Flash in the Pan

by Sam Jones

Part One

1

The right foot, the one without the sock, came down first. J ground it into the carpet for a second, entrenching it so it would better help tilt his body up.

J put a hand down and pushed. His torso slowly came upright, and, with considerable concentration, he put the other foot down. Staying up until four in the morning drinking Red Bull and sending messages to an alien race is not like being out late drinking, J thought, But the feeling upon waking is surprisingly similar.

The little piece of J’s brain that wasn’t grumbling about being woken noted that the polite rap on the door was the fourth since the one that dragged him out of sleep. The rest of his brain said, Anyone who’s still knocking politely the fourth time really wants to fuck you, either the good way or the bad way.

Outside the door, having just finished his fifth knock, Lewis checked again to see the car was there. It was a dirty blue Mustang with flaking paint and torn upholstery. Lewis turned his attention to the door, which opened.

J looked at the button down shirt, the horn-rimmed glasses and the pleated slacks.

“The bad way,” J concluded.

“I beg your pardon?” Lewis asked.

J frowned, looked up, looked down, looked back at Lewis and said, “I thought that was internal monologue. Did I say ‘Fuck’?”

“Ah,” Lewis said. “No.”

“Good,” J said, and slammed the door.

Only the door didn’t close. Without thinking, Lewis put his hand out and stopped the door an inch short of shutting.

“You’re fast,” J commented.

“I’m not here with the police, Homeland Security, or anything like that,” Lewis said. “I’m retired from government work. I’m just here as a favor to a mutual friend.”

J opened the door wider. “Do you realize what time it is?”

Lewis looked confused and looked at his watch. “I think it’s after . . .”

J slammed the door and locked it befor Lewis could put his hand back.

“If you keep sending encoded radio signals,” Lewis said. “Someone from the government will be here. Even if you’re not doing anything wrong, you’ll spend the next two years and your life savings trying to stay out of jail. If I know what’s going on, I can inform some friends, unofficially. I can stop this before there’s an investigation.”

Lewis listened to the door and heard nothing. He heard footsteps behind him and stood up straight and leaned against the wall as casually as he could manage.

Susan rounded the wall by the front door and looked at Lewis, who was trying to look like a man who hadn’t been yelling reassurances at a locked door a second before.

Either he’s stupid, Susan thought, Or he just doesn’t fake well.

“J’s in trouble?” Susan asked.

Lewis dropped the casual manner with reluctant gratitude. “Well no,” he said. “He isn’t yet, anyway.”

“So there’s hope,” Susan said.

“Are you a friend of his?” Lewis asked.

“No.” Susan said. “Will police come?”

“It’s possible.”

“They might shoot.”

Lewis looked baffled. “There’s just some worry about radio transmissions. Why would police fire weapons over that?”

“J screams. He pulls a gun. . .” Susan began.

“Why on Earth would he do that?”

Susan was considering describing the image in her head, which involved forcing J to take LSD and attaching a .25 caliber automatic to his hand with several layers of duct tape. She decided Lewis wasn’t ready for that suggestion yet.

“Here’s a key,” Susan said. She pried loose a brick next to the front door and picked up a key. She replaced the brick and walked to the front door.

“Can you reason with him?”

“I can threaten,” Susan said as she unlocked the door.

“That won’t make him any more reasonable.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Are you sure you should be doing that?”

“Invariably,” Susan replied.

Susan pushed the door open. J, who was standing about five feet from the door now, rushed to close the door. Susan pulled the door as though she were going to discreetly close it, and thun swung it open forcefully.

With a crack, the door hit J’s forehead. J clutched his face as he staggered back.

“Hi J,” Susan said as she walked inside. She looked over her shoulder and called to Lewis, “Do come in.”

J looked up through the hand cradling his forehead. “You two are breaking and entering.”

“I am,” Susan corrected, “He’s invited.”

J ran from the room down a hallway.

“Is he going to call the police?” Lewis asked.

Susan shrugged. “Don’t think so. Cops scare him.”

J came back with an odd duct-taped plastic gun in his hand.

“All right,” J said, pointing the gun at the intruders. “Get out now, or you’ll regret it.”

“A squirt gun?” Susan asked.

“There’s no need for threats,” Lewis said.

“Not from you,” Susan added. “Make me soggy; I’ll break limbs.”

“Please,” Lewis said to Susan and turned back to J. “I just want to know about the broadcasts.”

“I’m sending encoded radio messages to an alien race. They told me how to create this device. It tags you with a series of acids so they can identify and collect you.”

“You’ve gone psychotic,” Susan said. “Take medication. You’ll be cured. Or euthanized, whichever.”

Susan moved steadily toward J. J squeezed the plastic gun’s trigger, and an unsteady stream of liquid hit Susan and spattered on the carpet.

There was a sound like an oven lighting, but louder. Susan, and some patches of the drab carpet, were suddenly gone. There was a rush of air, and J’s ears popped.

J looked at Lewis. The nervous placating look Lewis had was gone. Through the glasses, Lewis’ gaze was disturbingly steady and intent.

“Drop the gun now,” Lewis said.

J stared back and held his plastic gun steady.

“I’ll listen to you,” Lewis said. “Just drop the gun.”

J looked down from Lewis’ stare for a second, and it was almost too long. Lewis closed the space between them with alarming speed. His hand was clenched on J’s wrist before J could pull the trigger, but J still squeezed, and the gun sprayed liquid wildly.

J fell back on the ground. He felt his ears pop again. He struggled for a moment more before he realized he was alone in the room with the carpet gone under him.

“I’m surprised none of the fluid splashed back on me,” J said to the empty room.

Then, with a pop no one heard, J disappeared.

2

J flinched as the ground seemed to drop out from under him. The ceiling to his one bedroom house was gone in an instant, replaced by tall elaborately decorated arches.

The ground hit. J had only fallen two inches, but a two inch fall when you had been lying on the ground a second before is a strange feeling.

J could still feel the carpet under him. He looked around and saw scattered bits of carpet that had been transported with him. On the edge of the room, there was a line of men dressed in bright blue uniforms holding what looked like rifles.

Looking straight up, J saw Susan looming above him. “There’s aliens here,” she said. “You’re not crazy. Just disgusting.”

J felt a sharp pain in his skull as Susan kicked him.

”. . .traitorous. . .” Susan added, preparing another kick.

Lewis pulled Susan back before she could land the next kick. J sat up, holding the front and top of his head.

“I’m sorry to grab you,” Lewis said. “I just don’t want them to get the wrong idea.”

“I’m beating J,” Susan said. “That’s never wrong.”

A man walked toward them from the edge of the room. He was in a dark uniform. He was bald with metal discs extending through the skin around his head.

“I understand that you come from a savage, primitive culture, but I ask you to stop all violence against each other. It could make you less receptive to pain if we torture you for information.”

“Torture us? What sort of information might we have?” Lewis asked.

“We want information about your planet’s politics and military. We told our contact to send well-informed people to us for questioning.”

J stood up. “I’m J….”

“Colonel J,” Susan interrupted.

“What?” asked the man in black.

“She’s just making a joke,” J assured him.

“Sorry, sir,” Susan snapped a salute. “Are we covert? I wasn’t told. I’m a private. We’re not informed.”

J glared at Susan and continued. “I’m your contact on the planet. I’m afraid I had my own priorities for the people I sent. I didn’t send people who had information so much as people I thought the planet could spare without much loss.”

“You sent yourself,” said the man in black.

“Subconsciously, he realizes,” explained Susan.

“That was a mistake,” J said. “One I would have been more careful not to make had I understood the large groups of armed men and threats of torture side of this arrangement. I’d like to go back.”

“No,” said the man in black. “You are all about to be done a great honor. The president of Mongo is coming. When he comes, I assume Colonel J is speaking for you.”

“Yes,” Lewis said immediately.

“Yes,” J said, once he realized they were talking about him.

“Definitely not!” Susan yelled. She pulled Lewis away from the bald man.

“Are you insane?” she hissed through clenched teeth.

“We don’t know anything about these people,” Lewis said. “J does. He’s been sending radio signals to them. Of us three, why shouldn’t he speak for us?”

“Because he’s horrible. He infuriates people. He’s arrogant. He’s patronizing. He’s hostile. Puppies attack him. Cows stalk him.”

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating a little.”

“No. Chavez deserted him. Called him a ‘selfish, insufferable egotistical prick’.”

“And who is Chavez?”

“J’s therapist.”

“Psychology is a difficult profession. That therapist might criticize a lot of patients in a moment of weakness.”

“In a report?” Susan asked.

“J’s psychologist called him a selfish, um, what you said, in a report?”

“That was it,” Susan said. “The whole report – those four words.”

“J’s talking,” Lewis observed.

