simplified things by concluding that they were all mad. Madness she understood. Mad things were to be avoided, because they did not fit the pattern.

As now. She crouched, silent as the stone beneath her, watching them pass. One of them stopped right before her and placed its hand on her snout, to balance itself while it worked a small stone out of one foot. Its scent marked it as female, young but ripe to breed. She was one of the local breed that lived near the ocean, on the other side of the moving forest.

The female had been carrying some of her own prey, which she had laid on the ground to tend to her discomfort. That tended to, she retrieved the bundle of carcasses and set off after the rest of her band, calling softly to them. In a few moments, they were all gone.

She was glad to have recognized the female’s breed. Those stayed within their own range, moved through the land like they were part of it, took only what they needed, and never, ever wandered off alone. They were the most intelligent of that mad race any of her kind had ever met.

 

Nicholas scrutinized the data flowing across the monitor display Morphy had obligingly opened before him. Reminder, he told himself absently. Figure out how Morphy makes these mid-air displays. Mostly though, his attention was caught by the process of interplanetary travel – not through the use of rockets and ballistic trajectories, but by passing from one quantum level to another.

Nathan busied himself covering a rebuffed, unintentional advance. Blast it all! he chastised himself. She’s just reconciled with her long-lost brother, and made peace with the lover that threw her over for his own childhood sweetheart! The last, absolute last thing she needs is an exiled vampire courtling, lolling his tongue at her!

Bolt was fascinated by the polished, logic-defying vehicle in which he rode, and the endless supply of the stout brew he’d had sworn came from Black Lake Valley’s own kegs. But he was still keenly aware of his favorite person in the world, brushing the tangles from his hair. Two worlds! he corrected himself happily, sucking the foam off his second tankard. Pony and Spoons, and all’s right in the universe!

By proximity and orientation then, it was no wonder that Bolt caught Zed when she fell. One arm looped out and backward, smoothly scooping her up as she toppled from his barrel. Both Nicholas and Nathan sprang at her groan, only to be rebuffed by a scowling mountain of muscle. Bolt’s head brushed the ceiling as he stood, Zed cradled in one arm, tankard in the other.

The standoff lasted only a moment. Then Bolt remembered that they held his partner’s well-being in as high regard as he. He relaxed and settled himself to Morphy’s deck, letting them check her over. They mean her no harm, he scolded himself. That’s her brother, and that’s… his friend.

“No physical trauma,” Nathan diagnosed. “Morphy?”

“‘S naught to worry over,” Bolt reassured them. “Rifts do this to ‘er. ‘S not often they lay ‘er out, most times they just make ‘er sick.”

Nathan glared at Bolt. “You knew this would happen?!” he demanded.

Bolt favored Nathan with his blue eye. “Knew it might,” he corrected. “Back ‘round the time that Warp happened Earthside, Shenn started havin’ troubles with rifts openin’ up, causin’ all kinda havoc. Concordance o’ Courts an’ the Academy paid good coin t’ any that’d track an’ mark ‘em.” He looked down at Zed, who was beginning to stir. “Have t’ say I was glad when the trade died out, though. Sure didn’t like the idea of ‘er losin’ ‘er lunch just to find the damn things.”

“If you knew this might happen,” Nicholas asked coolly, “why didn’t you say anything?”

Bolt’s answering gaze was just as direct as Nicholas’ accusatory one. “Not my place,” he told him. “She knew it might happen, too. Prob’ly better’n me. She was willin’ t’ take the risk, who’m I t’ naysay her?”

“Only her partner!” Nathan cried.

“Aye,” Bolt acknowledged. “An’ when’s the last time ye knocked him out ‘cause he wanted t’ risk himself?”

Nathan had to concede the point. Risk was their business, as the line went. Part of their relationship was the trust and respect that each other understood the dangers in a given course, and accepted them for the possible reward. Nathan didn’t like watching Nicholas go into harm’s way, but would only intervene if he knew Nicholas were missing some vital intelligence.

Zed groaned and started to sit up. “Ah, no,” Bolt mumbled. He grinned suddenly and straightened the arm in which he’d nestled Zed, angling in Nathan’s direction. “‘Ere ye go, milord!” he exclaimed.

Nathan blinked and goggled as Zed slid down Bolt’s outstretched arm, and fetched up against Nathan’s own chest. Her eyes sprang open and locked on his, and for an instant he forgot about everything else.

Then her lips twisted and parted, and he felt her convulse. Ladies, no! Courtly training and the otherwise pleasant sensation of her in his arms warred with revulsion at the prospect of having her vomit on him. Hesitation cost him. But though she retched, nothing came up. Ladies be praised, dry heaves! He’d never have thought to be grateful for something like that!

Zed pushed against his chest and turned around. Her leg drew back to aim a kick at Bolt, but checked herself when she saw the flask he held out. “Good fer what ails ye,” he told her.

Nicholas watched the entire scene with amusement. At first he thought Bolt was merely having fun at Nathan’s expense. Then he saw Bolt twist around and reach into his trail pack where it lay on the floor, and draw the flask out. He timed the retrieval and offer of it for when Zed recovered and turned around.

The flask was unstoppered. Zed caught the aroma of licorice and citrus. “Rrh,” she growled. It seemed like some sleight of hand. One moment the flask was held gently between Bolt’s great fingers – the next, it was in Zed’s hand and tilted to her lips. Her throat worked as she gulped like one dying of thirst, her eyes squeezed shut.

“What is that?” Nicholas wanted to know. “It smells familiar.”

“Tonic,” Bolt answered proudly. “Family recipe.”

Nathan sneezed. “That explains it,” he choked, restraining a gag.

Bolt grinned at him. “Not me fault if yer fine aerin senses’re not up t’ the brew, milord.” The edge in his words was blunted by the wide humor of his smile.

Whatever was in the flask, it was indeed what Zed needed. She came up flushed and panting, holding her eyes tightly shut a few moments more. She blinked a few times after opening them as if she’d been dazzled by a bright light, and nodded in satisfaction. “Your brew makes ogres choke,” she breathed.

“Only the one!” Bolt protested. “An’ he was a puff!”

“Po gagged on it,” she persisted.

“He’s old!”

She grinned suddenly, looking up at him. “Got an excuse for everything, haven’t you?”

“All but me,” he agreed proudly. “I’m inexcusable!”

Zed chuckled, enjoying the fiery stimulation that spread through her at the draught of tonic. Suddenly she stiffened, realizing that she leaned against something resilient, smooth, and warm. Nathan had been in front of her, shirtless.

“Your pardon, milord!” she exclaimed, launching herself upright. Her balance wasn’t quite restored yet though, and the force of her movement overbalanced her. She managed a spin with bare grace before she toppled again, this time coming to rest on the floor, between Bolt’s folded forelegs.

“I give up,” she muttered, and took another swig of tonic. Her free hand tingled with the sense-memory of his chest against her fingers and palm. She rubbed it fiercely against Bolt’s knee as if it itched, working to erase that impression of warm, taut skin and toned muscle.

“What’s in that?” Nicholas wanted to know.

“Herbs, spices, oils, a little honey for taste, and ysrin,” Bolt answered.

“Ysrin?” Nicholas turned to Nathan, who was putting on a shirt. From the corner of his eye, Nicholas spotted the slot in the salon table from which Nathan had grabbed the garment. As the panel slid shut over it, he glimpsed the cup from which his partner had been drinking when they’d entered. A dim smear of red marred the lip of the mug. Just as well, Nicholas thought. Things are going to be strange enough without explaining my partner drinking blood! “Isn’t that the leaf you chew as a pick-me-up?”

Nathan nodded. “It’s a common ingredient in many Feyside remedies.”

“Excuse me,” Morphy interjected. “Transition is complete. Terminus, Cairnhaven.”

 

Ten years had passed since reality overwrote itself in the Cantionis Terra Warp. Galen Cairn had endured his share of strangeness in that time. Not the least of which, he reflected, is Cairnhaven’s transformation from a forgotten roadside tourist-trap into Southern California’s Number One arcology and travel support facility!

Though he never openly admitted to such egotism, Galen had considered himself immune to surprise. Given all he’d been through in the past decade, he felt entitled to that small bit of hubris. Desert turning into forest overnight, fairy-tale creatures coming alive, people turning into elves, half-snakes, and whatnot, telepathy, nanotechnology – there just comes a point when you stop using the word ‘impossible.’

Then, less than a week past, Nicholas Chandler had announced that he’d found his long-lost twin sister Zed. Not through a Web search or regular investigative channel, but because the psychic link they’d had since childhood had re-established itself after being broken twelve years ago. The next day, Galen had seen Nicholas’ and Nathan’s ‘smart truck’ Morphy appear from empty space in Cairnhaven’s parking lot, missing Nicholas but with Zed onboard. Only Zed wasn’t the same as when Galen last saw her. She had blood-colored hair, glowing, sun-colored eyes, and enough psychic power to fry medical scanners. And from there, things got really weird….

Adapt or die. Like now – there’s Morphy, right where he was before. His entire side’s opening up, didn’t know he could do that, and that’s one humongous centaur stepping out!

“Welcome to Cairnhaven,” he greeted the mammoth creature, extending a hand as if he saw his like every day. “I’m Galen Cairn.”

“Bolt,” returned the centaur, enveloping Galen’s hand in an appendage easily three times as large. Suddenly Bolt’s pleasant, polite smile split into a grin of realization. “Oy, yer her godfather!” He bent further down and his free arm swung outward, and Galen suddenly remembered a scene from the movie Jaws, in which the shark’s mouth gaped wide. Then Bolt appeared to remember his manners, and settled for giving Galen’s arm a pumping that was probably gentle by giant centaur standards. “It’s a geniune pleasure!” Bolt proclaimed.

Zed appeared from around Bolt’s flank, and rapped him sharply on one wither. She sang something that sounded like a rebuke, and Galen recognized the language from when she’d first awakened in Cairnhaven’s infirmary. Bolt replied with an indignant protest in the same lyrics. Funny, Galen thought. She didn’t seem to understand that language last time.

Then Zed smiled at Galen, and stepped forward to hug him. Bolt released Galen’s hand so he could return the embrace properly.

“From your manner, I gather: mission accomplished?” Galen asked.

“Aye, and then some,” she answered.

Nicholas and Nathan stepped out from around Bolt’s other flank. Two things immediately struck Galen as new about his godson. Nicholas’ eyes had always been brown, but now gazed out from beneath his brow with an amber hue. Equally striking was his wide grin at seeing Galen. Most surprising of all was when Nicholas joined the two of them in a hug. “Good to be back, Galen,” Nicholas said.

Galen gladly clasped his godchildren to him. We’ve all lost so much, he thought to himself, really makes us appreciate what we still have. He reached out one hand to Nathan. The tall, pale-haired elf grasped the proffered palm and shook it, smiling.

“So does this mean that you’re leaving?” he asked Nicholas as they parted. Then he looked up at Bolt. “Or that you’re staying?”

Bolt had been distracted by the clear morning sky. “Huh?” he asked, suddenly jerking his attention downward again.

“Bolt and I are just visiting,” Zed answered for them both. “I’ll be back to visit when I can–“

”But your home is Feyside now,” Galen finished.

I still got it, Galen thought with satisfaction.

The wide eyes and slack jaws on all four faces were cherished assurance to Galen that he could deal surprises as well as endure them. He resisted the urge to smirk, instead keeping his expression as though he’d said nothing unusual.

“Oy!” Bolt exclaimed at length, glaring down at Zed. “You said he wasn’t supposed ta know!”

“What gave it away?” Zed demanded.

“Come inside,” Galen invited them, “and I’ll show you.”

In deference to Bolt’s stature, Galen led them to a set of extra-large doors, which opened with a smooth hydraulic hum in response to a coded sequence on Galen’s wrist terminal. “We don’t use these very often anymore,” Galen explained. “Before molecular construction and maintenance took over, we’d bring large beams and panels through here.”

A narrow, high-ceilinged passage led to a second set of doors, which in turn gave onto the main atrium. “Welcome to Cairnhaven,” Galen said, for Bolt’s benefit.

Bolt stared. Though he was born of the wide spaces and preferred the wilds to any city, he’d seen his share of great cities and grand palaces. It wasn’t the high ceilings and wide promenades of Cairnhaven that made him pause. Nor was it the bustle of people going about their daily errands. It wasn’t even the decor of the place, alien as that was, somehow managing to look new, clean, and lived-in all at once.

Palaces might be huge and spacious, but they were usually empty except for the servants scurrying on some task for their Lord or Lady. Cities might be crowded and busy, but there was always open sky between the buildings. Be it green or blue! he amended. The fact that much of Cairnhaven’s ceiling consisted of glass panels didn’t change what Bolt’s ears told him, that he was inside. There was a faint breeze, but he could tell it wasn’t a real wind. It had been made somewhere.

It’s a city, he realized, within a single building. And a single building the size of a city. Why would anybody live like this?

The people also seemed just off enough to underscore their alienness. The mix was familiar enough – humans, aerin, portians, lamia, ogres, sprites, weres, even centaurs. But they’re not right! he complained to himself. The lamia look human from the waist up, some of the portians’re male, and the ‘taurs’re – just not right!

Nay, he corrected himself. They’re not the aliens, old pony. That’d be you.

He suddenly felt very far from home.

Zed knew her partner as well as she knew herself. Maybe better, these days, she added wryly. The Shennese word was aiv’shien, “family of the spirit” – a lasting bond, forged by deep affection and mutual consent, between two or more people, inextricably linking their conscious and unconscious minds.

The catch was that all parties involved had to have some level of telepathic potential. With a mind-mute breed like Tantareli centaur, true aiv’shien was impossible. Zed and Bolt managed as best they could, through determination and unswerving devotion one for the other. With the smallest degree of effort, Zed knew Bolt’s thoughts and feelings clearly. And she made a habit of quietly ‘sending’ hers in Bolt’s direction, so he was similarly informed.

And now it was all so much easier to do…

Since that damn bird.

It’s a cheap shot, she acknowledged without remorse. She hooked a hand through the usual spot on Bolt’s harness and pulled gently. Like a person reacting to a tug on their sleeve, Bolt automatically veered in the direction Zed pulled. He had no more luck deciphering the sign above the entrance than he had any of the others. Zerene had taught him to speak Earthside, but no to read it. He ducked his head in reflex to the strong wind that blew down from the edges of the doorway –

–and smelled The Ladies.

Galen noted that Bolt had come to a dead stop, his torso and forequarters neatly blocking the entrance to Cairnhaven’s cafeteria, ‘Grog N Grub.’ No command of centaur body language was needed to decipher Bolt’s reaction to the aromas within. The cafeteria made no pretenses to being haute cuisine, but was probably the most popular of Cairnhaven’s eateries, for its variety of dishes and bottomless trays. It was a special favorite with pilots, drivers, and Outriders.

An unmistakable rumble echoed from Bolt’s barrel. “Sounds like lunch is in order,” Galen declared, and led the way in.

 

Coming Together

 

The herd scattered, hooting in terror. She stood among them, over the remains of an older breeder.

Once again she had caught her prey in a complacent state. This was happening more often of late. She knew she was not to blame. Her vigilance and thoroughness had not waned since she first set fang and talon to the hunt.

Other predators were not keeping their part of the pattern. It had happened before. Not in her lifetime, but she remembered from her kind who had lived before.

Now that she pondered it, she realized other predators had lately become scarce. Something was driving them away, or killing them.

The pattern was being disturbed.

A familiar stink made her tendrils twitch. In their panic, the herd had run close to the poisoned place. One young breeder broke from the main press and veered into the broken canyons and gorges. She spared it no more thought – it was already dead. Nothing lived in that place, and nothing ever returned from it.

The main press of the herd knew better. They skirted the edges of the poisoned place, but stayed well out of deadly range. Suddenly, they swerved and ran away from it. She knew the tactic, it was one of their few defenses. A hunter, running full out in pursuit, would not be able to match their turn, and would lose time slowing down or making a wider curve. Meanwhile, the herd would pull away and escape.

She was glad to see they remembered it. She rewarded them by letting them get away. She’d eaten her fill of them, anyway.

Now it was time to hunt the source of the disruption.