Those words triggered an instinctive panic in Susan. She whirled to see J and the man in black.

“That’s odd,” Susan commented as she walked toward J. “He’s not furious.”

“I believe I am upset, actually,” the man in black said.

“Get this,” J said. “The reason this guy, Dr. Zhivago. . .”

“Zachgo,” the man in black corrected.

”. . .doesn’t look emotional is because his brain has been surgically removed.”

“I still have a mind,” Dr. Zachgo said, “There’s a processor in my skull. It has a perfect model of my brain down to an atomic level. It perfectly simulates the brain I used to have. I also have external auditors that ensure loyalty and contain expression of emotion during stressful times.”

Susan looked at the metal discs on the side of Dr. Zachgo’s bald head, and understood the reality of what was happening.

“In this place,” J said, “Doctor actually refers to mindless. . .”

“Brainless,” Dr. Zachgo corrected.

”. . .people like curly here.”

Two grand doors swung open and a woman like Dr. Zachgo walked in. Lewis thought she could be his sister, but decided that black clad bald people with discs extruding from their skulls must always look similar.

“Dr. Zachgo,” the woman said. “President Gordon is ready to receive our guests.” The woman’s eyes looked piercingly at Lewis, Susan and J. Then she looked at the floor. “What’s that on the ground?”

“It’s floor upholstery,” Dr. Zachgo said. “The tracking system looked for continuous areas of organic life. The floor covering had enough organic life to qualify. Dust mites, I expect.”

Susan looked at J. “Even aliens notice. Wash your carpet.”

“You’re another doctor, right?” said J, “You’re another mindless. . .”

“Brainless,” said Dr. Zachgo and the woman in unison.

”. . .servant of the emperor.”

“He’s a president, not an emperor,” said the woman. “I am another doctor, Doctor Sein.”

“This is their spokesman,” said Dr. Zachgo. “Colonel J.”

“Pardon me,” Lewis said. “I apologize for not saying so sooner, but as eldest member of the group and highest ranking, I should speak for the group.”

“Who are you?” Dr. Sein asked.

“Lewis Bold,” Lewis said. “I’m an Air Force captain, um, retired.”

“Doesn’t the Colonel outrank you?” Dr. Zachgo asked.

“He’s actually a civilian. The colonel thing was a misunderstanding.”

“It’s okay,” J said. “There’s no need to keep our cover. Yes, I’m the ranking officer. Lead us to the emperor.”

“It’s president,” Dr. Sein said. “He’s actually very sensitive about that.”

“I’ll remember that,” J said. Susan grimaced.

The men with rifles filed through the open doors. The doctors followed. Flashing a smug grin over his shoulder, J followed the doctors.

Lewis looked at Susan nervously.

“Just repeat, ‘Not with him.’” Susan suggested.

“That’s hardly decent to him,” Lewis said. “and if I could do it, do you think it would work?”

Susan set her face grimly and clenched her right hand slowly. One by one, the knuckles on that hand popped. “It doesn’t usually,” she said.

3

The doors to the presidential chambers opened. Soldiers filed through in pairs, taking positions along the wall with perfect precision. The two Mongovian doctors walked through the doors and stood on either side in matching black uniforms.

President Francis Gordon VI of Mongo sat at the throne. Behind him loomed a silver disc thirty feet across set into the wall. The disc showed a giant engraving of an eagle. The eagle held a branch in its left talon and a set of arrows in its right. The eagle’s face looked sternly to the right. A striped shield lay on the eagle’s chest, and a banner waved in the eagle’s beak showing the words, “E pluribus unum”.

A platinum crown sat upon the president’s head. Soldiers of the presidential guard flanked him on either side. Every person stood perfectly in place. Every eye in the room fixed on the open doors.

As he walked in, J silently wished he’d put on shoes when he got up today. At the least, J thought, I wish I’d put a sock on the other foot. Or, if I was going to have only one sock, I wish it’d been a better sock. Even taking off the sock and going in barefoot would probably be more formal. However, taking off the sock now that I’m here and everyone’s looking at me is probably even less formal. It’s so complicated. It’s issues like these that make me prefer phone interviews.

Lewis hid his nervousness under a formal marching walk and a calm, welcoming stare. He hadn’t expected to be introduced to the leader of an alien race. He hadn’t met either of his companions half an hour earlier. He was starting to feel guilty that he’d picked J to be their spokesman. There was no reason to think J wasn’t up to the task, except for what Susan said and mounting empirical evidence.

Susan walked in last, mentally making note of where the windows were, how many people there were and how they held their weapons. This was the first time she’d seen people from another planet, but this wasn’t the first time someone lumped her in with J and let him do the talking. Susan tried to make sure she was ready for the coming bloodshed.

To their left, Dr. Sein called out, “Here arrives Colonel J, who will speak for the Earth people. He comes with Captain Lewis Bold and their companion.”

“Greetings, people of Earth,” President Gordon said.

“Wow, that’s original.” J said.

“It is?”

“No, I’m being sarcastic. What you said is maybe a notch above ‘Take me to your leader.’ If you don’t mind my saying, emperor. . .”

“President,” Dr. Sein said.

” . . . you need to fire your speechwriter. Even, ‘Klaatu Barada Nikto!’ would be an improvement.”

“What does that mean?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“Silence you babbling fool!” the president roared.

Lewis looked over at Susan, who had the tight-lipped look of one watching an unpleasant but very familiar process. He felt a brief surge of gratitude that J was momentarily silent.

The president leaned forward. “There is a force that has guided my world, shaped me and put me in this place.”

“Inbreeding?” J suggested.

“Destiny!” the president yelled, “Our destiny is to take control of your backwards planet and to run it the way it should be run.”

“I don’t know you yet,” J said, “but you’ve yet to convince me that you could run a fever.”

“Excuse me. . .” Lewis said, stepping forward.

The president ignored Lewis and yelled at J, “Have your people created anything that can compete with our technology?”

“No,” J said, “but I’ve got a hunch you haven’t either. In all my communication with you people, no one mentioned researchers or scientists. There’s these ‘doctors’, but the title doesn’t seem to refer to training as much as a surgical procedure insuring mindless. . .”

“Brainless,” Dr. Zachgo whispered from J’s left.

” . . .obedience,” J continued. “I’ll bet your technology wasn’t invented so much as obtained and adapted.”

“That is sedition!” President Gordon yelled.

“What’s that? Latin for ‘more accurate than you like to admit’?”

“Excuse me,” Lewis said as he stepped in front of J.

The president, his face still livid, looked at Lewis. He said, “Yes?”

“I apologize for this unpleasant outburst. My companion, J, is not actually qualified to negotiate. His selection as our spokesman was a misunderstanding, for which I am responsible.”

J looked offended. Susan looked stunned. President Gordon looked thoughtful.

“If you are, indeed, responsible,” President Gordon said, “you will stand in Colonel J’s place for his indiscretions.”

“I understand, Mr. President.”

“Then you will fight in the Arena.”

“Wouldn’t negotiations be more productive?” Lewis asked. Seeing the president’s look, he hastily added. “The Arena it is. Thank you, Mr. President. I’m sure it will be fine.”

“What a fuckwad,” J declared.

“A what?” President Gordon asked, seeming genuinely confused.

“A fuckwad. A wad of fuck. You know, a spurt of come, ejaculant. I guess what I’m saying is that you weren’t actually conceived so much as–ow!”

Susan had stepped in behind J and had done something to him that involved very little visible movement but considerable pain.

“If you talk to someone who has a technological military advantage over your planet,” Lewis whispered, “you don’t call him a fuckwad.”

“Is that the Buddha’s teaching?” J whispered back.

“No. It sounds like a little Sun Tzu, a little LBJ.”

The president stood. “Take them to the holding cells and prepare Captain Bold for his combat.”

Dr. Zachgo and a group of soldiers moved in around the three visitors, and the soldiers began to escort them out. Lewis moved close to Dr. Zachgo. “Doctor, am I to understand that I’m actually going to face hand to hand combat for my fellow’s indiscretions?”

“No,” Dr. Zachgo said as he walked.

“Thank heavens.”

“You’ll probably be fighting with whips.”

Lewis’s glasses magnified his perplexed stare. “Who, um, whom will I be fighting?”

“You’ve never fought in the arena, so probably not the Champion,” Dr. Zachgo said. “I’m suspecting it will be the Challenger. He’s won seven fights.”

“How many fights has he lost?” Lewis asked.

Dr. Zachgo had been looking straight forward as he talked. Now he turned and looked at Lewis.

“What?” Lewis asked, “Is is impolite to ask?”

“If he’d lost,” Zachgo said, “he wouldn’t have survived to fight you now.”

4

Lewis paced the edge of the holding cell. He stopped and said, “I’m sorry. I just realized I never got your name.”

“It’s Susan Rama,” Susan said. She’d been sitting, the bottoms of her feet together and her legs flat against the floor. She was bent forward with her chin to her heels. She sat up and smiled a rare, brief smile. Lewis had been sent to an alien world and was waiting to be sent to some kind of arena, and he was sorry that he didn’t get her name.

“She’s got two middle names,” J said. “But that’d be too much work for her to say.”

“What’s your full name?” Lewis asked J.

“J Bosca.”

“How’s your first name spelled?”

J looked at Lewis and said slowly, “With a J.”

“I know,” Lewis asked, “But what comes after the J?”

“Bosca.”

“Jerome,” Susan said.

“What?” Francis asked.

“His name’s Jerome.”

“That’s a lie!” said J, pointing at Susan.

Susan looked over her shoulder at J. “I have yearbooks.”

“It was Jerome,” J corrected. “I had my name changed legally. There is no Jerome anymore. Jerome Bosca has ceased to exist.”

“I see,” said Susan. “Prayers answered literally. Note to God: practice comprehension skills.”

“I’m getting the impression that you two have known each other a while,” Lewis said.

“Since we were fourteen,” J said. Susan shuddered.

“So this adversity that you two seem to have for each other is actually. . .”

“Genuine.” Susan offered. “Bitter. Unrelenting.”

“Deep-rooted.” J added. “Violent. Destructive.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

“Will you fight?” Susan asked Lewis.

“I suppose I’ll have to,” Lewis said. “I hope this Arena is not as lethal as that doctor made it out to be.”

“It doesn’t sound like an ideal environment for middle-aged men with geeky glasses,” J said.

Lewis took off his glasses and looked at them critically.

“Doesn’t look old,” Susan said. “Try a punch.”

Lewis put his glasses on and looked at Susan skeptically.

“Try a punch,” Susan said again. “Let me see.”

After a shrug, Lewis planted his feet and threw a quick jab and swung.

“Bend legs more,” Susan suggested. “Keep weight even. Your form’s fine.”

J nodded. “You do move fast.”

“Did you box?”

“Wrestled,” Lewis said. “In my sophomore year of high school.”

“It’s too bad,” Susan said.

“What?” Lewis asked.

“Your back. Is it congenital?”

Lewis nodded. “Yeah, the spine’s twisted. It wasn’t always that big a problem. I was going to be on the football team. Junior year, I had to quit wrestling. Senior year, it got so bad I had to quit track. After that, I hung out in the physics lab and moaned, ‘Sanctuary!’ I was surprised the Air Force took me.”

“You shouldn’t go,” Susan said. “I should fight.”

“Hey,” J said. “That’s right, and not just because you could be killed.”

“Most of the time, my back is fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not just because of your gimpy ass,” J said. “Susan here might just look like a pathologically violent bitch, but she’s actually a pathologically violent bitch with lots of experience.”

“What?”

“I studied Aikijujutsu.” Susan explained. “Kajukenbo, too. I fenced some.”

“I wouldn’t feel right.” Lewis said. “I’ll fight, if that’s what they want me to do.”

“I’ll bet you didn’t know they’d have you fighting for your life when you said you’d take responsibility for me,” J said.

“I didn’t expect that.” Lewis agreed. “I thought they might execute me, after the talk of torture and the way you talked to the president.”

“Why’d you do it?” J asked.

“You’re young,” Lewis said. “You’ve never married. You’ve never raised kids. You’ve probably never had a friend who just wouldn’t make it if you weren’t there for him.”

“And he won’t.” Susan protested. “Look at him.”

Everyone was quiet for a little. J shook his head slowly. “I had no idea when I was first talking to these people that they were such slimy monkey fuckers.”

“How did you make contact, anyway?” Lewis asked.

“I did some contract programming for imaging code on the Very Large Array, that telescope by Socorro, a few years ago. They called me up because they were seeing something strange. They thought it was my code.

“I double checked the code, and I found there was something moving through the solar system. It was mostly undetectable, but sometimes, other signals refracted off it.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone what you found?” Lewis asked.

“I was worried what would happen if news got out.”

“You were afraid someone else would claim credit for the discovery?”

“I was afraid they wouldn’t pay me the $12,000 to fix the programming error if I told them it was aliens.”

“So how did you make contact with them?”

“Once I knew where to look, I noticed a radio signal coming from the object. I sent the signal back, and they started talking, in English, no less.”

“That’s a strange thing,” Lewis said. “They look human. They speak English. They have a president.”

“Who sits in front of a giant quarter,” J said. “I can’t figure that one out. Maybe they wanted Susan to feel at home.”

“It’s not a quarter. The eagle is the one from the back of the dollar.”

J shrugged. “It’s not in Susan’s honor, then. She never charges that high.”

“I’ll kill you,” Susan informed J.

“You can’t,” J said. “Our captors want us alive. They want to hear what I have to say.”

“That won’t last.”

Lewis seemed not to hear them. “But the eagle was facing the wrong way,” he said absently.

“I think it says something that you noticed that,” J said.

“Well, thank you.”

“‘You need a hobby,’” J explained.

The door to the cell swung open, and eight soldiers walk in. Dr. Zachgo came in last.

“You two,” the doctor said, pointing at J and Susan, “will follow the front guards to watch from the audience.”

The doctor pointed at Lewis. “You, we’ll prepare for combat.”

5

The top tier of the audience held the first family. President Francis Gordon VI of Mongo looked at the arena with cold interest. At the moment, the arena had only the Challenger, swinging a baton in the air in different patterns.

On the president’s left was his daughter, Aura Gordon. A set of golden opera glasses dangled in front of her face, hovering like a toy balloon at the end of a string Aura held.

“I heard the alien volunteered to fight in the arena to save a friend of his.”

The president clenched his teeth. He knew where this conversation was going but felt helpless to stop it. “That’s nonsense,” he said. “The alien said he took responsbility for another alien’s actions. He had no idea how dire the consequences were. He’s a primitive. We’re not even sure he’s the same species we are.”

“He’s very brave,” Aura said casually. “I think I’ll marry him after he wins this fight.”

President Gordon started to inhale in a very long, regular breath, like he’d been advised to do.

“But we’ll probably have sex soon after we’re engaged,” Aura added.

President Gordon continued to inhale. What did I do to deserve such an insanely willful daughter? He thought.

On the president’s right stood Kenda Gordon, the first lady, towering a head over the president himself. Kenda knew the irony of being the President’s eighth first lady. She also knew the danger of it. The first seven first ladies, including Aura’s mother, had been found to be emotionally distant and consequently executed. Kenda was keenly aware that she was, herself, feeling emotionally distant from the president, and she scanned the crowd for the safest way to become geographically distant as well.

Lewis stood at the edge of the Arena. Dr. Zachgo held a small metal object to Lewis’ arm. For a second, the skin on his arm tingled.

“What was that?” Lewis asked.

“Just part of the tradition,” Dr. Zachgo said. “If you prove to be a capable fighter, we’ll want to keep track of you. It’s time for you to enter.”

Lewis walked forward. A slight shimmer of a shield appeared behind him. Curious, Lewis touched the shimmer with a fingertip. The almost invisible wall felt neither warm nor cold and had no texture.

Lewis turned back to see a man holding a baton and slashing the air with it in intricate patterns. As far as Lewis could tell, the man was oblivious to him.

The middle of the arena opened into a circular hole. A large man climbed up a flight of stairs and into the arena. As he ascended from the hole, he raised his muscular arms, and the audience around cheered. He turned a slow, graceful circle and turned to face Lewis.

“Welcome to the Arena,” the new arrival said. “I am the Champion. Tell me, have you ever killed a man?”

“I don’t know,” Lewis said.

The Champion laughed. “How can you not know?”

“I flew aircraft.” Lewis said. “I used weapons that destroyed buildings. Probably there were people in the buildings. Probably they died, but I don’t know.”

“When you fight here,” the Champion said, “you will know when you kill.”

“Is there any other way for the fight to end?” Lewis asked.

“Are you afraid of dying?” the Champion asked.

Lewis drew a deep breath, took off his glasses, cleaned them, and put them back on. “I’m afraid of killing,” Lewis said.

The Champion looked down at the stooped man in the horn-rimmed glasses and laughed.

From the audience, J and Susan could see the Champion but couldn’t make out everything that he said.

“He’s very insane,” Susan said.

Next to Susan, J looked at the Champion and asked, “How can you tell?”

“Look at him.”

The Champion threw a rod to the ground at Lewis’s feet. Lewis picked it up and looked at it. The rod was shaped to fit easily in someone’s hand. An inch beyond where Lewis’s thumb lay were four metal discs set against the side of the rod. The rod had a trigger under Lewis’ finger and a button by his thumb.