 

Zed tsked disdainfully as they entered the ‘Grog N Grub.’ “Ah’d forgotten how ill-mannered Earthsiders could be,” she complained. Throughout the dining area, conversations stopped, heads turned, and eyes tracked on Bolt as he made his way toward the food.

“Leave ‘em a thrust, Spoons,” Bolt admonished. For his part, he repaid the stares with eye contact and a broad grin. “Even back home, Tantareli are a rare sight!”

Zed conceded that point, but couldn’t help bristling. He’s not a freak! she ranted inwardly. Hell, some of you are just as far from ‘normal’ as he is! He’s a visitor, and you’re making a rotten first impression!

One middle-aged woman looked especially distraught. Fear bled off her in waves. She looked as though she wanted to flee, but was paralyzed with the idea that any movement might cause the gigantic creature passing by might spring at her.

For the sake of the Ladies! Zed swore. The only things he wants to devour right now are in the steam trays! Stop staring!

Something in the back of Zed’s mind rose and lunged. She grabbed it and yanked it back, but not before it brushed the matron’s mind. Suddenly the woman lost all interest in anything but her meat loaf and mashed potatoes, digging in as if it were the first food she’d had in days.

Zed blinked, then turned her head quickly and followed the others toward the queue. Ladies, I didn’t mean to do that! OK, maybe she deserved it, but I hardly even thought about it!

Nicholas flowed in through their link, a cool blue touch of concern. You OK?

Fine! she retorted, knowing he knew it was a lie. She pulled her shields up even more tightly. I must keep this thing under control!

The staff on the serving queue were more discreet. They smiled at Bolt like any other hungry diner, though they had to bend their necks well back to make eye contact with him.

Bolt regarded the diningware dubiously. He could curl his fingers comfortably around the edges of the plates, and a spoon pinched between thumb and forefinger all but disappeared. Even the trays were hopelessly inadequate.

“Banquet, Moira, please.” Galen directed the serving manager, a tall woman with golden hair. In response Moira gave the party a quick once-over, pausing just slightly on Bolt. Then she nodded and swept into the kitchen.

Now it was Zed’s and Bolt’s turn to blink and stare. Moira had been dressed in modest Earthside tunic and slacks, with her hair styled neatly in a conservative ponytail. Her eyes were slanted, not epicanthic as much as feline. Her ears poked slightly out on either side of her skull, cupped and pointed. That wasn’t the weird part. They’d both seen eyes and ears like that many times – in fact, Nathan’s features were similar. Typically aerin.

But the golden color of her hair and eyes was truly gold, not simply blonde or amber. Her skin likewise had an auric sheen, as if it were dusted with the stuff. Only one breed of aerin had ever been of such metallic hue.

“Ferin,” Zed breathed.

Galen turned and crooked a finger in their direction. He paused as he noted their expressions. “Problem?” he asked.

For a moment, Zed and Bolt seemed astonished that he could ask such a question. Then they blinked, exchanged brief stares, and broke into laughter at the same time. “As the Ladies smack us with the irony stick,” Zed murmured.

“Did I miss something?” Galen asked. He led them out of the serving line and back into the dining area. Fewer stares and stopped conversations greeted them this time.

“I think Moira’s appearance gave them pause,” Nathan offered, grinning. “Recall my similar reaction when she first arrived here.”

“Which you never explained,” Galen amended. He stopped at a set of double doors set into one wall of the dining area. He flipped up the screen on his wrist terminal, and tapped a code on its keyboard. In response, the doors clicked and swung inward on their own. He ushered the rest of them through.

A single oval table sat in the center of the room. Normally it was surrounded by chairs, easily able to seat twenty people comfortably. Now only four chairs remained, encircling one end of the table. Five places had been set, and it was easy to tell which was Bolt’s. Instead of a plate was a platter, of the sort normally used to serve great roasts. For diningware, a carving fork and knife, and a serving spoon had been supplied. A spoutless carafe would do for drinking. The place-setting was saved from looking makeshift by the fact that the platter and utensils matched, and were of a complementary theme to the other four settings. A large rug had been laid on the floor next to the outsize setting, so Bolt would be spared sitting on the carpeted floor (though that too, was spotlessly clean).

Moira ushered Bolt to his place first, then tended to the rest of the party. In this she showed the insight of a world-class maitre’d. Zed was seated next to Bolt, Galen was set at the head of the table, and Nathan and Nicholas were on the other side.

The rest of the table was piled neatly with chafing dishes and trays of every dish ‘Grog N Grub’ offered, in their own private banquet queue. A sidecart provided beverages.

“Enjoy,” Moira said, and it almost sounded like a directive rather than an invitation. She favored them with a nod and a smile, and started to pull the service doors shut behind herself.

Zed stopped her. “Ah just wanta apalajaz fer starin’ earlier,” she told her. “It was rude n’ uncalled fer.”

Moira smiled. “No harm done,” she assured Zed. “Besides, you’ll be getting more than your share of that in days to come, won’t you?” She smiled and stepped back, and the doors shut.

What an odd way to put it, Zed thought. What’d she mean by that?

Having no chair to move, Bolt was first at the food. Zed was close behind. The delicious aromas of the various dishes awoke hunger in everybody, and for several minutes, satisfying the appetite was the only priority.

When the pace slowed, Zed took the lead. She cocked her head at Galen. “Poppa told you, didn’t he?”

“He gave me the first pieces,” Galen conceded. “At the time, I thought he was just making careless slips, too much to drink and with only me to hear. But he knew the business I was in. Looking back on it, I wonder if he hoped I’d put it together. But I never did.” He smirked at Zed. “You actually gave me the key, just a few days ago. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

“When I first heard the word Feyside, I thought it was a piece of post-Warp conspiracy fiction.” He pressed a button concealed in the scrollwork of the table. In response a panel slid open, revealing a console. More keytaps dimmed the lights, slid wall sections aside, and lit a large projection screen. “Jackson never used the word, and the perspective of this writer is so different from his, it wasn’t until you used the words ‘Arasidhe’ and ‘Earthside’ that it clicked.”

The screen showed several lines of computer text. The title read “The Fate of Kyndera Fehr.”

Bolt sprayed a shower of beer across the table. Nicholas dove out of the way with astonishing speed. Zed’s eyes goggled. “Ladies,” she murmured.

“I take it you know the name,” Galen stated the obvious. He continued before they had a chance to reply. “One of my search engines found this in January ’94, on a stagnant blog-site in Italy. The blog hadn’t been updated for nearly a year. I sent email to the author, no reply. When I got overseas connections back, I had somebody check out the IP address. It was a ghost server hidden inside the Milan Police Department’s network.

“According to the author, he found Kyndera Fehr wandering in a graveyard, took her home, and nursed her back to health. He tried to teach her his language, but she was apparently mute. She was fascinated by his computer though, and he taught her how to use it. He claims she wrote the bulk of the document. According to it, she was a member of a high-ranking noble house on another planet. There was a war, her side was betrayed and wiped out.” He paused for dramatic emphasis. “As the story goes, the chief architects of her house’s downfall were a group called the Arasidhe, and her brother sent her Earthside for her own protection.”

“And what was her fate?” Nathan asked ingenuously. His interest seemed based wholly on the strength of Zed’s and Bolt’s reactions, and the intriguing nature of the tale.

“The author doesn’t know,” Galen replied. “He says he came home one day and she was gone. She took only the clothes he’d bought for her, left no note or anything. Except for this document, she might as well never have been there.”

“Weak ending,” Nathan critiqued.

Zed and Bolt stared at him incredulously. Then Zed composed herself and turned back to Galen. Under the table, her foot slid to one side and gently nudged Bolt’s kneecap. He’s playing Galen, she told her partner. The Arasidhe’s undercover.

“At any rate,” Galen concluded, “that’s how I learned about Feyside. Though it was quite a shock a few days ago, Zed, when you used those words in conversation.” He lifted his glass, sniffed the brandy inside, then sipped. “So, who wants to fill in the holes?”

“Fair enough,” Zed returned. “Ask, and I’ll answer as well as I can.”

Nathan feigned polite interest. Inside, he wondered what steps he might have to take, if Nicholas’ sister started discussing things he wasn’t ready to bring to light.

Don’t concern yourself, milord. Her thoughts echoed politely against his shields. I’ll not throw your stones for you.

 

Stupid Kills

 

She knew these creatures.

They were small, but not weak. They used numbers, strategy, and tools to maintain their place in the pattern. Furry, spindly of limb and body, with flat, square heads and dark, bright eyes, they were cunning and tenacious predators in their own right. From somewhere in her memories she remembered learning the name they called themselves: spriggan.

She could not recall them ever disrupting the pattern, though. Always they had lived within it, hunting only their due and fighting other predators only when no other choice was left. Rapacity and selfishness had always been alien to them.

Yet the skulls on stakes around the dwelling left no doubt. These spriggan had started hunting other predators. They wanted all the prey to themselves. That could not be allowed.

Spriggan were not her normal prey, so she preferred not to kill them all. Fortunately, like all sensible creatures, spriggan understood fear.

She coughed a warning, and let the wind catch her scent. The spriggan reacted promptly – lounging bodies jerked upright, ears perked, noses sniffed and wrinkled. A few even reached for their weapons. She’d left little doubt to the direction from which her trace had come, but by the time the bravest of them got to it, she was of course somewhere else.

Twice more she told them she was near, both times from a different point of their perimeter. They knew her, of course – no other creature sounded or smelled like she.

They jabbered at each other. She’d never had use for spoken language, but she could follow the course of their argument easily enough. Some were already prepared to flee, and urged the others to do so as well. Those who’d reached for their weapons at her first call sneered at the others, and were eager to go out and meet her.

Suddenly a high ululation warbled from the entrance to their warren. A squat, blocky example of their breed strutted into the clearing. He scowled and chattered at them. The ones with weapons in their hands agreed with everything he said. Those who wanted to flee argued at first, but were either shouted down or worse, emboldened by their fellows. The center of the argument was the squat, scowling spriggan.

She landed atop him, dropping out of the trees overhead. It hadn’t been easy to find a branch sturdy enough to support her and growing in the right direction. She bore down with her forepaws as she landed, holding them close together, one on each of his narrow shoulders. He made wet, crunching, popping sounds as she ground him into the dirt.

Her rear quarters scattered others, but she was careful to keep her spines pulled in at first. One of the spriggan who wanted a fight screamed at her and rushed with his weapon. She flicked her tail forward. Muscles and tendons tensed as she did so, and the long, bony claw at the end of her tail separated him from one shoulder to opposite hip.

She grinned at them, letting everything of her show. They could see, feel, smell, and hear her, a feat to which few creatures still living could lay claim. Her eyes flicked this way and that, fixing each of the combative ones in turn. She made her message as clear as she could – stay within the pattern, and they would live. Disrupt it again, and she would return.

She vanished in the middle of them and departed, leaving them to their dead.

“Acquitted?!” Nathan exclaimed.

Galen looked as unhappy to deliver the news as Nathan was to receive it. Still he clarified. “Only of the charges that he knew about and directly approved Longbow’s raider operation. He’s still on tap for letting it go on, even if he didn’t know about it.”

“He did know about it!” Nathan objected. “That guard’s memory showed Grisham touring the base, even giving a morale speech to the personnel!”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Nathan,” Galen placated, hands upraised. “I don’t like it any more than you do. It’s pre-Warp, hair-splitting, lawyering bullshit, and I hate it too. The guards aren’t saying a word, and everybody’s pleading Fifth Amendment against psi-probes. The only thing that can tie Grisham to the raider operation or Susan Bradford’s biotrap is Stargrave’s testimony.” He scowled. “Which, thanks to Zed, will be a long time coming. Not that I blame her.”

“What did Zed do to her?” Nathan asked.

“Gulshan’s term for it is looping memory,’” Galen replied. “Stargrave is completely oblivious to the outside world. She’s continually reliving a series of events inside her mind.” His brows lowered. “Whatever it is, it’s grim. Gulshan caught a glimpse of it, and we had to sedate him.”

“Inventive,” Nathan commented. “And if anybody deserves such a fate, no doubt she does.” He sighed. “Well, executive negligence is no trifle, either. Grisham’s finished in any management role.”

“He is,” Galen agreed, “in any country which has signed the Foresight Accords, or enforces the conduct clauses in its contracts and treaties. Unfortunately, as the profit statements from the raider operation show, there are still plenty of opportunities for an ethicless corporate shark.” He exhaled forcefully. “Times like this, I wish the world had just stayed post-apocalyptic!”

Nathan had suddenly turned thoughtful. “Where is Stargrave being held?”

Galen’s expression soured even more, something Nathan would have thought impossible. “Struyck has her.”

Nathan blinked. “Struyck Worldwide? How did that happen?”

“Quick and slick, same way he does everything,” Galen replied bitterly. “We decanted that cop Zed zapped, and told him Susan Bradford was dead but here’s Stargrave as a door prize. He was happy enough to take her instead. Then they discovered she might be carrying the Holy Grail of nanotech. A universal assembler.”

Nathan nodded, miming an “Ah” of understanding. “And Struyck Worldwide has a contract with the government to police and research all potentially dangerous or profitable forms of molecular technology.”

“God knows where he has her stashed,” Galen groused. “At least I assume He does, because I sure haven’t had any luck tracking her down!” He looked up at Nathan. “You and Nick are real tight with Struyck. Maybe Nick could offer to help study her.”

“It’s a thought, at that,” Nathan agreed. “Certainly Nicholas is one of the few people qualified to reverse-engineer something so revolutionary.” He smiled at Galen. “I know you dislike and distrust Xander Struyck, Galen. And I’ll not critique your reasons. But I think you dishonor him by continually painting him as –“

”The most powerful man in the world?” Galen interjected. “Who just happened to be in the right place at the right time, with the right resources and the right connections, to pick up the pieces the Warp left behind? Whose private security force is larger and better-equipped than many government forces, pre- or post-Warp?”

Galen leaned forward against his desk. “The world’s largest producer of molecular technology, and the sole supplier of neoperi, which has replaced virtually every other source of power on Earth?” He threw up his hands as if in surrender. His laugh was a sarcastic bark. “You’re right, Nathan. Maybe I am being unfair.” He tapped his temple with a finger. “But I just can’t get a little saying out of my head. You know, the one about absolute power?”

Nathan was unfazed by Galen’s tirade. “I should know better,” he replied mildly.

Galen immediately realized he’d gone over the top. He sat back and sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, Nathan. I’d just like to have a clean win once in a while, you know? I thought when we busted the raider base and the Supergoo tied them to Longbow and Sonrise, that would be it. Cantionis Terra tore the world apart, but we came out the other end better for it.”

He stood up and turned, looking out the window of his office. “Things got shaken up, a lot of the old entrenched power structures were broken. So why do guys like Carlton Grisham get off with a wrist-slap, after profiting off the death and misery of three hundred ninety-seven people?” He faced Nathan again, grinning grimly. “I audited the raiders’ records. They were very detailed.”

Nathan’s nodded, his thoughts racing. I don’t begrudge Galen his bitterness. Before Cantionis Terra, he made his living divining the dirtiest, most heavily-guarded secrets of the powerful. Certainly he sold most of them, but took solace in the knowledge that the information would be used to break them.

He’s right also, that Earth is a better world for the horrors it endured after the Warp. People were reminded of the truly important aspects of life, and ‘civilization’ became more than just a euphemism for convenience and sybarism.

Nathan frowned slightly in thought. Looping memory is a punishment administered to those whose crimes show a lack of sympathy for their victims. Where did Zerene learn how to do that? I’ll have to ask her that, later. Properly done, it’s reversible. If we can get access to Stargrave from Struyck….

“I know that look, Nathan,” Galen accused quietly. “What do you have brewing?”

“There may be a solution,” Nathan replied. “As soon as Zed, Bolt, and Nicholas return, I’ll speak to them.”

“I like yer uncle!” Bolt told Zed over his shoulder.

“Only because he feeds you!” Zed shot back, grinning. Her feet were thrust through loops high on his harness, behind his right shoulderblade. This put her head and shoulders on a level with his, giving her an unobstructed view over his right shoulder, of the road ahead. Nicholas was perched in identical fashion on his left.

They made an odd three-headed spectacle as they raced between the immense, red-veined trunks of the bloodtrees that made up the Anza Borrego Forest. Hard to remember this used to be a desert, Zed mused.

“Ah, there ye go!” Bolt complained. “I try to give some honest praise to yer Earthside nanena, and you say it’s me stomach that’s talkin’!”

“Tell me your heart wasn’t swayed by the table he set!” Zed persisted playfully.

“Oh, aye!” Bolt conceded readily, banking to negotiate a turn. “And I’ll grant that appealin’ to me palate might endear a body to me faster. What impressed me most, though, was how well he took to the answers ye gave ‘im about Feyside.” His grin became mischievous. “‘Sides, if food were the only way to me heart, Spoons, I’d’ve kicked you to the curb years ago!”

“Are you criticizing my cooking?” Zed challenged.

Nicholas let their banter buzz in the background. He was fascinated by the novelty of traveling the American wildlands without an armored vehicle around him. And at such speeds! The road did not actually wind very much. It had been cut and laid with modern techniques, after the emergence of the bloodtree forest had obliterated both State Highway 80 and Interstate Freeway 8, which had connected Southern California to Arizona. But for a centaur running nearly full-out, even a gentle curve required some concession to inertia.

I can’t even estimate how fast we’re going, Nicholas thought. Better than two hundred kph, certainly. At these speeds, even if we do encounter any aggro, we’ll outrun anything less than a roadblock!

How does he cancel the wind resistance? Zed said centaurs generate some kind of force field that cancels it, as well as dampening inertia. What a fascinating breed! I could spend years just studying Bolt. And he’s just one example of a whole other world’s ecosystem!

This week has been a paradigm-shift with no clutch. I never gave up hope on finding Zed, so that wasn’t really a surprise. And if Mom and Dad had been alive, they’d have found some way to contact me, so confirming their deaths didn’t shock either.

It still hurts, though.

Dad came from another world. He and Mom secretly took Zed and I there to visit when we were kids, but never told us that it wasn’t Earth. It’s a world where most of what Earth considers mythology and folk tales is accepted as everyday fact. Demi-human sentient races, magic, curses that last for generations, phoenixes that gift humans with life-force to unlock their psychic potential… wow.

“Ah, now there’s somethin’ to make me feel at home,” Bolt said, coming to a stop. He managed it with such skill that dropping from triple-digit speeds to zero didn’t stir a hair.

“Some things are universal,” Zed agreed.

The trio of vehicles wasn’t even worth calling a caravan: two civilian cargo-haulers and a decommissioned, pre-Warp VAB APC. Of French manufacture, the VAB (Véhicule de l’Avant Blindé) was still a respectable armored vehicle, and this one had been retrofitted with a modern power plant and weapons.

But the VAB’s armor was forged metals and ceramic composites, not materials formed one molecule at a time for maximum resilience. And it was only one vehicle. If the driver saw an attack incoming, he could reply well enough to blow through. In an ambush, the VAB could defend itself well enough to escape, but could offer little to the trucks it escorted.

The bandits used a tried-and-true tactic. Explosives planted around the trunk of a bloodtree, blown just soon enough to block the road with a solid ton of wood, too soon for the prey to stop. The VAB’s front grille was wedged under the fallen tree’s trunk. It could back up and free itself, but that would do little good. The tree blocked the road ahead, and the bandits’ own assault vehicle had pulled up behind the rear-most cargo truck, preventing escape in that direction.

They had come on the ambush from behind. Bolt had stopped well back from the scene, and immediately sidled to the road’s shoulder. So far, nobody involved seemed aware of them.

“I was afraid of this,” Nicholas commented.

“What do you mean?” Zed asked.

“Longbow was very efficient,” he replied, “on both sides. They held a virtual monopoly on Outrider services between San Diego and points east, it figures they had the same stranglehold on banditry.” He nodded at the scene ahead of them. “Those Outriders and those bandits are new to the area. Each of them must figure to move in on the vacuum of Longbow being out of both businesses.”

“Why aren’t the bandits getting out and taking control of the trucks?” Zed asked.

“The Outrider truck is outmoded,” Nicholas replied, “but the cargo-haulers are modern. Molyceramic hulls, solid molysilicate tires, and molycarbon windows. You’d need industrial cutting tools or the same assembly systems that made them, to open them up. So it’s a waiting game.” He paused. “Unless the bandits can hack their onboard computers.”

“Is the bandit carriage as well-made as the kar-go haulers?” Bolt asked.

“Probably,” Nick estimated. “It’s definitely post-Warp, which means molecular manufacture.”

“How much would it weigh?” Nicholas noted that Bolt’s customary drawl was gone. His words still had the same peculiar pseudo-European singsong accent, but now they were precisely enunciated.

Nicholas flipped open the screen of his wrist terminal, and rapidly tapped keys on the recessed keypad. He aimed the terminal’s built-in camera at the assault vehicle in question, then tapped more keys. “Twelve-point-seven metric tons.”

“Fifteen vash,” Zed converted for Bolt’s benefit. “A shade under.”

“Easy!” Bolt exclaimed in satisfaction. “Just need a little room to get speed up…”

He turned so swiftly, it seemed to Nicholas that Bolt had spun on one hoof before sprinting back down the road.

“What do you have in mind?” Nicholas asked.

“Tipping,” Bolt replied.

“Tipping?” Nicholas echoed. Then he got a more detailed description from Zed’s mind. “Oh. This should be interesting.”

Paula Harvitz sat in the driver’s seat and fumed. “I thought you said this wouldn’t take much time!”

Dale Harvitz endured his sister’s wrath with phlegmatic indifference. “It isn’t. It’s only been ten minutes.”

“Right,” Paula replied caustically. “Ten minutes in which they probably called for help, and are waiting for it to arrive!”

Dale’s attention was focused on his notebook’s monitor pane. His fingers danced on the keyboard, writing and enabling macros and batch commands on the fly. “They can’t call for help,” he reminded her. “The first thing I did was jam their communications.”

“And what if they have a psi on board?” Paula challenged. “How are you going to block that?”

“Would you relax, Paula?” Mickey Harvitz demanded. “You weren’t this antsy when we were making this plan!”

Paula turned in her seat and glared at her sister. “Yes, I was,” she retorted. “There’s all kinds of ways this can go wrong, as I reminded both of you when you talked me into it!”

Mickey smiled at her. “I notice we still talked you into it.”

“Because if I didn’t come along, you two would’ve tried to do this yourselves, or worse found somebody we don’t know! Neither of you knows enough to wire that tree or drive this rig!”

“There we are!” Dale exulted, then lowered his voice to a strained bass tone. “All your base are belong to us!”

“You cracked them?” Mickey demanded.

“They are my playthings,” Dale confirmed smugly.

“About time,” Paula allowed sullenly. “Come on, Mickey. Time to earn our share.” She released her seatbelt. “Remember the plan: I’ll cover the Outriders, you look as menacing as you can for the truckers.”

“What’s that?” Mickey asked. She had one hand on her assault rifle, the other on the door handle.

Paula heard the whistle of something approaching extremely fast, and knew what it meant. “Incoming!” she shouted. “Out, out, out!”

Mickey was the only Harvitz sibling to get her door open, by virtue of already having her hand on the latch. The entire vehicle suddenly lurched, tilted, and bounced. Mickey’s door swung open wide, flinging her skyward.

Paula and Dale weren’t as lucky. Their black-market assault truck was made to protect its occupants against gunfire and explosives, but made no concessions to their comfort in the process. Paula got it worst, since she wasn’t belted in. She bounced out of her seat and flew backward through the cabin, fetching against the racks in the rear with a hiss of pain. Dale’s head cracked against the molycarbon window to his right, and he was instantly unconscious.

Mickey looked down in terror as gravity took hold again. She was not immune to the human atavistic fear of falling. Visions of watermelons splattering against concrete filled her imagination, and she squeezed her eyes shut. At least I don’t have to see it coming!

Suddenly something hard and warm struck, and held on to her. The command GO LIMP! echoed in her head, and she instinctively obeyed. The impact of landing jarred her, but much less than she had expected. Arms both gentle and strong set her on her feet. Mickey opened her eyes, and stared at the tall, black haired man who’d rescued her. “You’re Nicholas Chandler!” Mickey exclaimed.

He nodded. “Twilight Agency. You’re ordered to stand down.”

“Like hell!” she snarled, reaching for her pistol.

He didn’t move. But the inside of Mickey’s skull suddenly exploded with light and noise. Her brain’s own defenses took instant action to protect her from the assault.

Nicholas reflexively caught the unsconcious girl, and eased her to the ground. Thank you, he sent to Zed.

Welcome, she replied from her perch on the toppled assault vehicle. She grunted as she lifted one of the cabin doors and surveyed inside. She nodded in satisfaction at the sight, and with a quick mental touch confirmed the other two were unconscious. All good here, though these two need a medic. She lowered herself inside, to give them a closer check.

Nicholas looked up at Bolt, and smirked. “Tipping.”

“Aye,” Bolt confirmed, grinning. “Started out as a Tantareli sport. Then we discovered how useful it could be in combat, during the Steel War.”

Nicholas opened his wrist terminal again. “Well, I’ll call to Cairnhaven, get some Irregulars out her to treat and transport these three. Meanwhile, that tree is still in the way.”

“Right!” Bolt agreed, and trotted past the trucks.

Inside the bandit truck, Zed was checking Dale Harvitz’ head wound. The skin had broken, but despite smacking against a pane of synthetic diamond, he had no telltale dent of a concussion. Pain came from Paula as she regained consciousness. Zed alredy knew the woman had broken several ribs and one arm. “It’s over,” she told Paula without turning. “Just stay where you are.”

Suddenly a flare of fear and panic erupted a short distance away. The mind was unfamiliar – something had frightened a member of the caravan. Quickly she lifted herself up through the cabin door, looking in the direction of the fear.

Twelve years was a long time to be gone, but a gun was still a gun. Zed didn’t recognize the make of the weapon the panicked outrider had leveled at Bolt’s back, nor was she sure it could seriously injure the massive Tantareli. Neither unknown mattered. She reached out to the outrider’s mind, intent on shutting him down the same way she’d knocked out Mickey Harvitz. A second’s touch was all it took to make the outrider slump to the ground.

But in that second before he fell, as Zed’s mind was reaching for his, the outrider’s finger squeezed the trigger. A sound like tearing fabric echoed between the trees, and a ragged line of large holes stitched along Bolt’s left flank, diagonally up his back, and clipped off his right ear.

Bolt stopped and turned. He looked bewildered, as if he’d forgotten the errand on which he’d been sent. Then he reached up to his ear, and stared in surprise at the blood on his fingers. “S-Spoons?” he said.

Zed stared in horror, then leaped off the bandit truck and raced toward him. Reaching for him as he fell, she would have been crushed under him had Nicholas not yanked her back. Nicholas released her as she fought free. Voices buzzed at the back of her consciousness: Nicholas speaking with cold, precise urgency, other voices trying to carry over him with their alarm and confusion.

None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the bright spark that was the spirit of her best friend on two worlds. She grabbed it in her mind and held on to it. Don’t you dare, she projected as hard as she could.

 

Hurt to Heal

 

She watched the spriggan for a few more days. Her message appeared to have taken effect. They continued to hunt prey according to their needs, but as long as other predators left them alone, they did not bother with the competition.

It was good that they had taken the lesson. She understood that part of her role was to remind others, prey and hunter alike, of their place in the pattern. This had always been the way of it, as far back as she could remember. She was the guardian of the pattern, even as she was a part of it. Some of her kind had reveled in that role.

She herself was of simpler tastes. Her greatest delights were in little things. Hunting, a belly full enough to feel but not so much that she was slowed. A warm cave. Mating and birthing, seeing her young set off to find their own territory. Watching other predators and prey move through their parts in the pattern. A slow swim in cool water. Sleeping in a favorite patch of sunlight. Grander ideas lurked at the edge of her mind, things her kind had learnt in the past. She dipped into them when needed, but otherwise let them sit in the shadows.

The spriggan were whole again. It was time to return to her preferred existence.

Except…

Her tendrils twitched in distaste at the stink. It carried on the breeze, too faint for any save she to taste, but undeniable. It came from behind, from the way she had come to visit the spriggan, the same direction she was already headed.

Something had come out of the poisoned place.

She wasted no time on denial. Her certainty that nothing ever returned from that place was wiped away before the evidence of her senses. Her kind knew the poisoned place all too well. Through her inherited memories, she herself remembered hunting there, when it had been whole.

Then those who called themselves aerin had gone mad and tried to kill each other off, and nearly destroyed the world in the act. They had called terrible energies, burning and wasting lands without regard for anything else but the death of their own kind.

The world had screamed. Her kind had answered.

That was the only time her kind ever hunted aerin. Normally, their connection to the world and the energies they commanded made them unsuitable prey. It was simply too much trouble and risk to hunt them, when others were more accommodating. But when they had gone mad, the damage they inflicted on the world, on the pattern, made it necessary. Just as she herself had needed to kill the spriggan leader to cure his people’s madness, so had her kind hunted aerin to help them remember their place in the pattern.

She did not know what effect was made by her kind. She knew that after a time, the aerin were cured, and had been whole ever since. The scars of their insanity had mostly faded. Except for the poisoned place.

The world was healing, but it would take a long time. Meanwhile, the place had been contained. A border surrounded it, land which was hard, dead, but clean, like that which protected the bottom of her feet. The poison needed living things to spread. As long as the natural barricade remained unbreached, everything was safe.

The simple life would have to wait a while longer. She had to find and destroy whatever it was that had come from there, before it spread the poison to the rest of the world.

From the shadowed places in her mind a question posed itself. How could she kill the thing, if its mere touch were deadly?

 

“Bolt will die on this world.”

The smooth, inflectionless tone of Morphy’s voice made the prognosis into an axiom of nature, something absolute and inarguable.

“But you can heal gunshot wounds!” Zed argued. She, Nicholas, Galen, and Nathan were gathered in Morphy’s main salon. Nicholas and Nathan sat on the u-shaped couch opposite the fireplace, while Galen stood as stolid and immovable as his namesake, arms folded across his broad chest and legs set a shoulders’ width apart. Elsewhere in Morphy’s depths, Bolt floated in an extra-large suspension tank….

Zed stood, leaning slightly forward, looking up at the ceiling. She hated the awkwardness of having no body at which she could direct her words. I know it’s because we’re actually inside you, she projected. But at least a televised face would help! Haven’t you ever seen ‘Max Headroom?!’

“The tissue trauma is repairable,” Morphy conceded. “Bolt’s injuries have depleted his magical energy. He needs that energy to survive. Earth does not have enough ambient magic to restore his reserves.”

“He needs to return Feyside,” Nathan supplied.

“Yes,” Morphy confirmed.

“I know just the place,” Zed announced. Her brow smoothed, and her posture relaxed. “Morphy, do you need me tanked in order to direct you?”

“Yes,” Morphy replied, “thank you.”

“That’s my exit cue,” Galen said. He unfolded his arms and moved toward the doors. “I want to see Feyside sometime, but not right now.”

“Galen!” Zed called, halting him. She crossed the salon in a few long-legged strides, and wrapped her arms around him. Galen returned the hug without hesitation. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he admonished softly.

“Not a chance,” she assured him.

Galen exchanged farewells similar in tone but lower in key with Nathan and Nicholas, then saw himself out through the foyer.

“Right,” Zed said in a businesslike tone. “Let’s do this. Where do I go, Morphy?”

“There’s a tank in the lab,” Nicholas volunteered, moving toward the stairs. “I’ll go.”

“You don’t know where we need to go!” Zed protested. She caught up with him and siezed his arm.

“I will,” Nicholas replied, breaking stride only when she grabbed him, “through our link. We already know it stays active in deep suspension.”

“But why you?” Zed demanded.

His gaze was as matter-of-fact as his tone. “Because you hate being tanked.”

Zed blinked, then expelled her breath in a derisive snort. “My aiv’shien’s life is on the line!” she reminded him. “I’ll stand what it takes to see him healed!” She pushed forward as she released his arm, and all but dove down the spiral staircase to the lab.