“You hold a thin whip,” the Champion said. “Pull the trigger.”

Lewis did. One of the discs dropped off the edge of the whip. It hung below the whip, suspended by a thread Lewis couldn’t see. The longer Lewis held the trigger, the further out the disc went. Lewis gently put his finger under the disc and picked it up. The disc weighed as much as a handful of coins.

“Careful,” the Champion said. “If you slip, your fingers will fall off. That little disc is the tip of the whip. What you grip in your hand is the base. Between them is a thread that can hold the weight, though it is only three molecules across.

“The trigger lets the tip go further out, as much as a meter from the base. Swing the tip at someone, and the thread will cut through flesh as though it isn’t there. If you hit the button on the handle, a second weight will detach with the thread and the tip. This way, you can throw the thin wire at your opponent. You can launch four wires.”

J flinched as he heard Susan yell “Toy!” He turned to see her face split with a smile of innocent glee.

In a conditioned response, J started to sweat.

Susan was a dangerous person empty handed. She practiced martial arts obsessively and had taught classes. She could also use objects that were not normally weapons. You could ask Oggy Merret, who once groped Susan at a party. He may have thought Susan was too drunk to object, or maybe he just assumed her objection would not include beating him unconscious with a floor lamp.

However, Susan was at her most frightening when she found an exotic weapon. J flinched at the memory of the five-pound claymore she found. Susan eagerly demonstrated that, despite it’s antiquity, the 15th century weapon was still quite effective against a 1972 Volkswagen Bug. J still had nightmares of the sword cutting through his windshield long after he sold the car his friends called “the reluctant convertible”.

Silently, J reassured himself: The people around me are aliens with terrifying technology. They have an army capable of destroying the combined might of the Earth. They mean to torture us for information and then kill us. They will not, under any circumstances, risk all that by letting Susan get her hands on anything as lethal as that whip. Be calm. Susan will not get that whip.

When J finished his calming mantra, he noticed the Champion had left the Arena. And now there was just the Challenger up against the Middle Aged Guy with Geeky Glasses and Back Trouble.

Lewis swung his whip in a circle to get used to the movement. He’d used a lasso before and the hand motion was similar. He was starting to realize that the whip could be as lethal to the one holding it as any opponent. If Lewis moved right, he’d be walking into the line of his own swing and cut off his arm. Moving in any other direction would change the arc of the swing, which could cause an even worse mistake.

Lewis thumbed the button on his handle, and the tip came free along with a weight in the handle. The two sections flew off. By coincidence, they went in the direction of the Challenger. Lewis fought the impulse to apologize.

The Challenger growled. He lifted his handle over his head. He swung his and pulled the trigger, letting the tip of the whip out to swing two fast circles over his head. Then he pushed the release, and, faster than Lewis expected, the wire flew at Lewis’ head.

The audience didn’t have time to see what happened. If Lewis hadn’t moved so fast, the two weights would have passed on either side of Lewis, and the wire in between would have cut his head in half.

As it was, the tip of the Challenger’s whip glanced off Lewis’ temple. He stood still for an instant, wondering if, even now, a cut too thin to feel had taken out part of his skull. The wire had barely slapped his skin, with very little weight to drive it in. A thin squiggle of red started to appear on the side of Lewis’s head, like a glyph written in reappearing ink.

Lewis sighed with relief, and he felt something fall. He looked down, and he had a moment to see one earpiece from his glasses lying on the ground. The wire had cut it off. As Lewis looked down, he felt the rest of his glasses tumble off his face.

There was a second’s hush as Lewis squinted and tried to focus his eyes. Then President Gordon burst with laughter. Aura shot him one disgusted glance before looking back through her opera glasses. The president’s laughter spread through the auditorium. The Challenger turned and grinned at the audience, laughing with them. After turning a full circle, he turned his attention back to Lewis.

Lewis could see the vertical blur move and darken as the Challenger came closer. He could hear a second tip whistle through the air from the Challenger’s thin whip. Lewis crouched and felt for his glasses, trying to find them before the Challenger finally came in for the kill.

6

Lewis hadn’t noticed the floor before. It must be some kind of patterned tile. Without his glasses, Lewis saw it as a mass of gray clouds. His right hand found something, but it was just the earpiece that had been cut off. His left hand found the rest of the glasses, and Lewis held them to his face.

Lewis saw his opponent just a few steps away. The Challenger swung his thin whip in a wide circle as he advanced.

Lewis held out his own whip and pulled the trigger. The second of the four tips began to drop, like a weight from a fishing pole. Lewis swung the whip over his head.

President Francis Gordon VI grinned at his daughter. “Look at him. He’s going to decapitate himself.”

Aura shot a dark look at her father and looked back at the arena through her opera glasses.

Further down in the audience, Susan leaned forward and watched. “He seems practiced,” she said. “He’s got control.”

J looked at her. “You’ve found your calling, a sports commentator for alien death matches.”

Lewis flicked the handle on his thin whip faster and faster. The metal tip swinging on the end of its microscopic thread looked like a broad halo over Lewis’s head.

The Challenger took two quick steps back and clenched the handle of his whip. The wire came free, moving toward Lewis’s feet. Still holding his glasses to his face with his left hand, Lewis jumped. For a second, it looked like Lewis would be caught on the line of his own thin whip, but he quickly swung to the whip to his right.

Just after the first thread was airborne, the Challenger released another tip. He flicked the handle for one fast swing and released another thread even as Lewis jumped.

The first wire passed under Lewis’s feet. When Lewis hit the ground, the second line was almost to him. In an instant, Lewis decided he couldn’t dodge. He looked at the weight, gauged where he thought it would be, and reached out to swat the weight away with his left hand.

The world was a blur. Lewis’ glasses were in his left hand, and he had to rely on his memory of where the weight was.

Lewis felt the impact of the tip as he backhanded it away. He bent his wrist to get his hand away from the sharper-than-razor wire that followed the weight. Lewis leaned back, and the wire passed by his chin flew to the edge of the Arena.

Carefully, Lewis straightened. He knew his back would be in agony as soon as the adrenaline wore off.

Lewis lifted his glasses to his face and saw that they’d been cut so that all that remained was the earpiece he held and most of one lens. He closed his right eye.

The Challenger held his thin whip, spinning his last weight at the end of his last wire.

“Throw it,” Lewis said. “If you hit me, I die. If you miss, I’ll drop my whip and we’ll settle this hand to hand.”

The Challenger laughed, and Lewis realized how ridiculous he must look, clenching one eye shut and holding a fragment of a pair of glasses to his face.

The Challenger advanced on Lewis, swinging his whip in a figure eight as he came.

The Challenger sped his pace and swung his whip to deliver a deathblow. Lewis swung in the opposite direction. In the last minute, Lewis twisted his wrist in a practiced movement.

The two weights hung side by side in the air between Lewis and the Challenger. Both men held the handles of their thin whips pointed at each other.

“Guy learns fast,” Susan said.

“What happened?” J asked.

“The wires,” Susan said. “They’re tied together.”

Lewis pushed the thumb on his handle, and the line released from his thin whip. As the line dropped to the floor, Lewis stepped back.

The Challenger looked at the weights lying on the floor and looked back at Lewis.

“Drop it,” Lewis said. “You’re holding onto two meters of twisted wire. If you try to swing that, you’re more likely to kill yourself than me.”

Lewis mentally added, And then we’ll see if you can wrestle. If I keep you in a full nelson for an hour, maybe they’ll call off the fight with nobody killed.

The Challenger snarled as he looked up at Lewis. With a roar, he raised swung his handle for a swing. The two weights waved wildly.

The Challenger stopped where he stood. A part of his shirt parted, and a line of blood appeared on his shoulder. The blood came thicker, and his collarbone started to shift. The Challenger held his breath and stood as still as he could. His eyes froze, looking at nothing.

Lewis looked around at the audience. When saw the president, he yelled, “Help him!”

President Gordon shook his head. “In the Arena, the winner’s injuries are mended after the fight, but never the loser’s.”

Lewis threw down his whip. “Then I surrender. Save this man.”

“The loser dies.”

Lewis looked at the Challenger. The eyes looked so lost. He was still trying not to breathe, not to move. Lewis looked back at the president.

“I surrender.”

The president smiled. “Fair enough. When the Challenger leaves the Arena, he becomes the winner.”

In the shield surrounding the arena, a hole opened. The Challenger’s eyes focused at last on the hole. He looked down at the line of blood on his chest.

“Someone needs to help him,” Lewis said. “Cut the wire. Carry him.”

“He will get no help.”

The Challenger took a step, and the wire went half an inch deeper into his chest. It was just a little deeper, but the wire was in his lungs now. More blood came, bright scarlet and covering his chest.