Nicholas didn’t pursue her. Behind her words he’d felt the sharp edge of her worry for Bolt. That anxiety was honed by a love as tempered and unyielding as he shared with Nathan, the sort that could only exist after years of shared risk and adventure. She’d do anything for Bolt, he realized, just as I would for Nathan. There’s no nay-saying that.

“Where is she taking us?” Nathan asked. He crossed the salon, stopping a step behind and to one side of Nicholas.

“I didn’t look,” Nicholas told him, still gazing at the staircase.

Nathan sighed. Turning away, he walked a few steps and stopped in the middle of the salon. “Our lives have certainly taken some interesting turns of late.”

“Yup,” Nicholas agreed succinctly.

“I wanted to tell you who I am long ago,” Nathan said suddenly, without turning around. “But I was forbidden. I’m sorry.”

Nicholas blinked at the abrupt change of subject. The mental link he shared with Nathan was a product of choice and mutual agreement. It was not as instinctive as the inborn bond between he and Zed, but it was strong enough for Nicholas to feel the regret and distress of the secrets that had come out between them during their recent adventure.

He closed the distance between them, and lightly cuffed Nathan on the back of his shoulder. “You at least have the defense of being sworn to secrecy,” he pointed out. “After two years in an officially-nonexistent advanced research facility, one concept I understand is ‘need to know.’ My only excuse is shame.”

Nathan turned, a wry smile on his face. “Well, given how I reacted when you finally told what happened between you and Zerene, a case could be made for your reticence. I argued often that no harm could come from telling you the full details of my status, since it couldn’t possibly have any meaning for you.”

“But your grandmother was adamant,” Nicholas finished, smiling. “Well, it’s all out now. Pointless, trying to one-up each other on whose excuses are worse.”

As if deliberately timed to underscore the closure of that subject, Morphy’s voice spoke. “Exterior quantum state in flux,” it announced. “Space-time orientation shifting.”

“Here we go,” Nathan murmured. “Amazing, that I’m already becoming blase to this.”

“Full tactical and visual display, Morphy!” Nicholas commanded, turning to one side as his attention was diverted. The air in front of him lit with a mosaic of frames. Text and diagram graphics danced across most of them, data generated as Morphy’s sensors sampled their surroundings.

One frame showed a roiling chaos-scape. Green and black currents flowed and swirled, while golden lights sparked and arced within, like static created by friction. Eddies and vortices twisted to indiscernible depths, and vanished just as suddenly.

For this moment, nothing else existed for Nicholas Chandler. This is the space between universes, he thought. Either the components from which all universes were made, or the leftovers of that formation. No telling what rules apply here. If this place can be measured and mapped, we could have the means to travel not only to all the worlds in our own universe, but all the others as well! And that doesn’t even touch what might exist right out there!

You’re drooling.

The mental statement was like a foot stuck out in front of him while at a full sprint. He was so caught by surprise that his hand actually reached up to his chin. He accepted the gibe with good grace, returning an internal chuckle. Guilty, he told Zed. Once a science nerd, always a science nerd.

Zed flowed through their link, creating the mental equivalent of sitting down close to him. Wile E. Coyote, she sent whimsically, Sooper Geenius.

Hah! he replied. He continued to watch the data on the frames in front of him, but it was clear his mind was elsewhere. You’ve been very open about nearly everything, he changed the subject. Is there a reason you hold back on what happened to you? Becoming Phoenix-Touched?

There is, she admitted cautiously. Even that small admission made the thing in the back of her brain push and stretch, reaching…. Fiercely, she grabbed it and shoved it back, keeping it away from him. I’m not ready to talk about it yet, though. She made a cage from the statement, sealing it in. She would not let it near him, until she was sure the time was right.

Nicholas carefully kept his reply casual. That’s fine. Take your time. His focus returned to the data being relayed by Morphy.

The exchange annoyed Zed. She and Nicholas had at last come to peaceful terms with the psychic bond between them. Nicholas had severed that link in a fit of icy rage ten years before, and it had been reforged only by Zed’s extraordinary encounter with a phoenix. They had reconciled, and each had forgiven the other for their part in the schism.

I shouldn’t have to hold anything back from him! Zed ranted to herself. But I’m still sorting out what being Phoenix-Touched means for me, how can I share it with him?

And be honest, Zerene. You’re also scared because Nicholas is aiv’shien with Nathan. Go too deep into one, and you might stumble into the other. But part of herself asked: would that be so terrible?

Zed quickly turned her attention to Morphy. As accustomed as she was to mental communication, it was still disconcerting to have an entity such as he probing her memories. From what she could sense, he was discreet to a fault: his searches had limited themselves only to what they needed to guide them to her proposed destination.

She let her curiosity get the best of her. Why are you still playing possum? she asked.

The same reason as you, came the reply. I’m not what I was, nor what I was before. What I am is still open to interpretation. I can hardly ask them to accept me until I know what I’ve become.

Fair enough, she acknowledged.

“Space-time coordinates stabilizing,” Morphy announced. “Impending egress.”

“Wow,” Nicholas murmured.

The data and transmitted view on the suspended display frames was the only indication of their arrival. The truck’s wheels touched ground without a bump, and with the windows opaqued there was no evidence they’d ever moved.

Nathan peered at the frame which showed their exterior surroundings. He recognized it immediately, which was not remarkable since he’d been in the area only days previously. “We’re near Black Lake Valley,” he announced.

“Bolt’s home away from home,” Zed announced from the air. Nathan jerked and looked around suddenly before he realized her comment had been transmitted directly from her mind, her voice reproduced perfectly by Morphy’s acoustic system. “No better place for him to recuperate and refuel.”

“Won’t we sort of stick out?” Nicholas asked.

“Shenn’s not so backward!” Nathan rebuked him. “We’ve had enclosed, self-propelled vehicles for generations!”

“With molycarbon windows and molyceramic hulls?” Nicholas refined his point.

“Morphy’s look may differ from local carriages,” Nathan acknowledged, “but its function will be familiar enough. You’ll simply be seen as eccentric nobles with more money than sense.”

“And how will you be seen?” Nicholas asked, catching Nathan’s choice of pronoun.

“I won’t,” Nathan replied. “I tempted fate too much on my last visit here. I dare not stay. As soon as we arrive and Bolt is safely decanted, Morphy and I shall return Earthside.”

Zed emerged from the stairs, pulling a clean shirt on, in time to hear Nathan’s reply. The shirt looked like soft, cured hide, un-dyed from its natural tan hue. She was already wearing leggings of similar stuff in a darker shade, and boots that covered her calves completely. “Why don’t you dare stay?” she asked. “You’re Arasidhe, who would challenge you?”

Nathan smiled at her. “House Arasidhe,” he answered. “I am in exile.”

Zed blinked, and for a moment was distracted by his smile. Then his reply penetrated. “Exile?” she echoed. “Why?” She pulled a clip from a pocket. Reaching back with both hands, she gathered her knee-length blood-colored hair, twisted it round a few times, and pinned it back.

Nicholas’ attention had been on the display frames. Zed’s moment of distraction nudged softly through their link, distracting him. Since he was looking at the two of them, Nathan’s sudden fascination at the spectacle of Zed in local fashions and binding her hair came through clearly via their aiv’shien link. Nathan’s well-schooled features betrayed nothing, of course.

Nicholas looked from Nathan to Zed, then back again. Then he turned back to the frames, partially to cover his own private smirk. Heh, he thought. I wonder how long it will take them to realize it?

“That’s a story for another day,” Nathan demurred. “And my own tale of woe aside, I doubt very much an Arasidhe would be welcomed at your ultimate destination. Or did you not plan to introduce your long-lost brother to his Feyside relations?”

“What?” Nicholas asked, looking away from the data frames.

Zed gave Nathan an approving nod. “Very good,” she told him. “And more than likely right.”

“What?” Nicholas repeated.

“There you are, then!” Nathan concluded, spreading his hands. “So Morphy and I will return Earthside, leaving the two – er, three of you to a proper reunion.”

“Time out!” Nicholas exclaimed. Morphy obligingly made a sound like a referee’s whistle blowing, which distracted all of them for a moment. Nicholas shook his head to recover. “Recap. While Bolt’s convalescing, Zed and I are going to visit our father’s relatives. Nathan can’t stay on Shenn because he’s in exile, and he wouldn’t be welcomed by our relatives anyway, because he’s an Arasidhe.”

“Yes,” Nathan and Zed chorused.

“Will I eventually find out why Arasidhe and Kandaler don’t get along?” Nicholas asked calmly.

“It’s not so much they don’t get along,” Zed told him. She picked up a bundle that Morphy had deposited on a nearby table, and tossed it at Nicholas. He caught it easily. “Arasidhe like to know everybody’s secrets. Kandalers are very good at keeping theirs.”

“Or from the other point of view,” Nathan countered, “Kandalers are known to be very secretive, potentially very powerful, with an unknown agenda. Bitter experience has taught Arasidhe that such people need to be watched very closely.”

“House Arasidhe fancies itself Shenn’s peacekeeper,” Zed told Nicholas, frowning slightly in Nathan’s direction. “Clan Kandaler prefers to handle its own affairs.”

“Clan Kandaler likewise has been known to step in on other people’s problems,” Nathan shot back. “Whether their motives are simple altruism or something else, is still a question.”

“Morphy?” Nicholas asked.

Morphy produced the sound of a bell, of the type traditionally used to signal the end of a round in a fight. Both Zed and Nathan started and blinked, and realized they’d each gotten a little hotter on the subject than they’d intended.

“Thank you, Morphy,” Nicholas replied. His eyebrows and moustache seemed to form two parallel lines across his face, as they always did when he was annoyed. His newly-amber eyes increased the intensity of his expression. “If there’s a Cold War between House Arasidhe and Clan Kandaler, that’s a Feyside problem. I’m here to help my sister’s best friend get better, and to say hi to a family I didn’t know I had. If I can’t do that without getting tangled up in local politics, let me know now.”

Nathan bowed to Nicholas. “Apologies,” he said. “And thank you for illustrating why it’s best I stay Earthside.”

I’m sorry, Etti, Zed sent to him, her thoughts redolent of regret and self-annoyance.

Nicholas nodded. “OK then.” He hefted the bundle Zed had tossed at him. “Obviously these are so I won’t stick out as badly as Morphy. So I’ll change while Morphy gets us to Black Lake Valley and decants Bolt.”

“We are already at Black Lake Valley,” Morphy informed them. “Bolt has already been decanted. And by the pounding on my exterior hull, he is awake and hungry.”

 

A Show of Mercy

 

Stalking the tainted intruder was distressingly easy. Where it trod, things died. Not a continuous track, but an uninterrupted trail of clear footsteps, made obvious by blackened grass and stinking soil.

It wandered without purpose. She knew this by the way its steps wove and twisted, sometimes circling over themselves. It was not grazing, nor was it hunting. What sort of creature it might be, she could not tell. The press of the tracks looked like hooves, that might belong to some of the things she normally hunted.

She stopped to study one of its prints closely, her tendrils quivering in revulsion at the stench. The contamination did not appear to spread beyond the ground which had been directly beneath its feet. That was good. If its poison spread, everything would die.

The stink suddenly became stronger. She moved forward cautiously. As she was now, the thing could not sense her. This was her kind’s gift. When they wished, they left no prints, stirred not the slightest branch or grass. Their scent would not carry or transfer to anything they touched. They could stand in the middle of a sunlit field, unseen. Even those creatures who could touch and feel the minds of others could not sense her kind, if they did not wish it. Nevertheless, she did not intend to blunder into the thing.

She crested the rise, and saw it.

She recognized the creature at once. She’d last seen it before she’d gone to find the spriggan. She’d been chasing its herd, and this stupid young breeding female had split off, running in blind, bleating panic. She’d noted and dismissed it, especially when she saw it flee across the hard borderland and vanish among the boulders and canyons of the poisoned place.

It should have been here. It should have died in the poisoned place, as everything did. But here it was, and the longer it stayed, the more harm it would do to her home, by its mere presence. It had to be destroyed. But if she killed it here, its blood and flesh would poison even more of the land.

She had to lead it back to the poisoned place, or at least the borderland. There she could kill it, and the only thing at risk would be herself.

It shifted restlessly from one leg to the other. Its tongue lolled, black and blistered. Its eyes wept slime. Its fur had fallen out here and there, and the skin exposed was ridden with black, weeping sores. Its voice was a low, constantly wavering moan deep in its throat. It was dying, probably would not last another day.

She dared not wait that long.

She moved upwind of the poor beast and let her scent out. It didn’t respond. That was not a surprise, given the cracked, oozing state of its nostrils. If its other senses were as far gone, subtlety was pointless.

She became visible, letting her feet sink into the soft earth beneath her and the wind whistle as it blew around her. Even then, the female was slow to register her presence. When it did though, the response was undeniable, and startling.

Its head snapped around, rheumy eyes bulging. Its mouth opened wide enough to break fresh cracks in the corners of its lips, and its voice rose from the hoarse whisper to a full_throated falsetto scream. Then it leaped at her.

Though caught by surprise, she was not paralyzed. She was forced to fight her own reflexes, which dictated a swift, sharp, bloody punishment for the attack. She leapt backward, pushing off with all four legs and sailing through the air with agility belying her size and mass.

The maddened female faltered not in its charge. She was already backpedaling as she landed. She shifted one eye behind her, keeping the other focused on the infected beast. Would the female chase her all the way to the borderland? That would simplify matters.

She gave voice to a warning, letting everything within range know that she was here. Even the mad breeds knew to give way when she called thus. She continued her backward race, dodging around trees and rocks while watching the tainted thing before her. Her legs worked tirelessly, and she paced herself for the long run.

Why had it attacked? Did its madness cause it to think she was prey? Or did it recognize her, and see in her a desired end to its torment? She knew not, and wasted no more time on the question. As long as she could lead it to the borderland, she would put a safe end to it.

Fate undid her plan.

As stupid in madness as it had been whole, the female did not see the rodent burrow. Its left foreleg sank in just past the ankle, and momentum did the rest. She heard the wet crack. Still oblivious, it pulled the broken leg from the hole and tried to continue its chase. Its madness could dull its sense of pain, but did not allow it to ignore the need for intact bones for running. The leg folded under it, and its muzzle plowed the soil as it skidded forward. More cracking sounds told her it had broken other limbs as well.

She stopped also, chuffing in annoyance. The infected female would run no further, probably could not even walk. But they were still too far from the borderland for a safe kill.

She approached cautiously. The female yanked its head from the soil and screamed at her, struggling to rise, becoming more and more infuriated each time its ruined legs buckled.

Poisoned, maddened, crippled… everything in her demanded she give it mercy. But how could she, without spraying poisoned blood all around?

Her inherited memories offered an answer. Ironically, the suggested method had been used by one of the mad human breed, to kill one of her ancestors. But it had the virtues of instant fatality with nearly no loss of fluid.

She stepped back and turned slightly, focusing both eyes on the female. Her tail flicked forward. The straight claw in its tip slid out its sheath, passed in one crusty eye, through its fevered brain, and out the other side. Its scream ended in a cough and a belch, and it fell limp without even a final spasm. She was pleased. It was as merciful a kill as she’d ever bestowed.

She realized the method of its end also answered the question of how she could return it to the poisoned place. Would it work? She curled her tail slightly, keeping the claw extended, and took a few experimental steps. The carcass moved with her, securely impaled on her tail claw.

She’d be the rest of the day dragging it to the borderland, and the dead swath left by its carcass would be long in healing. But it would be worth it, to remove the poison from her home.

She set about it.

 

“Bolt!” Zed called as she emerged from Morphy’s customary door. “Don’t pound on the truck, we can heaaAAAYYY!” Her rebuke dissolved into a cry of surprise as Bolt reached under her arms from behind. He lifted her above his head with such speed and power that the clasp on her hairpin popped open, letting her hair spill free.

“OY!” he bellowed, racing across the compound. “Look ‘oo I found! Oy, Po! Looka here!”

Though not crowded, there were a fair number of people seeing to their business. Bolt’s high_speed dodging sprint and shouts quickly drew everybody’s attention. Some recognized Zed’s features, or deduced her identity from Bolt’s exuberance. Nobody failed to note the blood_red hair which blew in the midday breeze.