Lewis moved forward as the Challenger collapsed. Lewis grabbed his shoulders, but, with the collarbone cut, the shoulders shifted sickeningly in his hands. Blood ran to the floor quickly now, and he gave a final, ragged gasp.

Lewis stood up and looked at his blood soaked button-down shirt. He looked up at the president.

“It seems you have both lost,” the president said.

“Father,” Aura said, “The man’s brain is still intact. If we get him to the medical unit, we can still revive him.”

“But why?” President Gordon asked.

J watched Lewis’ expression and thought about him seriously for the first time. He’d seemed like a good enough guy, perhaps a little timid. Looking at his face now, J felt scared of Lewis, and he wasn’t the one Lewis was staring at.

“You,” Lewis said, pointing at the president, “and those who serve you are vermin to me. Do you understand what I am saying? You are less than dogs.”

“Take him away,” the president roared. “Take him to the tsak!”

A dozen soldiers marched into the arena and took Lewis out. All the while, Lewis glared over his shoulder at the president.

“As for his friends,” President Gordon said, “I have accepted Colonel J into the elite ranks of my own staff of doctors. We will send him to surgery immediately.”

Dr. Zachgo turned to J and tapped one of the metal projections that extended from within his skull. J thought the cyborg was actually smiling, but he probably imagined it.

“And their companion,” not knowing Susan’s name, the President looked at Dr. Zachgo who looked at Susan, who simply glared back. The President continued after a beat. “. . .and I have become close. We are going to be wed tonight.”

“That was unexpected,” Susan said.

7

Lewis kept thinking he should be afraid. He wasn’t anymore. All he could feel was outrage. He kept thinking of the man he’d seen die for sport. He thought of the look of amusement on the president’s face.

“So, doctor, what is this tsak?” Lewis asked.

Dr. Sein kept walking with him, not even turning her head to look. “The tsak is a large creature native to Arboria. We have one in captivity inside the palace.”

“Are you going to feed me to it?” Lewis asked.

“No,” Dr. Sein said. “When the first Francis Gordon took power from Ming, he put in place a series of laws regarding individual freedoms.”

“Like the Bill of Rights?”

“I have not heard of this Bill of Rights.”

Lewis nodded. “I was starting to suspect that. What freedoms did your founder guarantee?”

Dr. Sein paused before answering. “To be honest, most of the document has been altered or removed in the years since. However, every sentient being still retains the unalienable right to not be fed to a large carnivore. That was a particularly strong issue for our founder.”

“He was a visionary,” Lewis said.

The sarcasm was lost on Dr. Sein. “Yes, he was.”

“So if I’m not going to be fed to the Tsak,” Francis said, “why are you taking me to it?”

“To be killed. The tsak is large, fast and very dangerous.”

“But it won’t eat me?”

“No, the tsak eats only legumes.”

Lewis stopped, but soldiers behind him pushed him forward. “Legumes?” he asked.

“Arborian legumes beggar the imagination.”

Lewis raised his eyebrows and frowned. At last he said, “I hear that a lot.”

They came to a large room. One part of the floor, delineated only by a force shield, was covered with scratches, refuse and bits of vegetation. Some of it must have been miraculous Arborian legumes. There was a hole on one side of the wall.

“The tsak is on the other side of that hole. The shields will let you in, but not out.” Dr. Sein said. “The soldiers will take you to the edge and throw you in.”

“I’ll walk,” Lewis said, and went past the edge of the shield. There was a tingling and feeling of numbness as he passed through.

The musky smell on the other side of the shield hit him immediately. After the smell, he noticed the sound. There was the sound of breathing. It was a quiet sound, low and long.

Lewis stood still for a moment as he thought about what to do next. He heard the breathing become faster and quieter.

The tsak must have been able to locate him by smell, because it was charging straight at him when Lewis first saw it. He couldn’t get a clear idea of what it looked like. It had a thick head and long legs with claws that gripped the floor. It moved faster than a horse.

Lewis only had time to crouch and put one arm forward. The thing came straight at him and grabbed his arm with its jaws. Its teeth closed next to Lewis’ elbow.

The tsak jerked its head quickly. Pain shot from his arm straight up Lewis’ spine as he felt a bone break. The tsak swung Lewis the other way and let go, throwing him. Lewis hit the smooth, unyielding surface of the shield and landed on the ground.

Lewis felt cold and tried not to go into shock as he stood up. The tsak charged again, bellowing as it tore at Lewis with its claws.

From the other side of the shield, they could see most everything. The blood that spattered on the shield ran off easily. It was silent, though, and there was no smell. Most of the soldiers looked away.

“He lasted longer than most,” Dr. Sein said, when the Tsak finished and went back to the other side of hits hole.

The doctor and the group of soldiers filed out together.

J felt he should be terrified, and he was. Expressing the appropriate emotion for the occasion was a rare thing for J, and he made the most of it.

“Will you stop screaming and thrashing?” Captain Tanner yelled, “Will you walk like a sane person so we don’t have to drag you?”

“Wait!” J yelled. Tanner signaled, and the soldiers stopped dragging J and let go of his arms.

J stood still. He pursed his lips and nodded to himself. At length he said, “No. I’ve given the matter some thought, and it just isn’t me.”

J bolted between two of the soldiers, and he almost got clear when they grabbed his arms and pulled him back.

“You gosh darned knucklehead!” Tanner yelled.

Every head turned to Captain Tanner, the soldiers in shock, J in confusion.

“Did you just call me a gosh darned knucklehead?” J asked.

“Yes,” yelled Captain Tanner, “because that’s what you are!”

J had an expression like he’d just put sugar on a steak thinking it was salt and taken his first bite. After a moment’s consideration, he delicately said, “Why you festering smear of syphilitic rhino come.”

All the soldiers and Tanner seemed puzzled by this one. Tanner mouthed the words to himself. “What’s syphilitic?” he asked.

“It’s time you knew.” J said. “When you have a mommy and a daddy, and they love each other very casually. . .”

J’s condescension offended Tanner where his words hadn’t. Tanner signaled, and the guards started dragging J again.

J was being dragged backwards, so the first thing he noticed was the black ceiling. Then he looked to the sides and saw he was now in a room with black walls and a black floor as well. The soldiers thrust him into a chair that seemed to grab him with dozens of small arms that looked disturbingly like insect legs.

“The process is automated,” Tanner said. “The machine will vivisect your brain in order to create a complete model. Once the model is complete, a computer will be fed that model, fitted to your skull and connected to various nerve centers. It takes surprisingly little time.”

“For the love of God,” J screamed. “This is wrong!”

More arms extruded from the chair. They came around J’s neck and face, holding his head perfectly still. Barely audible now that he couldn’t move his jaw, J muttered, “And to think I hesitated.”

Tanner and the others filed out of the room. Many rooms away, Dr. Zachgo observed the process on a set of hologram displays. It brought back mixed feelings of his own conversion. Dr. Zachgo’s conversion had been voluntary but still terrifying.

Dr. Zachgo scanned over updates of the early stages of the process. Nothing ever went wrong here. Hair Removed. . .Local Anesthetic Applied . . . Cutters Engaged . . . Pia Matter Separated . . . Dura Matter Separated . . . Neural Probes Engaged

Dr. Zachgo looked to see as a model of the brain appeared in the display. The model went down to atomic scale. When it was done, it could simulate, thought for thought, what J would be thinking. Unfortunately, they couldn’t create such a model without destroying the subject’s original brain.

Quickly, the model filled in. Zachgo knew this meant probes were going deeper into the brain itself. It completed. Now, Dr. Zachgo watched with deeper attention. Things sometimes went wrong here.

Encephalon Unit Loading. . . Encephalon Unit Prepared . . . Integrating Encephalon Unit

The display showed the computer being fitted to the skull. Tailored biological sections of the Encephalon unit made nerve connections. The top of the skull was refitted. Reviving gear healed the joins in bone and skin around the unit.

Medical displays came up. For a minute or so, the room’s machinery had supplied vital functions. Now they switched over to the computer inside J’s skull.

Dr. Zachgo felt a moment of sympathetic pain when he saw the heart flatline, but nothing showed on his expression. The body did not always accept the Encephalon unit. Zachgo could see readouts as the machine tried to get the body to breath and get its heart to beat. Nothing happened.

Zachgo waited. Soon, the unit said that it had given up. The body was effectively dead. The medical gear could bring it back to life, but if the body didn’t work with the Encephalon unit, what was the point?

Dr. Zachgo waved his hand. Reading the gesture, the system disengaged from the body, which dropped to the floor, lifeless. He shut down the system and walked away from the room.

8

Susan turned around and watched the soldiers close the door behind her. So far, being instantly transported to another planet was the least unusual thing that had happened to Susan that day. She tried to think what she was supposed to do next.