Po’s heavy brow lifted. For the elderly tagarl, that was the equivalent of a slack_jawed stare. “!Zerene, back from the !dead,” he clicked. Rousing himself, he crossed the compound in a few strides. His furry arms reached out, and Bolt willingly passed Zed to him. She all but vanished from view as he gingerly pressed her to his chest.

“And it’s good to be back, Po,” Zed told him, returning the embrace as best she could.

“Oy, that’s enough now!” Bolt chided playfully. “She’s me partner, after all! Come on, give over!”

Po relinquished Zed to the obstreporous centaur. The other Seekers who were present crowded around them, as did the Black Lake staff who weren’t busy with their duties. All of them called questions, voiced amazement, shouted welcome. Two words wove in and out of the clamor.

“…Phoenix-touched…phoenix-touched….”

Nicholas stepped out behind them, and grinned to find himself completely unnoticed. Good thing you didn’t plan on a low-key entrance! he sent to Zed.

You’re joking! she replied. For Bolt, this is low-key!

Nathan stood just inside the foyer, safely out of sight. “Enjoy yourself, my brother,” he said, just loudly enough for Nicholas to hear. “I hope this visit leaves you with a better impression of Shenn.”

Nicholas turned and gave Nathan a level, slightly accusatory look. “You’re going after Grisham,” he stated. “That’s the other reason you didn’t want to stay.”

Nathan’s smiled, and there was an edge to it. “What you saw between Zerene and I about relations between Arasidhe and Kandaler is true,” he told him. “But can I be blamed if I find other ways to entertain myself in your absence?”

Nicholas nodded, and returned the grin. “Don’t embarrass us,” he quoted warningly.

“Have I ever?” Nathan returned. He stepped further back into the foyer, and Morphy obligingly shut the exterior door. A few people noted Morphy’s departure, but spared it scant pondering.

“Well, this is fine!” proclaimed a voice obviously practiced at being heard in the noisiest surroundings. Everybody present recognized the authoritarian tones. They parted to reveal a scowling portian dressed in simple, sturdy clothes and an apron stained by many a kitchen mishap. Her sand-colored hair was held back from her strong, handsome features in a utilitarian topknot.

The shouts and exuberant cries abated. Bolt set Zed down. The portian matron glared at Zed, who managed to meet her gaze without blinking. “You realize that now, we’ll have to take down the gravestone we put up for you?”

“Well, you can leave it up if you like, Sally,” Zed replied. “But I don’t imagine I’ll need it any time soon.”

The crow’s feet at the corners of Salyrokenimora’s eyes deepened as her eyes narrowed. Then her scowl broke apart to reveal a wide, happy grin. “Well, by the Ladies’ silken bloomers!” she exclaimed. “It’s about time we had an excuse for a party!” She turned and bellowed, “Girls! Crack the larder and tap the kegs! And rouse the bards, those lazy fops!”

Barely ten minutes later, a banquet was in full swing. The heady, spicy aromas of roasting meat. pungent vegetables, rich cheeses, sweet desserts, and nutty, grainy brews filled the air, while the sounds of wind and string twisted rhythmically.

Zed endured being the center of attention as long as she could. It used to be simple, she thought. The people we helped remembered us, and would give our names to others they knew who had problems. We could say yea or nay as we pleased, and vanishing in a crowd was easy, even with Bolt in tow. But now… Is this how my life’s going to be? Not Zerene, but Phoenix-Touched?

She’d introduced Nicholas to Sally, Po, and the others. Looking around now, she saw no sign of him. Where did you get to? she asked.

Talking with Po, came the reply.

Though Black Lake Valley’s buildings were built to accommodate a variety of races, the idea of making ceiling high enough and doorways broad enough for the mammoth tagarl hadn’t occurred to the builders. After all, tagarl were seen away from the frigid, glacial peaks of Chillblade even less often than Tantareli centaurs strayed from the high meadows of their home. When Po had retired from Seeker work and made the crossroads compound his permanent home, he’d willingly settled to a life outdoors.

The idea of escaping the overpowering exuberance of the party in Black Lake’s great hall and perching on the fence near Po’s customary table suddenly sounded irresistable to Zed. And talking with Po, who’d seen and done so much over more years than anybody knew….

Well, why not?

The crowd’s focus had shifted to Bolt. Her massive partner was regaling them with the details of the battle for Rock Bend, and his subsequent adventure Earthside. Zed took advantage of the moment to slide along the wall to the door. She thought about using qran ztan, the discipline taught her by her relatives that allowed one to pass unnoticed, a sort of psychic invisibility. But so riveted was the crowd by Bolt’s storytelling skills, that Zed was able to pass from among them.

Almost.

Zed had just reached the door. She had her back to it, still watching the room, and reached one hand behind to work the latch. Suddenly the latch was yanked from her hand and the door slid aside. She kept her balance with a little effort, turned, and looked down into Sally’s flinty-black eyes.

“Ducking out on your welcome home?” Sally demanded. Zed noted immediately that the question was said too quietly for anybody else to hear. Given that Sally’s voice had already demonstrated its capacity for stridence, this was a good sign.

Zed shrugged and smirked a little. “Need some air,” she explained. And space, and time, and quiet, and distance…

Sally peered up at her for a moment. Then one thick, square hand dove into an apron pocket, emerging almost as quickly. Sally’s other hand grabbed Zed’s, and she pressed the bundle from her pocket, curling Zed’s fingers around it. “Welcome home, Zerene,” she murmured. She gently but irresistably pulled Zed through the doorway, and slid the door shut.

“Your brother’s out on the patio with Po,” Sally told her.

“I know,” Zed replied, smiling. “Thanks, Sally.”

The patio set aside for Black Lake Valley’s larger-than-average clientele formed a semi-circle at the edge of the fenced compound. This was not to discriminate against the giants, ogres, and others of similar size who occasioned the roadhouse, but for their comfort. Leaning back and stretching your legs is not so easy when you are fifteen feet tall or better, and business or convenience causes you to keep company with people who are half your size or less, and so fragile…

The tables and chairs were well-made, sturdy and comfortable, protected from sun and road-dust by canopies and screens, all set on a raised deck of planks fit so closely that the sheerest edge could not slip between. Sally and her daughters kept the patio as clean and polished as any of Black Lake Valley’s other accommodations.

Once away from the main compound, Zed made no attempt at stealth. Through the screens she could see the lantern which lit Po’s usual table. The white-furred tagarl reclined in a padded wooden chair, his head wreathed by clouds of aromatic smoke which issued from the pipe between his lips. A keg big enough to swim in sat in a cradle next to the table, and a flagon as tall as a man sat on the table before him.

Zed had a fine frame of reference for the size of Po’s tankard, because Nicholas sat cross-leggd on the table next to it. The two of them looked her way as she pushed between the screens.

“Zerene !Kandaler,” Po rumbled, the click characteristic of his native language adding emphasis to the words he chose. “Never one to do things by !half-measures. You left to find a phoenix-quill, and come back from the dead !touched!”

Zed leaped and caught the edge of the table, chinned up, and vaulted onto it with easy grace. “Not my idea,” she assured Po. “But I’m stuck with it.”

“Stuck,” Po repeated. He pulled on his pipe, and exhaled a cloud of purplish smoke, redolent of a lichen native to his home of Chillblade. Importing it all the way from those frozen climes was fantastically expensive, but Po never seemed to lack for the stuff. “Stuck means you can’t move. You have the !opposite challenge, seems to me. !Two worlds’ worth of options are set before you. So many ways to choose, which is the !best?”

Zed turned and glared at Nicholas. Her fist moved in a blur, punching him in the bicep. “We’re supposed to be blending in!” she reminded him. “Earthside’s not always a safe place to mention, remember!”

Nicholas accepted the punch stoically. “He already knew,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Zed’s gaze whipped back to Po, wide with surprise. “I never said –“

”You did,” Po rumbled, smiling. He reached up and tapped one round ear. “!First greeting you gave me. Po’s heard Earthsiders talk !before. You’ve gotten better since.”

“You never let on,” Zed marveled.

“‘Twas !your secret to keep,” Po pointed out.

Zed blinked, then chuckled. “Fair enough,” she conceded. “So. What have you two found to talk about?”

Po looked at Nicholas. “Did she ever like being the subject of conversation?”

“Only when it was her idea,” Nicholas confirmed.

“Hey now, enough of that!” Zed rebuked them. Inside though, she warmed to the succinctness with which Po had stated her current situation. That’s what he does, she reflected. That’s why everybody likes him. Straight talk, sorting out problems.

Sighing in resignation, she sat down next to Nicholas, reached into a pocket, and drew out the package of cured hide that Sally had given her. Clicking open the catch with a practiced flip of her thumb, she inhaled deeply of the scent that was released. Ladies smile on you, Sally, she thought.

She drew out a cylinder of rusty orange dried leaf, wrapped tightly around its contents. The smell was a mixture of tangy citrus, pungent sage, and something else altogether.

“Since when did you smoke?” Nicholas asked.

“Learned on the trail,” she replied, putting one end between her lips. “Don’t worry, little brother. It’s non-carcinogenic.”

“!Good,” Po commented. “You don’t !smell right.”

“Blame the bird,” Zed quipped around the cheroot. She cupped one hand around the other end, and murmured a cantrip. In response, a small, intense light flared in her hand, as if caged by her curled fingers. Where the end of the cheroot touched the flare, the dried leaf smoked, blackened, and finally lit. Once the coal was secure, Zed straightened her fingers, and the flare went out.

“Handy,” Nicholas commented. “Magic?”

Zed inhaled a mouthful of bittersweet smoke, held it, then exhaled. The essential oils of the mix inside the cheroot wafted through her palate and nostrils, calming, clearing, invigorating. “The local term for it is craft,” she told him. “Magic’s only proper when you’re being technical, or crude.”

She turned her gaze to Po again. “All right, you old Zen fuzzball,” she said. “Now I’m ready for you.”

 

“Egress complete,” Morphy announced. “Space-time orientation stabilized.”

“Very nice, Morphy,” Nathan commented, reclining in one of the seats in the viewing gallery. Through the windshield, the swirling turmoil of the Veil parted and cleared to a view of In-Ko-Pah Road, the main access artery for Cairnhaven. “One would think you’ve been doing this all your life.”

“Thank you, Nathan,” Morphy replied. “Cairnhaven ETA three-point-two minutes.”

“Is Galen expecting us?” Nathan asked.

“Seneschal relayed my message,” Morphy assured him. “Incoming call from Galen.”

Even as Nathan replied, “Receive,” a display frame appeared in the air. Galen was at his desk, using his monitor to make the call. Nathan blinked at Morphy’s anticipation of his request. The surprise trip Feyside seems to have awakened a growing list of additions to his already formidable repertoire. I wonder at which point we should become concerned?

“The court didn’t waste any time,” Galen told Nathan, “and neither did Grisham. The verdict came down an hour ago. Not guilty on the conspiracy charges, but he was tagged on executive negligence.”

“So no adjustment,” Nathan deduced.

“Right,” Galen confirmed. “Total surrender of personal assets, and ten years monitored public service. He was given twenty minutes to report to his work site. Thirty minutes later he became an escaped felon.”

“So much for the court of honor,” Nathan commented. “Bounty?”

Galen nodded. “Fifty thousand from the court, one hundred thousand from Worldwide Strikeforce, and another fifty from WarpNet.”

Nathan’s eyebrows arched. “You put a bounty on him?” he asked Galen.

Galen shook his head, grinning maliciously. “WarpNet is facilitating the bounty,” he explained. “But the money came from nearly every Outrider in the state. Longbow’s scam gave them all a bad name, and they intend to see it put right.”

Nathan nodded in understanding. Outriders depend on their reputation for business. What one of them does affects the rest of them. People were scared by the news of Longbow’s actions, so now they look askance at all Outriders.

“We’ve arrived at Cairnhaven,” Morphy announced.

“Thank you, Morphy,” Nathan acknowledged, turning his head slightly aside. “Park in our usual spot.” He turned back to Galen’s face in the frame. “What have you found so far?”

“Process of elimination,” Galen replied. “He wouldn’t stay in the US.” He held up one hand, and curled a finger down for each point. “He’d avoid any country from which he could be extradited. He’d give preference to any of the countries who traded with Longbow, especially those who don’t officially outlaw slavery or organlegging. He’d also want a country that allows ready means of escape if he needs to run again. Finally, he’d avoid any country with a Worldwide Strikeforce contract.”

“Very well, Mr. Holmes,” Nathan quipped, grinning. “Since you’ve eliminated the impossible, what does that leave us?”

Galen reciprocated the grin. “Morocco. Assuming he left within the hour of the verdict, he’ll arrive in twenty-five hours. That’s by commercial airship or ocean liner. Anything faster would attract too much attention.”

“What if he uses Sonrise transportation?” Nathan asked. “If memory serves, they do own a freight line.”

“Same travel time,” Galen replied. “Seneschal tagged every commercial air and ocean vehicle due to arrive in Morocco in the next thirty hours, from anywhere. So even if he hooks up en route, it’s on the list. I’ve already downloaded it to Morphy.”

“Thorough as always,” Nathan nodded. “When do I leave?”

“As soon as you wish,” Morphy volunteered.

Both men blinked at the interjection. “Pardon me for stating the obvious,” Nathan spoke slowly. “There is a rather substantial body of water between here and Morocco, Morphy.”

“Thank you for that information, Nathan,” Morphy replied, ingenuous as ever. “That will not be an obstacle.”

Galen and Nathan exchanged looks devoid of expression. Galen broke the silence first. “Then I guess I should wish you good luck and good hunting, Nathan.”

“Thank you,” Nathan replied. “I’ll be in touch.”

Galen watched Nathan turn his head to one side and say to the air, “Whenever you’re ready, Morphy.” A second later his monitor pane displayed the message “Call Ended.”

“Seneschal,” he said.

“Here, Galen,” answered the arcology computer.

“Video surveillance,” Galen instructed. “Exterior parking lot. Space forty-four-A.”

“Of course,” Seneschal replied.

Galen’s monitor pane lit up with the section of parking lot where Twilight Agency’s truck nearly always deposited itself. Galen scowled thoughtfully as he watched Morphy radiate green light from every inch of its hull. The vehicle appeared to lurch forward suddenly, and winked out like a snuffed flame.

Godspeed, Nathan St. John, he thought. And I pray that I’m wrong in being more worried about your ride right now, than anything else.

 

Teratologia

 

She stirred in her den. The carcass was safely tossed across the borderland, to decay in the poisoned place where it belonged. The marks of its passage would be slow in healing, but heal they would. Why then, was sleep such elusive prey?

Disquiet was no stranger to her. When the season was upon her, she neither knew nor wished any peace, save that which came after mating. Likewise when she was due to birth, she was in a hot frenzy to see that the den was ready for the young to come. Finally, when her progeny were nearly to the stage of fending for themselves, her impatience for them to strike out on their own was a special sort of slow torment.

This was none of those. This was an itch that said something was amiss, unfinished. She taxed herself to name it, but to no avail. The lack of an answer only added to it.

The spriggan disrupted the pattern by killing other hunters, when those hunters were no direct competition to the spriggan. The spriggan did not increase their own hunting to fill the gap their actions created. Prey were not tested and thinned as they ought. The weak and stupid survived when they should not. Their flaws weakened their herds, especially if they bred. How else to account for the female she’d just killed? Stupid enough to run into a place which every sense should have told her was deadly!

Unchecked, such weakness would spread. First the prey herds would be tainted, then through them the hunters. The pattern would break apart.

She could not let that happen.

The restlessness vanished like morning mist. She knew what she had to do. Certainty gave her peace.

She glided from her den with her gift in full force, more ephemeral than the evening breeze. Her eyes twitched here and there, but it was reflex. When she used her gift, she did not sense the world with her physical organs. Her mind stretched out instead, seeing, hearing, touching, tasting the world directly.

The herd was not hard to find. Creatures of habit, they were smart enough to know when a feeding place needed time to rest and grow back, and how to run from a threat without endangering themselves, but little more. Which was really all they needed.

It was midday and they were feeding. She drifted around the perimeter of their feeding ground, checking those whose job it was to watch and give alarm. They were there, and at first glance appeared properly vigilant.