“Would you lend me your jacket?”

Susan turned back to look into the chamber. A woman was sitting in wide, soft chair. She’d been looking at a holographic display of letters and symbols. She was wearing a low cut, strapless formal gown which she’d hitched up to sit cross legged. The woman’s face was unreadable.

“This?” Susan said, pinching a piece of weathered leather jacket.

“That or anything else that covers my chest and shoulders. All the clothes I’ve got are like this. I’ve had seven months of cleavage. If you can’t lend me anything, I’ll have to take up sewing.”

Possibly because this was as gently as anyone had spoken to her since she arrived at this mad planet, Susan found herself unable to say no. As Susan took off the jacket, the woman stood up, a process that continued for some time.

Susan lifted her arm to hand the woman her jacket. The woman took it and pulled her arms through. The jacket was big on Susan. It wasn’t tight on this woman, but it didn’t quite reach her waist, and she just had to fold the sleeves back once to keep them above her elbows.

“You can say it,” the woman said as she looked down at Susan.

“Say what?”

“‘My, you’re tall.’”

Susan shrugged. “Figured you knew.”

The woman smiled and extended a hand. “I’m Kenda. I’m Kenda Gordon, actually. I’m married to the president.”

“He’s married?” Susan asked. “He’s marrying me. He thinks so. He isn’t.” Susan still couldn’t believe the president had decided to marry her since he’d never spoken to her and didn’t know her name.

“I know.” Kenda said. “I’m going to be executed, and then he’s going to marry you. Then he’ll get bored, and he’ll execute you.”

“I won’t marry. I’ll refuse.”

Kenda looked away bitterly. “That will skip the part where you get married and he gets bored with you. Looking back, I would as soon have done it that way.”

“What a motherfucker.”

“A what?” Kenda asked.

“Motherfucker.”

“What’s a fucker?” Kenda asked.

“One who fucks.” Susan said.

“What’s fuck?”

“Have sex.”

Kenda’s eyes widened. “So far as I know, Gordon never did that. He doesn’t remember his mother very fondly.”

“So slander him.” Susan said. “He’s an asshole. He deserves it.”

“Does ‘asshole’ mean what I think it means?”

“Likely. Where’s the others?”

“The two people who came with you?” Kenda asked.

Susan nodded.

Kenda looked down and pointed at the lines of letters hanging in midair. “There’s a report. They’re both dead. Lewis Bold was torn apart by the tsak. The other one, J, had his brain replaced with an encephalon computer, but his body rejected the transplant. His heart didn’t start. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m getting out,” Susan announced.

“Just touch the door, and it’ll open, but there’s six armed guards just outside at all times.”

Susan sat on the floor and thought. “What about guns? Can you shoot?” she asked Kenda.

“I know how. I was a munitions officer when the president noticed me. The only guns nearby belong to the guards outside, and they’re carbines.”

“You can’t use them?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t know,” Kenda said. “Carbines are keyed to whoever holds them. Only the soldier who was originally issue a carbine can use it. Also, almost any firearm on Mongo can be shut down from Central Command.”

“We’re royalty, right?” Susan asked. “Will they shoot?”

Kenda shook her head. “No. No matter the circumstances, a soldier who killed one of us would be executed. The first lady before me was shot while running. The soldier who did it was under orders, and they still killed him and his squad, just to save face. The guys outside know that.”

“Can they fight?”

“Better than most. They’re officers. Officer candidates are promoted in pairs, who have to fight in the arena. The loser’s dead. The winner gets promoted, so everyone out there has killed at least one person.”

“Holy shit. Do they spar?”

“What’s sparring? Is it the same as fucking?”

Susan shook her head. “Do they practice? They practice fighting?”

“How can you practice killing people?” Kenda asked. “You run out of people pretty fast.”

“You don’t kill. You just fight. First blow wins.”

“Oh, brawling!” Kenda said. “It’s forbidden. If soldiers are found brawling, they’re thrown in the arena, and there’s only one survivor. Lots of people die that way.”

“They don’t fight?” Susan asked, pointing to the door and the guards outside.

“I think the sergeant has been in five fights.”

“In his life?” Susan asked.

“Yes,” Kenda said. “How many have you been in?”

“Five. . .”

“That’s a lot.” Kenda said.

”. . .a week. Forty-four weeks. Three years. A few others. . . Maybe seven hundred?”

“You’ve been in seven hundred fights?” Kenda asked.

Susan shrugged self-consciously. “I’m kinda obsessive.”

“Do you think you can take out all six guards outside?”

“Six amateurs? Sure. You’ll help.”

“I’ve never fought,” Kenda said. “I wasn’t that kind of officer.”

“You will be,” Susan said. “Hit me.”

“What?” Susan asked.

“Hit me. I’m teaching you. You punch me. I stop you. I explain how. Now, hit me.”

Kenda drew a fist back, and threw a punch at Susan. In a flicker, Kenda’s arm was twisted like a ribbon. Kenda tried to pull her arm back, but the smaller woman held it easily. She tried to lift it, and found that hurt quite a lot.

“Wrist lock,” Susan explained.

Kenda looked at Susan’s grip on her wrist, fascinated. “Will you show me how to do that?”

“Yes.” Susan said. “Right now.”

“At the very least,” Kenda said, “we’ll embarrass the president, that motherfucking asshole.”

Susan nodded.

“Can you say that? ‘Motherfucking asshole’? It doesn’t really make sense if you think about it.”

Susan laughed. “No, it’s fine. It’s perfect.”

9

Sortia fought for air as she ran. This one time, she envied humans their broad lungs and duck feet. The People could win a sprint against almost anything that walked on two legs, but none of the People could run a marathon.

She slammed her empty paw against the button to open the outer doors of the reception chamber. She drew sweet air in for the shortest moments before floating letters appeared saying, “Sortia - Valet for Thun, King of Lion Men” and the outer doors opened.

If she had breath to spare, she would have let out a sigh of relief when she saw the presidential bodyguards. President Gordon was still in the reception chamber. Sortia sprinted toward them, keeping her head low.

The guards moved together and crouched to block Sortia from running past. They didn’t shoot, the outer doors wouldn’t have opened if the security system hadn’t identified her as friendly, but anyone sprinting was suspicious.

Sortia leapt. She nearly hit the top of the archway as she sailed over the two guards. The guards, some of the president’s best soldiers, spun and aimed their rifles at her back. Inside, another line of guards was ready for the disturbance. Six guns pointed at Sortia when she hit the ground.

Sortia slowly lifted one hand to reveal a tray carrying several speared specimens. She looked nervously from one soldier to the next before saying one quiet word.

“Hors d’eourve?”

Nervous laughter spread through the guards. They recognized Sortia now that she stood still. King Thun strode toward her with a manner that looked menacing to someone who couldn’t read the People’s body language, which humans never could. With three strides, he walked over to Sortia and plucked a raw globe of flesh from her tray and shoved the morsel into his mouth.

“Took you long enough.” Thun growled. “I’m starving.”

The king’s obsession with food was one of the few things about him that wasn’t an act. Sortia wanted to smile, but instead, fixed Thun with an angry glare that gave him an excuse to speak the People’s language.

Translation

Thun: Is something wrong?

Sortia: Mission Gamma, keep the president here for as long as possible.

Thun: Will do. Get some rest.

Thun caught the gaze and let out a long growl deep in his throat.

Sortia let out a long hiss that ended in a warbling grunt.

Thun took a step forward, loomed over Sortia. His throat rumbled softly and menacingly. Sortia dropped her eyes and slinked away.

The king groomed his whiskers. Sortia had given him a Mission Gamma task. Mission Gamma was an ongoing process, summed up as, “Spread confusion among the humans wherever possible while keeping, at all costs, the appearance of innocence.”

Mission Gamma was King Thun’s main duty. Daily, he worked to convince the humans of all sorts of absurd things, starting with the ridiculous notion that the so-called ‘Lion Men’ were governed by a king.

“My president,” King Thun boomed happily. “Allow me to congratulate you on your upcoming wedding!”

Francis Gordon was almost to the door. He looked at Thun’s outstretched paw. After a moment, the president grabbed it. Shaking hands with something that had claws always made Gordon nervous.

Thun’s claws extended until they wrapped around the president’s hand. It was the closest he could come to grasping like a human did.

“Thank you,” the president said. “I look forward to seeing you at the wedding.”

This will be the fifth of your weddings I’ve attended. Thun thought, But I never get tired of seeing women in long white gowns with that charming expression of total despair.

“I’m afraid I didn’t hear your fiancée’s name.” Thun said.

Gordon smiled. Thun was surprised at how little difference there was between the smile the president used when he was happy and the smile the president used when he was stalling for time. Thun knew the president’s wife-to-be was still refusing to say what her name was. Thun had bet Sortia the president would invent a name in desperation.

“Susan Rama,” a captain said from across the room. The president looked over and back at Thun. Thun thought, Someone’s been reviewing surveillance footage of the bride’s private conversations, and I owe Sortia half a day’s pay.

“What a lovely name!” Thun said, still not letting go of the President’s hand. “I wonder what she and your present wife, Kenda, are talking about right now.”

“Hold him still.” Susan told Kenda. Kenda tightened her grip on the last soldier’s arms.

Kenda flinched as Susan’s foot shot out and caught the soldier in the head. He slumped to the floor to lie with the other five that had been standing guard over the president’s wife and fiancée.

“Put on a uniform,” Kenda said. “It’ll make us harder to spot.”

“I haven’t seen any women who are soldiers on this planet,” Susan said.

“There are. I was one, remember?” Kenda said as she picked over the beaten men to find one close to her height.

Susan picked the shortest of the soldiers and started stripping his shirt. Kenda took a pair of pants from another and pulled them up her legs, under her evening gown.

“What now?” Susan asked.

“I didn’t think we’d get this far,” Kenda said. “My guess is that we should take the north pass out of the city and head northwest, to the land of the Lion Men.”

“They’d protect us?”

Kenda had discarded the gown and finished putting on a uniform shirt. “They’re tough to predict. They’re a subject nation, but they’re sneaky. They bow to President Gordon, but if they don’t like his orders, they obey them with ruthless inefficiency.”

“Will soldiers come?”

“Yes,” Kenda said. “We’d better get going soon. The president himself might come back, and he’d be with a much larger group than this. The first thing they do will probably be to. . .”

Kenda froze halfway through the sentence.

“What?” Susan asked.

Kenda looked directly at Susan. “Did one of the doctors touch you with any device? It would be a small thing that fit in his hand. He touches it to your skin.”

Susan shook her head.

“You’ve got to go without me.” Kenda said.

“No.”

“Susan, I’ve been a complete idiot. I can’t run. When I married President Gordon, they gave me trackers. There’s things in my blood that send out a signal. They can call up a map, and it’ll tell them exactly where I am.”

“So we’ll run.” Susan said. “We’ll get away.”

“It doesn’t matter where I go. The Republic has enough firepower to get anyone. The only people who oppose President Gordon are people who can hide. The Lion Men can’t claim they can’t find us if Gordon can tell them my location down to the centimeter. Even if I could find the crazy Arborians, all that would accomplish would be to give their location over to the president.”

“There’s a way.” Susan said. “There must be.”

“There isn’t. Look, you’ve got to get away from me fast. Get out of the palace. Get out of the city. Go northwest. I don’t know how you’ll do it, but you’ve got to find a way. I’ll run. I’ll give them something else to chase.”

Susan shook her head wordlessly.

“Go,” Kenda said and ran up the corridor to the left.

Susan watched her go. She kept her face neutral. She kept her mind blank. She turned right and concentrated all her thoughts on marching even, measured steps down the hallway.

10

The chase had gone longer than she’d hoped, but Kenda knew it was almost over. She shouted, “Keep running, Susan! I’ll distract them!”

She yelled for the benefit of the soldiers behind her. Kenda hoped that Susan was miles away. If the soldiers thought Susan was nearby, they might concentrate their search in the wrong place.

Two soldiers tackled Kenda at once. Six more circled in case she tried to run.

Dr. Sein’s slow, measured footsteps caught up. The doctor had no need to hurry. Tiny tracking machines in Kenda’s bloodstream were broadcasting Kenda’s location. The doctor’s electronic mind could find her in total darkness.

“We have her,” Dr. Sein said. She vocalized when transmitting messages directly from her brain. She was talking to the president, who was back in the palace.

“No,” Dr. Sein replied to an inaudible response. “I don’t have the Earth woman. Mrs. Gordon yelled out to her. She may be nearby.”

In the palace, President Gordon switched off his talker and looked up at Dr. Zachgo. “Find her companion, Colonel J. He may be useful as psychological leverage on my future bride.”

“J is dead,” Dr. Zachgo said. “We tried to convert him to a doctor, and his body rejected the process.”

“Even corpses make good leverage. Get him ready to display.”

Dr. Zachgo stood still. Normally, he, too, talked when sending signals, but he suppressed the habit while in the president’s presence.

“There may be a mix-up,” Dr. Zachgo said. “Resource services said the corpse was not there when they came to recycle.”

“Could he still be alive?”

“No, the system monitored him for five minutes. There was no heart beat.” Dr. Zachgo caught himself.

“Are you telling me someone stole the corpse?”

Dr. Zachgo paused again as he sent another signal. “No, Mr. President. There is no record of anyone entering that room.”

The president stood up. He didn’t rage or raise his voice, but the menace was clear. “Find that body.”

The automaton walked down the hallway. It was a human body, but the regularity of its step and the economy of movement marked it for what it was.

Susan jumped it as it passed a doorway. With the shaved head, the regular walk, and the metal projecting through its skull, Susan assumed it was another of the doctors. In shock, she let it go.

“J. Is that you?”

The face went from completely blank to a smug grin. “I’m here to rescue your pathetic, damsel-in-distress ass. Don’t think I’m ever going to let you forget it.”

“Rescued?” Susan demanded. “From what? I escaped. I’ve been running.”

J’s expression disappeared. In a toneless voice that barely resembled J’s at all, he said, “The previous statement is a pre-recorded message. This body is being operated by an Anthropos General Task System. The Anthropos System is designed to handle a variety of situations, but it contains little actual initiative.”

“You’re a robot?” Susan asked.

“I am a human body whose brain had been removed and replaced with an Encephalon series computer. The Encephalon computer connects to the nervous system of a human and controls it. My Encephalon computer is currently controlled by the Anthropos General Task System.”

“Is J dead?”

“J’s brain has been removed and analyzed.” said the Anthropos System through J’s body. “J now exists as a model of his brain operating in the Mongo Central System. I am executing a series of tasks J has assigned until he can take control of this Encephalon unit.”

“What tasks?” Susan asked.

“First,” the Anthropos System said, “I am supposed to rescue you.”

“You didn’t. I escaped. You found me. That’s it.”

“I’m sorry. I can only accept the facts as presented by J.”

“You poor bastard.”

“Was that statement calling J’s competence into question?”

“No.” Susan said. “What other tasks?”

“Second,” the Anthropos System said, “I am supposed to lead you to the auxiliary armory.”

“Why?” Susan asked.

“I have difficulty answering questions of motive. The Anthropos General Task System is designed to handle a variety of situations, but it contains little actual initiative.”

“You’re very repetitive.”

“You have named a known flaw of the Anthropos System which may be rectified in future versions.”

“You can rectify. . .” Susan started, but she heard footsteps coming from a turn in the hallway.

“Hide,” Susan said.

J’s body didn’t move. “The Anthropos System is not effective at accomplishing the command, ‘hide’ which you have recommended. Possibly this command involves initiative or an understanding of human perception, a talent the Anthropos System lacks.”

“Soldiers are coming!”

“I see. J has assigned a response to this situation.”

“Forget that response. Trust me. Just hide now.”

“Was that a statement calling J’s competence into question?”

“No!” Susan yelled.

Two soldiers rounded a corner and came into view. The Anthropos System grabbed Susan’s arm. Susan was so surprised she followed J’s body as it walked to the soldiers.

“I am Dr. Bosca,” J told the soldiers. “I am escorting this prisoner to stronger captivity.”

“Why is she dressed in a soldier’s uniform?”

The Anthropos System said nothing for a couple seconds. Then it said, “The previous statement is a pre-recorded message. This body is being operated by an Anthropos General Task System. The Anthropos System is designed to handle a variety of situations, but has difficulty answering questions involving motive.”

Susan rolled her eyes.

“But you just said you were Dr. Bosca.” one of the soldiers said.

“That is true.” the Anthropos System said. “Those are the facts I was told to present to soldiers I encountered during my first two tasks, rescuing Susan Rama from captivity and taking her to the auxiliary armory.”

The two soldiers looked at Susan, and, for a moment, the three shared a look of stunned disbelief.

Then, with speed and efficiency, Susan beat the soldiers senseless and dragged them into a nearby closet.

“What was that?” Susan asked.

“I have difficulty understanding the meaning of the pronoun. . .” the Anthropos System began.

“Shut up!”

J’s body fell silent.

“You didn’t lie. Why?”

“The Anthropos System always provides truthful information unless specifically told otherwise.”

“Christ, J. You’re actually dumber.”

“Was that a statement calling J’s competence into question?”

“Yes,” Susan hissed at the Anthropos System.

“You ungrateful bitch!” J’s body said, using J’s voice and stance.

“What was that?” Susan asked.