As she looked more closely, she spotted signs of distraction in each one of them. That one’s eyes were half-closed, lulled by the warm sun. The furthest one was more absorbed in grooming itself, looking around only now and again. A young male just coming into his breeding years couldn’t take his eyes off a ripe female as she grazed.

Her attention moved from the watchers to the rest of the herd. The female whom the young male watcher found so fascinating should have moved away from the patch of turf, instead of nearly denuding it. There, a calf who should have been weaned still followed its mother, shoving at a teat which had long since dried up. And the mother did not rebuke the calf, but ignored its buffeting as she gorged herself on sweet grass.

It had already begun. The entire herd was weak and stupid. If there had been a proper number of hunters about, the entire herd would have been decimated, and properly so.

But there was only herself.

Later, she swam in the lake, cleansing herself of the blood. Then she returned to her den and slept a peaceful, deep sleep.

 

“It’s unfair of me,” Nicholas commented. “But I still find it a surprise that Shenn has paved roads.”

Zed grinned at her brother. The two of them were perched on Bolt’s shoulders, as the Tantareli raced along a lane of smooth, level stone. “It’s not really paved,” she told him. “This is a Terin road.”

“Terin are the aerin breed who are…” he paused to recall the term he’d heard used, “…Kin to earth and rock. So this road was made by Terin using their Kin abilities to reshape the soil?”

“Aye,” Zed confirmed. “That’s why aerin are the dominant race on Shenn. With inborn telepathy, and direct control over their environment, they didn’t have to develop technology or craft first. They were changing the world to suit themselves while everybody else was still figuring out rules to get along.”

“Even the Kandalers?” Nicholas asked.

Zed grinned wider. “We had our own special head start. The library at the Vale can explain it better than I can.”

Nicholas nodded, accepting her implied counsel. After a few moments he changed the subject. “What sort of reception will we get there?”

“They’ll be happy to see me,” she answered easily. “Even with what’s happened to me. You… I’m not sure. My vouch for you will help, but there may be some who won’t forgive and forget so easily.”

“That’s their right,” Nicholas told her. He started to add to the comment, but stopped and stared when Zed suddenly cuffed Bolt sharply on the crown of his skull.

“Oy, what wazzat for?” Bolt cried in proper indignation.

“Just because I can’t see you smirk, don’t think I can’t hear you laughing inside!” she rebuked him.

“Can’t help it!” he protested. “I keep seein’ yer face, when the dyecraft fizzled!”

She cuffed him again, then stared in outrage at Nicholas, as she saw his lips curve in an answering grin. “You too!” she cried at him.

“What’d ye expect?” Bolt chastised her in turn. “All the lore we found agrees, the marks of a Phoenix Touch can’t be undone!”

“It was old lore!” she protested. “I thought new craft might work! At least I had nothing to lose!”

“Hee hee hee!” Bolt giggled, and imitated a fizzle and pop with his lips and tongue.

He turned his course suddenly, veering off the smooth aerin-crafted lane and racing across untracked countryside. In a few minutes a treeline of unusual abruptness and density rose over the horizon.

“That’s the Green, isn’t it?” Nicholas asked.

Zed started and blinked at him. “You know about the Green?”

Nicholas nodded. “Nathan told me about it years ago. The entire Sylin population vanished, leaving a forest where their kingdom used to be. A forest that whispers to itself, moves in ways that plants shouldn’t be able to, and welcomes no outsiders.”

“Two out of three, not bad,” Zed answered. “Passing the Green is possible, but very few people can manage it.”

“Are we some of those very few?” Nicholas asked, noting that their current course led toward that forbidding verdancy.

“I can manage it on a good day,” she replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “All three of us, no way. Fortunately, we don’t have to.”

Bolt’s headlong pace didn’t falter. Nicholas could feel the anticipation in Zed’s mind, and understood this approach was a simple pleasure she and her partner had long reserved for themselves. Barely ten paces from the edge of the Green, Bolt spun on his forehooves, allowing his hindquarters to skid around ninety degrees, then kicked off without losing a step.

Impressive, Nicholas thought. Especially for someone as big as him, and at this speed.

Suddenly they were underground. Nicholas blinked, then turned and looked behind him. Sunlight streamed in through the mouth of the tunnel, filtered by grass and creepers. Camouflage. From the outside I bet you could stand on top of that opening and not see it.

The tunnel had a noticeable slope, and curved so that the tunnel mouth was quickly lost to view. It was unlit, but Bolt obviously knew the route well. Nicholas’ eyes adjusted to the darkness, shifting to the infra-red spectrum. There was still little to see – against the cool earth, their bodies were the only sources of heat.

Then they burst into light again, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the dazzle of heat signatures. After readjusting, he blinked away tears and looked around.

“Welcome to Kandaler Vale,” Zed said.

 

“They should be just over the rise,” declared Nils Kandaler, with more assurance than he felt.

“I don’t hear them,” Orlon Kandaler replied.

“They don’t always make noise,” Nils informed his brother a trifle too snappishly. “Even huskva shut up when they’re feeding, which makes them smarter than you in that.”

“We’re downwind,” Orlon pointed out, “and huskva stink. Why don’t we smell them?”

“There’s barely any breeze,” Nils retorted. “I tell you, they’re there. This is part of the herd’s feed route. They’ve followed it since Akim was a boy, I’ll lay odds.”

“I’ll take those odds,” interjected Veda Kandaler, “if it will get you both to shush!”

Nils and Orlon accepted their sister’s rebuke, and moved the debate to the nonverbal level. Though some of Shenn’s wildlife was psychically sensitive, the herbivorous huskva had long been established as mind-deaf.

There’s a glen beyond this rise, Nils told his siblings. He crouched low, level with the tall grass, barely stirring the stalks as he moved forward. Once we get there, you’ll see. And I’ll hold you to that bet, Veda. Loser washes dishes the rest of the week.

No bet! Veda objected, matching her brother’s stealthy stalk up the low hillside. You’re washing dishes already because you got caught spooking the stove-sprite when it was my turn to cook!

True that, Orlon confirmed as he brought up the rear, then grinned impishly. Of course, your cooking actually tasted better when he did that, Veda.

Veda spun to glare at her older brother. What do you know? she shot back. You eat moldy cheese!

It’s an Earthside delicacy, Orlon replied. Zerene told me about it, the last time she visited.

What Zerene described, Veda corrected him, and what you made, are two entirely different things. And with what it does to your breath, it’s no wander you can’t even smell huskva!

They crested the rise together. None of them said anything, mentally or verbally. Then as one, they rose from their crouched stances. This was something which had been drilled into them as Not Done, especially around skittish prey like huskva. From the scene beyond the rise, there was clearly no danger of that now.

Nils was the first to break the silence. Even facing the spectacle before them, his wit would not be completely denied.

“See?” he said weakly. “T-told you they were there.”

“Bright Ladies,” Veda breathed.

The grass of the glen was trampled, torn, and soaked black. Here and there heads, limbs, and torsos were still recognizable, otherwhere not. Skin had been flayed whole from some of them, and bone and tendon gleamed white in the afternoon sun. Some of them were visibly mauled and partially eaten, but none of them had been left whole. From the youngest calf to the oldest, toughest bull – their killer had spared no care for age or quality of prey.

“Whatever did this,” Orlon said, slowly, softly, but distinctly, “might not have left yet.”

They needed no further encouragement. All three raced from the bloodsoaked glen. They slowed their pace once they were well away, but did not stop running until they plunged into the tunnel leading to Kandaler Vale.

“Qwyn!” Veda cried. She grabbed the doorway with one hand to help round the corner.

Qwyn Kandaler looked up from his maps as his niece skidded to a stop in his office. She was winded, sweaty, and empty-handed, as were her brothers Orlon and Nils.

His practiced eye saw that their weapons were still as clean as when they’d left the Vale that morning. He’d trained the three of them as he had most of Kandaler Vale’s children. They weren’t the best hunters, but they were adequate. They were certainly too good to come back in such a state without a very good reason. Finally, even prankish Nils knew better than to bait the Vale’s Huntmaster about such a subject.

So Qwyn took them at face value when they told him about the massacre in the glen. His reply was short and direct, as it always was: “Show me.”

When they reached the rise, Qwyn raised one hand, palm outward. The youngsters knew the signal, and stayed put. The huntmaster glided forward, disturbing neither blade of grass, nor fallen twig. The carrion birds and insects which were already at work on the mangled carcasses did not pause at his passage.

He touched nothing. His eyes, ears, and nose told him all he needed to know. His inspection took only a few minutes. When he returned to the young hunters, he said only, “Avoid this place until told otherwise. Now come.”

All three exchanged questioning, apprehensive looks, but did not voice their curiosity verbally or mentally. They obediently matched Qwyn’s pace back to the Vale. There, he issued more instructions.

“Call your mother,” he told them. “A meeting of the Clan’s Named is needed.”

Twelve minutes later, the ampitheatre that served as the Kandaler primary meeting room was crowded with curious, worried family members. They ranged in age from mid-teens to the autumn years. All of them shared the characteristic terra-cotta skin, blue-tinted raven hair, and brown eyes of the Kandaler Clan.

Qwyn waited until all those who were inclined to attend had arrived, then walked to the center of the stage. His statement was short, simple, and terrifying.

“Something has come out of the Blasted Lands,” he said, “and it’s on a killing rampage.”

 

“Welcome to Casablanca, Carlton. How was your flight?”

Carlton Oswald Grisham blinked up at the man who stood over him. The face had the color and texture of old leather, the product of many years out under hot sun and dry wind. A large, aquiline nose set between a pair of flinty eyes put one immediately in mind of an aged hawk, long in years but still sharp of beak and talon. He was dressed simply, in a loose shirt of white cotton and khaki slacks.

“Boring,” Grisham replied. “I think I slept through the movie. Hah!” His laugh was a sarcastic bark. Sitting up, he ran his hand through his hair, and surveyed his arms and torso. “Dry as a bone,” he commented.

“Fluorocarbon suspension medium,” the other man explained. “It’s liquid only under pressure, instantly vaporizes in atmosphere, leaving no residue. Much neater and lighter than traditional liquid media.”

“Except for the explosive risk, due to the fluorocarbons being under pressure,” Grisham amended. “I hate suspension in the first place, Kamal. I’ll allow it was the only way to get me out of the U.S. on an unmonitored flight. I never agreed to being shipped in a bomb!” He swung his legs over the lip of the tank, clumsily clambering over the edge.

Kamal laughed. He stood back to allow Grisham room, but did not offer any assistance. “Your information is obsolete, Carlton,” he informed him. “Fluorocarbon suspension is safe and stable. We’ve had much opportunity to test it, in receiving merchandise from your Longbow operation.” His gaze sharpened slightly as he regarded Grisham. “You knew about the operation, Carlton. It was your idea! I am surprised you were not aware of the methods employed.”

Grisham waved a hand in dismissal. “A good executive focuses on the big picture. Details are for middle management.” He plucked at his blazer and shirt in distaste.

Kamal ignored the hint in favor of another barb. “Details, such as Galen Cairn’s Irregulars infiltrating your base?” he asked, with a leer. “Or using licensed Supergoo as part of the disposal process? Those sort of details?”

Grisham returned Kamal’s nasty smile with an equally evil grin. I know you’re baiting me, you old bastard, he thought. But my pride isn’t my weak spot. Let’s see if it’s yours. “How about helping a hard-line warlord into the palace, only to find out he holds even his friends to the letter of old Islamic law?”

Kamal’s grin was suddenly like something on a mask. “Ancient history,” he purred through gritted teeth.

Grisham nodded. “Just so.” Looks like it is. “Winners learn from the past, but don’t hold onto it. Which brings me to why I set up this ‘flight from justice.’”

Kamal arched his eyebrows. “It was not to avoid a decade of indentured labor?”

Grisham’s grin brightened, but lost none of its malice and smugness. “That’s the official story,” he conceded. “That’s why I chose your charming little outhouse of a country. No extradition treaty with the US, and no Worldwide Strikeforce contract.” Suddenly his expression clouded over. “God damn it, Kamal! I’ve been standing here for three minutes, all but doing a striptease in front of you! Take the damn hint and get me some clean clothes! What kind of proper Arabic host are you?”

“I’m Moroccan,” Kamal reminded him soberly. Then his face broke in a wide grin, and he clapped Grisham on the shoulder. “But courtesy should not be extinct between us, hm? Honor among thieves, as they say? Come!”

An elevator sat patiently, waiting for them with inviting doors. Kamal preceded Grisham, a gesture of reassurance that meant absolutely nothing. Both men knew that if Kamal had any ill designs toward his guest, a booby-trapped elevator would be awkward to the point of embarrassment.

The elevator deposited them in a spacious suite, overlooking modern Casablanca. Grisham allowed himself a view moments to enjoy the view. “Cantionis Terra was a lot kinder to your city,” he told Kamal quietly, “than to a lot of the world.”

“At least it left us a city,” Kamal agreed. For a moment both men set aside all self-interest and posturing, and shared the camaraderie of having lived through the world’s worst catastrophe.

Before April 2 1992, Casablanca had been the same mix of modern, colonial, and ancient as most Mediterranean cities. Glass and steel commingled with tile, brick, wood, and stone. Wide highways blended into pitted dirt roads that hadn’t changed in centuries.

Then reality blinked, and Casablanca became a fortress-city. Forbidding walls of seamless stone sprang up around the city proper, sharp ivory crenelations reminiscent of gigantic rib-bones. Outside the wall, the slums and ghettos studding the countryside changed in architecture, but little else. Inside the wall, change swept through without regard for history, tradition, or culture. Buildings and avenues changed or vanished altogether. And most terrifying of all, as with everyplace else touched by the Warp, people changed also. Neighbors, friends, and family took on new shapes, some beautiful, some grotesque.

Ten years later, humanity had at once adapted, and reaffirmed its supremacy. Most of the changed architecture had been left as it was. The walls and ceilings looked alien, but they stood straight and firm, and protected against the elements. Here and there modern buildings jutted, seamless as the transformed city around them, but made of gleaming crystal and ceramic. They hadn’t been built by rivet and weld, but by trillions of molecule-sized robots drawing reservoirs of raw carbon and silicon into programmed patterns of wall, floor, duct, and shaft.

It was from one such edifice that Carlton Grisham now surveyed modern Casablanca.

Then the moment passed, and his previous priorities reasserted themselves. Kamal guided him across the salon of the luxurious suite, to an equally sumptuous bedroom. “Off the rack,” Kamal admitted, opening a closet. “Apologies. If clothes alone do not refresh, a shower is through the next door.” He bowed his head and withdrew, pulling the doors shut after him.

When Grisham emerged, freshly showered and immaculately dressed, Kamal had masterminded a light lunch on the balcony. An achingly beautiful girl poured sweet coffee for both of them, then vanished back inside.

“Now that I have shown myself the perfect Moroccan host,” Kamal said, sippping his coffee, “you must show your gratitude as guest, by telling me an entertaining story. Why have you chosen to grace my doorstep with your presence, Carlton?”

“How closely did you follow the reports of my trial?” Grisham asked.

Kamal shrugged. “Closely enough to see that you did not betray the names of your contacts.”

“I beat the conspiracy charge,” Grisham told him, “because all the people who could tie me to the Longbow operation know they’ll stay well-paid and protected to keep their mouths shut. And I beat the black nano charge because the only person who could tie me to the biotrap failsafe got her brains scrambled.”

“Stargrave,” Kamal acknowledged. “A shame, really. Amoral bitch that she is, but her services were useful and discreet.”

“Well, she may not be a total loss,” Grisham told him. “Struyck Worldwide grabbed her from the police within hours of her arrest, vanished her someplace deep. Guess why?”

“Foresight Accords,” Kamal deduced. “Stargrave was known to sample her own work.”

“You’re thinking too small,” Grisham chided him. “I have a small bird inside Struyck Worldwide. I haven’t found out where they put her yet, but I did find out why. The holy grail of molecular technology.”

“A universal assembler?” Kamal exclaimed, his eyes glittering.

Grisham nodded, smiling. “Word has it that she used it to power a doppelganger setup. Which would explain why there were never any dependable pictures of her.”

“But if Struyck Worldwide already has her…” Kamal began.

“They have her,” Grisham confirmed. “But even they can’t have figured out how the assembler works yet, or how to get past whatever countermeasures she built into it. If I can get her out, I know people who can do that.”

“And you want my network to transport her,” Kamal deduced.

“As well as extract her, once I’ve found her,” Grisham confirmed. “I know you’re mostly a smuggler, Kamal. But I also know you have friends who can handle an extraction.”

“Extraction?” Kamal echoed. “From a Struyck Worldwide secure research facility? That’s not an extraction, Carlton. That’s a small war. That will be expensive, and you have no assets.”

“When we get Stargrave,” Grisham argued, “and when we pull that assembler’s secrets out of her, everybody who has a share will be able to use Xander Struyck as an opening bet in a friendly game of poker! Or,” he tilted his head, looking down at Kamal’s gloved hands, “has this old jackal lost his teeth for anything other than rotten meat?”

Kamal stiffened slightly, and sipped his coffee to cover the reaction. “Old,” he conceded. “And my religion does not allow the use of anagathic techniques.” He set his cup down, and his hand blurred.

“Shit!” Carlton Grisham exclaimed, jumping back and stumbling away from his toppled chair. A short, gleaming, double-edged blade was embedded in the seat, an inch away from where his groin had rested.

“But you will find,” Kamal growled, “that my teeth are far from dull.”

 

Chain of Logic

 

The branch was thick and wide, more than sufficient to support her. She lay on it, far above the forest floor. Her eyes were shut and her breathing regular, but she did not rest.

A noise grew in her mind. It had risen to a scream while she killed the herd, drowning all else but the moments of bite, tear, and blood. Afterward, it whispered. Her inherited memories tried to counsel her as they always had, but the noise distracted her.

Killing the entire herd hurt the pattern, said her memories.

They were weak, to the last of them, whispered the noise. They were beyond salvation. Destroying them removed their weakness, and helped the pattern.

Killing them created a gap in the pattern, argued her memories. The herd as a whole was valuable to the pattern. They controlled the plants that would overtake the land, and gave hunters like herself prey substantial enough that she need not interfere in the hunting of smaller creatures. Without them, other prey would have to be found.

Stronger prey would help the pattern, said the noise. All would benefit, so long as other sources of disruption were kept in check.

The source of the latest disruption had been the spriggan leader. He was dead – but had his influence been truly cut from the spriggan breed?

She returned to their wood, and watched them. The noise and her memories argued constantly. The noise pointed out this action or that among the spriggan, as proof that they were still intent on imposing their will over the good of the pattern. Again and again, her memories countered ever more strenuously, calling experiences and observations from herself and her ancestors, showing that the spriggan were acting as they always had.

Then spriggan hunters had returned. They carried no prey, but the carcass of a flying, fanged creature whose type had competed with them since their first meeting. None of the spriggan hunters had been injured or dead, and they were joyous at their kill.

The noise had risen to a scream again, until it was all she could hear in her mind. They hadn’t learned! They were still hunting hunters, still hurting the pattern! She was the pattern’s guardian! She had to act, and quickly!

Now the smell of blood was thick on her tendrils, the forest dripped, and the noise whispered again. Her memories tried to argue, but each time they did the noise rose, subsiding only when they did.

Somebody approached. She opened one eye and turned it downward.

A human, probably male. He moved well, in step with the forest. Only by her mind-sense and the disturbance of air which none save herself could avoid, had she detected his approach. He was obviously a hunter, and one who’d seen many seasons.

He searched through the spriggan camp. Looked, listened, smelled, but did not touch. He looked straight up, but her gift quickly surrounded her, keeping him from seeing her. Even so, he stared in her direction for a very long time before looking away.

The noise whispered louder as she watched the human leave. The spriggan had always before been a sensible breed. They hadn’t taken more than they needed, gave way before hunters greater than themselves, and kept their own numbers low enough that they didn’t burden their home. Only when the one leader had led them to kill other hunters did they become a danger. But where did the lead spriggan learn such a mad strategy?

Mad.

Humans were mad.

The human hunter who’d just left hadn’t happened upon the spriggan camp by accident. He’d known it was there.

Her memories tried to scream reason at her. Her kind knew this human’s breed. Among all the mad creatures, these lived within the pattern more than any others. If a human were the source of the spriggan madness, it could not be this one, with the black hair and brown skin!

The noise’s counter-argument was simple and insistent.

Humans were mad.

Humans were mad.

Humans were mad.

She wrapped her gift fully around herself, glided down from the branch, and followed the human.

 

Qwyn Kandaler trotted from the forest, rejoining his seconds. They needed neither word nor thought to know what he’d found. The hard set of his brow and jaw said all that was needed.

Come, was all he’d sent. Qwyn was taciturn at the best of times, but even that single word was only grudgingly allowed.

The three of them set a traveling pace across the gently rolling grasslands. Spotted here and there with glades and forests, the land was fed by runoff from the western mountains. The land rose and fell, sloping gently down to a range of black cliffs against which the ocean pounded. To the south, steam and gas still burst from vents and geysers, reminders of the region’s turbulent, volcanic past. It was a beautiful, fertile, unspoiled land.

And whatever must be done to keep it so, Qwyn vowed to himself, we will do.

The run from Spriggan Wood to The Green took the balance of the day. Shadows were growing and joining together by the time the impenetrable thicket came into view.

Qwyn was certain they hadn’t been followed. His own mind had lagged behind them as they’d run, touching and knowing every vestige of consciousness to their rear. Still, he hadn’t survived so many hunts by relying only on his own certainty.

By rote drill, he and his seconds wrapped qran ztan around themselves as they approached the edge of The Green. Thus convincing all about them that they deserved so little attention as to be unnoticed, they turned as one into the shallow, hidden gully which paralleled The Green’s border. Thorn-laden bushes and creepers seemed to create an impervious briar at the end of the gully. To those who didn’t know just how to twist and lean, the thorns and heavy vines were just as solid and painful as they appeared.

Qran ztan dropped once they were in the tunnel, but their pace didn’t falter until they reached the foyer at the base of the passage. Thus it was that only quick reflexes saved them from a headlong impact in the unexpectedly crowded room.

At first Qwyn recognized only one of the other trio who had obviously arrived scant minutes before his own party. Tantareli centaurs are rare away from their own lands, and Bolt’s shaggy blonde locks and massive proportions were unmistakable in any event.

The two with Bolt were Kandaler by their features and skin. Qwyn and his seconds were distracted for several moments by the woman’s blood-colored hair and sun-yellow eyes, only belatedly recalling the lines of her face.

“Zerene!” Qwyn exclaimed. “Bolt!” All anxiety faded in the moment of seeing them. He crossed the foyer with a hunter’s economy of movement and swept Zed into a hug. One arm reached out and punched the shoulder of Bolt’s foreleg, eliciting a wide grin from the centaur. Zed returned the hug gladly, her eyes and smile lighting the room as much as the lambent crystals set into the walls.

“Heya, Qwyn!” Zed said. She exchanged glances with his seconds as she hugged him, smiling at them in turn. “Heya Wylam, hey Sindal!”

Wylam and Sindal crowded close, joining in the chorus of hugs and affectionate cuffs. Unspoken questions were plain in their faces, but they could wait until the joy of reunion had been properly expressed.

Qwyn released Zed and turned to Nicholas. His smile froze and he blinked. “Those Before,” he swore, staring at him. “You…”

“Nicholas Chandler,” Nicholas supplied, meeting Qwyn’s eyes directly. “Or more properly, Niklas.”

“I know,” Zed spoke up, as she stepped over and intertwined her fingers with Nicholas’. “The resemblance is amazing, no? If he had a beard, he’d be Poppa’s double!”

Despite her light tone, the glow from her eyes changed as she looked at each of them in turn. It seemed harder somehow, challenging. She stood resolute, her shoulder just touching Nicholas’ own. I know who he is, her body language spoke volumes. And nobody knows what he did better than I. But he’s my brother. I’ve made peace with him, and if you want him you have to go through me.

Qwyn paused just long enough to demonstrate to Zed that he noted and respected her silent declaration. “I wish we could offer you all a more proper welcome, Zerene,” he said at length. “Because it’s clear you’ve a tale to tell.” He swept a hand at her, indicating her hair and eyes. “But you’ve chosen a dire time for your return. The family Named are waiting to reconvene, to hear the news I bring.”

Zed blinked, her attitude losing its challenge. “Sounds like I’m just in time, then,” she said. Turning to Bolt, she laid her free hand against his flank. Meeting his eyes, she said, “Show Nicholas all the conveniences, Bolt. I’ll join you all as soon as we’re done.” Mentally she explained to Nicholas, It’s the closest thing the family has to a governing council. Only those who’ve earned the right to identify themselves openly as Kandalers are allowed to attend.

Nicholas nodded in understanding, and turned to Bolt. “Lead on,” he invited.

It’s an arcology, Nicholas realized soon afterward. An entire community, contained within a single structure – in this case, the caldera of an extinct volcano. Everything they need, they either make right here, or can get within a short distance.

I’m still being elitist, too, he chided himself. This world never had an Industrial Revolution, and the only other town I’ve seen was a rural hamlet with a few gimmicks. So I keep being surprised when I’m reminded it’s as advanced in its own ways as Earth.

Clarke’s Law goes through the Looking Glass here. Magic – Craft – is so widely-used, developed and standardized, it’s this world’s technology! They use enchanted crystals for light, chant spells to clean clothes and dishes, preserve food in warded larders… and I must have lost something in the translation of cooking. Stove sprites?

A firm but undeniable thump on his shoulder interrupted Nicholas’ introspection. He turned his head, and followed the finger up a massive arm, and met Bolt’s mismatched eyes. The centaur grinned down at him.

“Oy,” he said. “If ye’re not gonna eat that…?” He nodded at the plate of freshly-roasted meat and steamed vegetables that had been set in front of Nicholas.

Nicholas was in fact hungry, and the combination of simple spices on fresh food had already set his palate to watering. But I can wait, he told himself. With his mass, he must consume huge amounts normally. And after a cross-country run while still recovering from multiple gunshot wounds…

“No worries,” he told Bolt, sliding his platter over.

“NOT ON MY WATCH!”

The shout boomed across the breadth and length of Kandaler Vale’s commons room. Despite the huge room’s arched ceiling and smooth stone walls, this was still no mean feat. An entire wall of the commons room was composed of sliding panels, so the cavernous chamber could be opened to the elements when desirable. As the day was warm and breezes gentle, the panels had been drawn completely aside. (Typically, Nicholas had been more intrigued by the engineering of the sliding wall than the breathtaking view of Kandaler Vale’s cliffside and natural harbor.)

So the shouted challenge carried despite the missing wall. It was quickly followed by an equally thunderous apparition which exploded from the adjacent kitchen. He was taller than average for his breed, wide of shoulder, long of arm, and narrow of hip. The angular planes of his face were sharply-defined, with a strikingly aquiline nose. He leaned forward as he stormed into the commons room, creating the undeniable impression of a great hawk swooping on its prey.

He grabbed the edge of Nicholas’ platter and slid it firmly back to its original setting. At the same time he produced a large wooden spoon, almost a ladle by its size, from somewhere under his apron. With this utensil he rapped Bolt smartly across the front of his barrel.

“This is his!” the raptorial chef told Bolt, as if stating an axiom of the universe. “If you’ve an appetite, but speak and you’ll be served! But begging food from another? Not going to happen, you great yawning void!”

Both Bolt and Nicholas blinked and stared. Elsewhere in the commons room, others who had been enjoying an early lunch stared or chuckled knowingly. More familiar with Vale dining protocol, Bolt recovered first. Adopting a properly contrite air, he bowed his head and folded his hands across his front. As he was so much taller still than the chef, it took an effort to make his manner seem penitent rather than imposing.

“‘M’sorry, Dawij,” he rumbled. “May I please have some food for myself?”

Dawij scowled up at him, not about to let him off so easily. “Ladies’ Smile, you caught me in a good mood,” he growled. “Let me some time to raid the larder for leftovers, else there’ll be none left of today’s meal for anybody else.”

“What was yesterday?” Bolt asked.

“As good as today!” snapped Dawij, already heading back to the kitchen.

Bolt chuckled as he watched Dawij leave, then favored Nicholas with a look of feigned gravity. “Troublemaker,” he accused. “First time Dawij and I ever argue, and it’s on account o’ you!”

“Can’t take me anywhere,” Nicholas quipped.

“Aye,” Bolt complained. “‘S a wonder why she wanted ye back!”

Dawij returned shortly. His broad shoulders were slightly bowed under two heaping platters, creaking under their burden of reheated or cold food. One of the assistant cooks followed, carrying a keg and a hatchet. Dawij expertly slid the platters onto the table in front of Bolt, while the assistant cracked the head of the keg with the hatchet and retrieved the split pieces without splatter or drip. Bolt grinned and bowed deeply to them, which Dawij acknowledged with a curt nod before vanishing back to the kitchen.

Nicholas reflected on the scene just past, as he and Bolt dug into their respective dishes. Mom and Dad were the same way. No matter how bare the shelves got, nobody ever pushed away from the table hungry!

Memories of his childhood in the countryside of Orleans Parish, Louisiana sprang up behind Nicholas’ eyes. Home had been a three-bedroom cottage tucked at the end of a long lane lined with mangrove trees, less than a quarter-mile from the bayou. Belying the rustic setting, the house had been appointed with all the most modern conveniences, including home computers and Internet access when that revolution had swept through the 1980s. They had lived simply, but Nicholas could not recall ever lacking for anything. Above all, the small house had been love, safety, acceptance, and community – every good thing associated with the word “home.”

He remembered shortly after he and Nathan had become partners, they had taken a road trip across post-Warp America, to Louisiana. New Orleans was still there, though it had been “Warped” to a gothic, canal-threaded version of itself. Of the mangrove lane or the three-bedroom cottage, nothing remained. In its place had been a bowl-shaped lake of unfathomable, peaty depths. That was the only time he’d gone back.

Other memories surfaced. Nicholas hadn’t given them much thought in years, since he’d set up the search engines to track any trace of his family. These recollections had jarred so strikingly against everything else, he’d dismissed them. I figured they were distorted so badly by time and a child’s perspective, they didn’t have any useful data.

We used to visit Dad’s family about once a year. They lived on the coast, in a large stone house. It was right on the water, and had a garden on the roof. There weren’t any doors to the outside, but it had a lot of hallways. Everybody was always glad to see us, there were a lot of kids to play with. The only rule was to stay out of the forest which was… behind the house? No… on top of it!

I’m not a stranger here, he realized. I’ve been here before, many times. These people have known me since I was a baby, I’m related to them by blood.

Zed considers this place home. No matter how far she travels or how long she stays away, this is where her heart has been since she came to Shenn.

Maybe it could be home for me too.

 

A Quality of Hatred

 

Finding the hole the humans used for their escape was more difficult than she anticipated. It wasn’t that they were clever in concealing it, though they were. Nor was her search hindered overmuch by their peculiar method of concealment. She could not recall encountering creatures who could hide themselves as she did, but was not surprised at the discovery. Nor did she spend a moment pondering the paradox of her own reaction.

The noise in her brain drove her to the hunt. It whispered only so long as she actively tracked her prey. Should she pause for more than a few breaths, whether to check the landscape, for a drink, or even to rest, it clamored and scraped claws across the inside of her skull.

It was worst when she reached for her inherited memories. As long as she herself could remember, the collected knowledge and recollection of her kind had been her counsel and stay. Through it she understood the pattern of all things, her place in it, and what was expected of her and all creatures to maintain it. More than that — by being able to touch every experience of any of her kind who had lived before her, she had kept the idea that she was one of a breed. But for mating and raising young she lived by herself, as did all her kind. Her inherited memories reminded her that though she was solitary, she was not alone.

Only now, the storm in her mind raged between her and that by which she had defined herself. It tormented her for every moment she thought about anything but tracking, catching, killing. The humans had vanished into their tunnel. It was too small for her to pass. Left to herself, she would have been content to wait for them to emerge again, though days might pass in the meantime.

They’re lost, said the noise. They may never emerge. But they aren’t the only ones. Go find others. Others will do just as well, die just as sweetly.

She forced herself to stand still, wrapped in her gift, senses focused on the hole before her. Her muscles quivered and her tendrils writhed, excruciating cacophony lived behind her eyes. I am not a killer, she told it.

You kill every day, said the noise.

I hunt, she corrected it. I teach. I protect them by removing their weak and stupid.

They are all weak and stupid, the noise prodded. They all need to be removed. Come back for these if you wish. Others are about, lying in the open, begging to be taught. Feel them, find them, catch them, kill them!

That is not the pattern! she raged back at it. She dug her claws in to the ground, emphasizing her determination to stay where she was. That is not what I am!

It was, the noise crooned, when you were among the herd. When you were among the spriggan.

That had to be done! she screamed inside. You said it, they were all weak! They all had to die to protect the pattern! You told me so!

But what am I? the noise asked.

She paused at that, and the noise dulled so she could consider the question. She still could not reach for her inherited memories, but her own experiences were clear enough. What was this noise in her head? Where had it come from?

She replayed the past few days. The answer was quick in coming.

You are what was in the stupid female that I killed! You are from the poisoned place!

No, the noise replied. The poison the female carried woke me, when it passed from her to you. That poison comes from the place the aerin left. But I have always been here. Your thrall to the voices of your ancestors kept me asleep. I am what you would have always been, but for their control over you.

I am you.

She wanted to deny it. The desire surprised her. She had never before felt a drive to argue against the evidence of her senses, her own knowledge. Though she had at times resented the demands of her role, she accepted it as the thing she was born to, as her kind had always been. What the noise suggested was abhorrent, disgusting to her, on a level she’d never known existed. But she could not argue against it.

Suddenly she understood hate.

And what she hated was herself.

Then she felt the approach of the humans, coming back up from their hole.

Her hate expanded to include them. Creatures like them had tried to kill the world with their madness. Even now, they would not leave the world alone. They changed it, tore pieces of it out and moved them around. They enslaved and changed everything around them, and thought the world better for their interference. Their drive to self-destruction had created the poisoned place, and through its corruption had now destroyed her own life.

Hate introduced to her another new idea: vengeance.

The noise roared, but the pain went away. Her mind was clear and open to the world around her. The forest nearby, the place that talked to itself and welcomed none, drew itself tight against her. But it was not her prey today.

She sat quietly now. Hatred burned, but no longer raged. The humans would come out of their hole as unaware as any of her prey had ever been, and they would die. That would be only the beginning.

Very close now. She felt their lives, like warm sunlight. One shone especially bright – as they approached the brilliance started to hurt. She looked forward to stamping it out.

By the Mothers of All, what are you?!

The thought was not her own. Nor did it come from the noise. It came from the shining human ahead of her! That one sensed her, even through her gift!

She blinked in shock. No other creature had ever seen through her gift, not since –

They had stopped! The shining one had warned the rest, and they were standing inside the tunnel, out of reach!

Hatred exploded, throwing her forward. Her gift forgotten, she thudded to the ground in front of the tunnel, and shoved her head and shoulders into the entrance. That was as far as she could go. Her tendrils peeled back from her mouth, her jaws parted, and her teeth bared. Her howl rang down the tunnel.

One human dove forward, almost within reach, and slapped the wall. The only other warning she had was a grinding of stone against stone. She pushed backward out of the tunnel entrance. The block of stone clipped the tip of her muzzle, but she avoided serious injury.

There was no tunnel any longer. Sheer stone blocked the passage. Beyond it, she felt the humans retreating.

A mad breed, but not stupid. Once, she would have found that encouraging. Now she wanted them dead for it, all the more.

 

 

“Ladies’ Love, what was that?!” Sindal Kandaler demanded of nobody in particular, unknowingly repeating Zed’s earlier mental challenge.

The hunting party retreated down the tunnel. Even before they reached the foyer, the same question echoed telepathically from everybody who had heard the creature’s furious howl.

Not a word! Qwyn commanded the party. Not until the Named have been told!

Bolt carried Zerene. Qwyn glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Her inclusion in the hunting party had been beyond question, even before the Named realized her new state. And where she went, her centaur partner was sure to follow. Qwyn was not bothered by the idea – he’d long ago taken Bolt’s measure, and approved of the Tantareli’s skills. To himself only, he admitted relief that Zerene’s Earthsider brother hadn’t tried to include himself in the party as well. Qwyn wouldn’t have allowed it in any event, But the last thing we need at this moment is an argument on the subject!

Then, just as they had rounded the last curve of the tunnel, Zerene had stopped in her tracks. Her eyes had been wide and glowing, her mouth slightly open. Qwyn had been about to ask her what ailed her, when she suddenly collapsed to the floor and was ill. Only a moment later had the beast pushed into the tunnel entrance.

Her convulsions had since stopped and she was conscious, but very weak from the episode. Hardly an auspicious omen, Qwyn thought, that the mere proximity of the monster can lay a Phoenix-Touched low!

Equally worrisome to him was the fact that none of the rest of them had any inkling of the beast’s presence, before it tried to get into the tunnel. Kandaler hunters learned to use their mental abilities to detect animals, both to track prey and to avoid hostile creatures. It must have been waiting for us right outside the tunnel, Qwyn reflected darkly. Yet none of us felt it!

A blur of motion resolved into Zerene’s brother, Niklas. Such speed! Qwyn marveled. How is it possible, especially for an Earthsider?

“What happened?” Nicholas asked Bolt.

Zed answered for herself. “Somebody… has just discovered how to hate… and is enjoying it too much.”

She shifted in Bolt’s grasp. “I can stand,” she protested mildly. Obligingly, Bolt lowered her to her feet. She braced herself, wavering only slightly. Nicholas was at her elbow, ready to assist if needed.

“How did it find the tunnel?” Wylam demanded. “The aromatic creepers, the wards –“

”Wylam!” Qwyn rebuked sharply. “Wasting breath on questions to which we have not any answers? I taught you better!”

They all adjourned to the amphitheatre. The rest of the Named, as well as many who’d not yet earned such status, waited earnestly. Though the tension in the chamber was nearly palpable, there was no clamor of questions or speculation. They’re surprised and worried, Nicholas thought. But they don’t panic. The attitude was very familiar to him. Just like Dad.

“You heard it,” Qwyn spoke without preamble. “Or you heard about it. I take responsibility for it being here. I went to warn the spriggan, but it got to them first. It must have still been there, and I didn’t sense it. Nor did I know it followed us, even though we were in qran ztan for the approach to the tunnel.”

“None of us sensed it on the way out, either,” Sindal spoke up. “None save Zerene.”

“Dunno if ye know,” Bolt whispered in Nicholas’ ear. “Yer kin’re ‘bout the best trackers on Shenn. It’s pretty much accepted fact that nothin’ gets th’ drop on a Kandaler hunter. ‘S part of why they’re so spooked.”

“I gathered,” Nicholas acknowledged in similar tones. “Thanks.”

A handsome woman who was a few shades lighter than most of her kin, but who shared all the other common Kandaler features, spoke. “So now it knows where we live. If denied us as prey, will it go away?” She directed her gaze at Zed.

Zed shook her head. “Not sure, Thenis.” Her brows knit, working to sift useful insights from her brief touch with the creature. “It’s… like waking from a dream. Killing is nothing new to it. But before, it killed to eat… or to… teach.” She scowled in concentration. “Something has changed for it. It’s learned how to hate, to kill for the sake of killing. Right now, we – all of us – are second on its hate list.”

“First is?” prompted Thenis.

Zed looked at her. “Itself. It knows it’s not what it was, and can’t go back.”

A group of teenagers skidded to a stop in the chamber entrance. The leader of them bowed. “The other tunnels have been sealed, Thenis,” she announced.

There’s still coastal access, Nicholas sent to Zed. And the Green.

The Green can be passed, Zed allowed, by a spirit totally at peace with itself and the world around it. That thing is anything but. And the coast is sheer cliffs, rocks, and coral for three days in each direction.

Nicholas nodded, accepting Zed’s analysis.

Thenis nodded and smiled at the group, then turned back to the assembly. “So we can go out to meet it at our convenience,” Themis concluded. “But what will we be meeting?”

“It kills quickly, and from ambush,” Qwyn stated. “It’s fast and strong. The huskva and spriggan were caught totally unawares. Many of the spriggan never even had the chance to draw weapons. It leaves tracks at random, as though at times it passes through the world without touching it.”

“It hides from our senses,” Sindal added. “And it can track through qran ztan.”

“She is the Killing Spirit.”

The deep, sonorous tones flowed from the chamber entrance. All eyes turned reverently toward the person who had appeared there. He was taller than any of them, though more slender than their average. The tautness of his skin and lines around eyes and mouth testified to his age, but his long hair was still jet-blue, his eyes clear and bright, his posture unbowed. He exuded an air of beatific tranquility and assurance.

Like everybody else, Nicholas couldn’t avoid being impressed by the old man. Who’s that? he asked Zed. He’s… Zen.

Akim, Zed answered, her reply strongly flavored with affection and respect. The closest thing you could call him is the family shaman.

“Akim!” Thenis cried. “What counsel can you offer us?”

Akim Kandaler blinked at Thenis. “Counsel?” he echoed. “Shientva, the most feared predator on Shenn, has gone mad, and is at our door. You know what needs to be done, Thenis.” He smiled at them all, and turned toward the chamber entrance. “My love goes with you,” he said over his shoulder as he left.

“Right,” Thenis said after he’d left. “Let’s be about it.”

 

Nathan stepped into the dry spring warmth of a Casablanca September evening. He turned as Morphy’s door shut behind him, and stared for several moments. Instead of Morphy’s smooth maroon hull loomed a wall of whitewashed stucco, part of a complex of connected buildings. The door – painted wood instead of molycarbon – gave onto a concealed courtyard, from which a covered alley presumably led to the street.

The scene was so unexpected and surreal that Nathan couldn’t help a moment’s doubt. “Morphy?” he whispered at the door. His soft volume was unnecessary – the din of multiple conversations competing with music leaking onto the street beyond the alley was enough to cover a shouted argument.

“Yes, Nathan,” Morphy’s tranquil tones answered softly.

“Since when can you camouflage yourself as part of a building?” Nathan demanded without raising his voice.

“I understood this was to be a discreet operation,” Morphy replied. “Am I in error?”

“No, of course not,” Nathan reassured.

“All data collected on Kamal leChacal has been downloaded to your terminal,” Morphy advised him.

“Thank you, Morphy,” Nathan said absently. So many new abilities! Where will we find the limit? Will we?

Nathan’s wardrobe left little doubt to the purpose of his errand. His hair was pulled tightly back, its length vanishing into a hood around his neck. A snug coverall covered everything but his head. The fabric was lightweight and unreflective, of a shade of green that brought to mind the most primeval forest depths. Two parallel pleats which ran from shoulders to waist on the back quickly had their purpose explained, as Nathan’s wings pushed out through concealed gaps. He pulled the hood up into a cowl which left only his eyes exposed.

He lifted above the rooftops and circled, getting a visual bearing. The club around the corner from his egress point was brightly lit, LEDs chasing each other in intricate patterns across the entrance. The garish lightshow provided additional concealment – there was little chance anybody would stare into those glaring streams long enough to spot him ascending.

Kamal leChacal, Nathan reviewed the data as he soared over the city, alternating his attention between his course and the small screen of his wrist terminal. Kamal the Jackal. Whether the latter is a title or a literal translation of his actual surname is unknown. He claims to be of Moroccan and French heritage, though like so many other survivors of Cantionis Terra, any documentation of his origins is forever lost.

He gained prominence after the Warp as a scavenger and broker, finding, buying, and selling caches of supplies. After a falling-out with the warlord he backed into the Royal Palace, he went strictly apolitical. He’d deal with anybody willing to meet his price, even selling to both sides of a going conflict. At once fiend and folk hero, he’s bought stolen supplies, only to return them to their original owners. For a suitable finder’s fee, of course!

When slavery and organlegging arose, Kamal was in at the start. He’s still one of the biggest suppliers of ‘Parts and Labor’ to countries where it’s legal. Nathan scowled in distaste at the irreverent euphenism. Openly of course, he adheres to international law on harvesting from illegal sources. Despite repeated allegations and investigations, no violations have yet been confirmed.

Of course, Nathan reflected acidly, the integrity and thoroughness of those investigators is beyond reproach! How did these people survive the Warp and its aftermath, yet so thoroughly avoided learning anything?

He slowed and lost elevation, dropping into a slow circuit around the building that served as Kamal’s official headquarters. The topmost floors were a penthouse suite, Kamal’s own residence. Nathan’s eyes darted here and there as he circled. No obvious cameras, no photoelectrics. Of course, these days even a criminal like Kamal sees no need to make his home a fortress. And even were he so paranoid, why would anybody expect a rooftop intruder, when most of the buildings are shorter?

Even so, Nathan didn’t alight on the darkened terrace outside of Kamal’s suite. He hovered just out of range of the building’s exterior lights, his wings flexing to keep his balance. Only one room was lit from within. Nathan blinked. How the deuce did he get here so fast?!

Carlton Grisham and Kamal leChacal stood talking in the lit room. Both were dressed for an evening out. Kamal waved an arm, and he and Grisham walked to an interior door which gave onto an elevator.

Blast, Nathan cursed as he circled downward to find the building’s garage entrance. His plan had been to talk with Kamal before Grisham arrived, and bargain with him for Grisham’s capture. Now I’ll have to do it the hard way.

A large sedan emerged and sped silently down the avenue. Nathan reached for the car with his mind. Driver only, he found. He waited. Ten minutes later, a sports car leaped up the ramp and onto the street, blurring in the opposite direction from the sedan. Nathan’s mental inspection garnered more fruitful results this time. There they are.

Kamal enjoys speed, Nathan commented to himself as he banked sharply between two buildings, matching a tire-screeching turn by the sports car. And he has the skills to indulge himself. If I were on the ground, I might have lost him.

Eventually the car pulled up in front of a club. Unlike the blare of light and noise near where Morphy had chosen to conceal itself, this one was a restrained establishment with subdued exterior lighting, effective soundproofing, and uniformed valets. Nathan clucked in disapproval at the club’s name. The Blue Parrot. If they’re going to rip off a classic, they should at least have named it Rick’s Café Americain!

He alit across the street from the club, well-hidden by shadows, and watched the two men enter the club. You’re making it too easy for me, Carlton, he critiqued. Removing you from Kamal’s sanctum would have posed a challenge. At this locale, my most serious obstacle is being underdressed!

With that, he strolled across the boulevard and sauntered up to the twin doors of The Blue Parrot.

If anybody had asked the doorman, headwaiter, or staff of The Blue Parrot to describe the chimera gentleman who’d walked in that evening, common adjectives would have included charming, classy, elegant, exotic, and sophisticated. Questions about his hairstyle or wardrobe would have received assurances that both had been appropriate for the club. If pressed for details, they might admit that they couldn’t recall exactly what he’d been wearing, but that really didn’t matter. Clothes don’t really make the man, after all.

 

Glamour: Gla”mour\, n. [Scot. glamour, glamer; cf. Icel. gl['a]meggdr one who is troubled with the glaucoma (?); or Icel. gl[=a]m_s?ni weakness of sight, glamour; gl[=a]mr name of the moon, also of a ghost + s?ni sight akin to E. see. Perh., however, a corruption of E. gramarye.] A charm affecting the eye, making objects appear different from what they really are.

 

Nathan strolled through the club, confident in the effect he had on anybody who looked his way. The dictionary might describe his glamour as a charm – in more prosaic terms, he simply radiated a psychic suggestion to disregard any details of his appearance that might be at odds with his surroundings.

Grisham and Kamal sat at a booth in the rear of the club, by clever geometry distant from the stage, dance floor, and kitchen door. They had been joined by a petite woman of indeterminate Mediterranean heritage, olive-skinned and dark-haired. She had dressed up to the club’s standards, but her manner clearly said that she preferred simpler wardrobe.

The architecture of the booth would have made it impossible for anybody else to eavesdrop without being seen. For super-sharp Irien senses, it was simplicity to slip into an adjacent booth, lean his head back against the partition, and let bone induction do the rest.

Nathan had intended to listen in on the conversation only so he’d know when an opportunity would arise to get Grisham alone. As he absorbed the meat of the dialogue next door, that plan went by the wayside. Bright Ladies, they can’t be serious!