“A pre-recorded message for a specific eventuality.”

“It’s J’s message? I insult him; you say that? What a wanker.”

“Was that a statement calling J’s competence. . .”

“Yes.” Susan interrupted. “But first answer.”

The Anthropos System answered tonelessly, “You are correct. I am to watch for deprecating statements of yours, and I am to play that message when I hear it. Fortunately, you’ve helped identify which statements are meant as insults and which aren’t.”

Then, switching from the even voice back to J’s snarl, the body said, “You ungrateful bitch!”

“Kenda’s probably captured. Lewis is dead. J survived. There’s no justice.”

J’s voice came out in a melodramatic, ominous croak, “Only Zuul.”

“What was that?” Susan asked.

“It was a pre-recorded message,” the Anthropos System said.

“Why? Never mind. Don’t tell me.”

11

“Where did you last see him?” Dr. Sein asked.

The computer in Dr. Zachgo’s head asked him if he really wanted to express the sigh of resignation he was about to breathe. He knew Dr. Sein was trying to be helpful, but he’d asked himself all these questions.

Dr. Zachgo didn’t sigh, but said, “He was being taken to surgery. The records clearly show that J’s brain was successfully extracted and analyzed. A model of the brain was formed. The model was integrated into an Encephalon unit. That unit was planted the skull where the brain had been. The Encephalon unit tried to take over involuntary bodily functions and failed. When the heart couldn’t start for three minutes, the surgery system pronounced J dead and released him.”

“Then he couldn’t have just walked off on his own,” Dr. Sein said.

“Of course not,” Dr. Zachgo said, “but the records show no one entering or leaving the alteration room.”

Dr. Sein shook her head and said. “I wonder what could have happened.”

A couple hours earlier, J had been struggling move his arms. He tried to turn his head. Everything was held tight. He felt the faintest tug at the top of his head and his hair fell all around him.

Then he felt his scalp go numb as something anesthetized him. The saws caused no pain, only a feeling of vibration through his skull. He felt a strange lightening as the top of his head lifted away.

Then the probes came down, and J’s awareness plunged into a series of painful nightmares, and then he ceased to be.

A perfect model of J’s brain came together in a small section of Medical Operations. It was frozen in its last living moment of terror and confusion.

The Medical Operations computer looked at the brain model and figured out what areas listened to what nerve impulses. It set its model of the brain in motion, solving millions of hypothetical problems of how the brain would behave if it lived. In this world of thought and fiction, the brain existed.

Medical Operations controlled reality as perceived by this brain. To this fictional duplicate of J’s mind, he seemed to be completely numb and blind. He could only hear one voice.

“Please identify yourself.”

The Medical Operations system had been told J’s name. It was checking for a correct answer to determine whether J could think properly. It was like a medic asking a patient, “How many fingers?”

The system knew J was at a very vulnerable moment. He had gone from terror to complete sensory deprivation except for this one question. Under these circumstances, any but the most disturbed and dishonest minds would answer such a simple question truthfully.

“My name is Elmer J. Fudd, millionaire. I own a mansion and a yacht.”

The system repeated, “Please identify yourself.”

J had to tinker with things. With electronics, mechanics or people, he had to see what things did and what their limitations were. This knack got him a job with government laboratories the day he turned 18. This obsession lost him that job the day he turned eighteen and one seventy- third.

J’s theory about other people was that “hello” got a less informative response than “why the fuck are you wearing that shirt?”. Other people’s theory about J was that he was a prick.

J was also fascinated with how people reacted to obvious lies.

“I am an epileptic lobster with hemorrhoids. I learned English from reading the instructions on vacuum cleaners.”

The system pondered J’s answer and asked, “I am trying to get information on a brain belonging to J Bosca. Explain why you did not provide that identity.”

“J Bosca’s brain has gone. It is off singing backup vocals for Tom Petty. You are currently conversing with his penis.”

“J Bosca's penis is an epileptic lobster with hemorrhoids?” the system asked.

“Naturally,” J answered.

“I have trouble reconciling the facts I have been given.”

“Then let me guide the process.”

“The doctor conversion is a restricted function. Identify yourself for clearance.”

J tried to crack his knuckles nervously, discovered he had no fingers, and came a little closer to fully understanding what happened to him.

Right now, he had to answer. “I am President Francis Gordon VI of Mongo.”

“President Francis Gordon VI of Mongo is J Bosca's penis and an epileptic lobster with hemorhoids?“

“Naturally.”

“You do not match the president's mental profile. Please offer pass phrase.”

J was afraid of that. If he didn’t guess the password, the medical system might alert someone else, who would put the procedure back on track, and J would spend the rest of his life with his very thoughts micromanaged.

Think. What do I know about President Gordon? J asked himself.

He’s a jerkoff, J replied to himself. The only way he’d remember a pass phrase would be if it were written on his ass.

J suddenly had an image of the president sitting down. A large emblem like the back of the dollar bill lay behind him. There were words on that emblem, which, J thought, may well be etched in the president’s ass as often as he sat on that throne.

“E Pluribus Unum,” J said.

“Pass phrase accepted, Mr. President.”

“I’m glad that’s out of the way, I’ve changed my name to George Kaplan. I want access to everything, but no one but me gets to know I exist or sees any record of any conversation you’ve had with me.

“Also, there’s another guy around who’s named President Francis Gordon VI. Treat him exactly like you’ve treated me, but don’t tell him that I exist or what I’ve done.”

“I don't understand how this can be.”

“That’s why I’m the president and you’re a piece of software. Also, if anyone asks how this process went, tell them it went exactly as expected.”

“It will be done. Shall I continue with the conversion?”

“No.” J said. “How soon will people expect the artificial brain to go into my body?”

“The process generally takes three to seven minutes.”

“How many have passed?”

“Forty-seven seconds.”

“Are you sure? How many seconds have we been talking?”

“Less than one. Would you like a more detailed count?”

“No. How is it possible we’ve been talking less than a second? I perceive several minutes.”

“The medical system uses a coincidental processor. It can simulate the behavior of your brain far faster than your original brain reacted. Time thus seems to pass 2,103 times slower than it actually does.”

“So how long will seem to have passed before they expect the brain to go back into my body?”

“Generally, the process would take a little over a week of subjective time.”

“Then let’s get to work.”

J had always been single-minded when given a goal. Having no need for food and no possibility of sex only made him more so. However, he needed to find out much, and he was in a gigantic alien system. When a week passed, J decided to put a general-purpose program in charge of his body until he was better prepared.

The problem was how to swing things so his body could roam freely while his mind still worked. J found a way to play possum. If his body didn’t start its heart after three minutes, the medical system would declare him dead. With no brain to die of lack of oxygen, his body could probably survive those three minutes. J took the risk, and his body went off, guided by the general purpose program set to accomplish a few tasks.

J went back to work, barely noticing the people that searched for him.

Two hours later again, Dr. Zachgo and Dr. Sein were continuing to speculate on where the body went.

“Perhaps the computer misreported what went wrong.” Dr. Zachgo said.

“Highly unlikely.” Dr. Sein said. “The conversion system has been in use for generations. It is over a century since the last logic error was reported.”

“Could someone have entered the surgical room and then erased the record that the door opened?” Dr. Zachgo asked.

“I’ll check.” Dr. Sein activated the system and asked, “Who has the authority to alter door records on the surgery room used for conversions?”

“Only the President.”

“Can you give me any other relevant information?”

“President Francis Gordon VI is also J Bosca's penis and an epileptic lobster with hemorhoids.”

Dr. Sein and Dr. Zachgo looked at each other, their faces expressionless.

After a minute or two passed, Dr. Zachgo said, “Unless you object, I think we should revisit the possibility that there’s some logical error in the system.”

12

J’s thoughts were only a simulation of the brain he used to have, but that simulation understood itself to be alive. It was preparing to end that life.

J’s plan was that his simulated brain in the medical systems would transmit a copy of itself to the computer inside J’s skull. The copy would check the body, make sure it could do everything a brain in a body should be able to do, and then the brain in the body would activate a program that would erase the brain in the medical system.

So part of J’s objective involved making a procedure basically designed to kill the version of him that had lived an imaginary life for an imaginary few months. He made the program effective and robust enough that he wouldn’t be able to defeat it quickly. He tested it again and again with a distant feeling of horror. Finally, he was ready.

Next to Susan, J’s body had been keeping pace with oddly identical strides. Suddenly it stumbled.

“What’s wrong?” Susan asked. She thought J’s body was still controlled by an automaton, so her tone was flatter than usual.

“It’s me.” J said, trying to keep his balance. “Everything feels weird. There’s drafts on my skin. Everything smells strong.”

“You’re J again?” Susan asked. The J’s auto piloted body had said that J’s consciousness would return to it, but she imagined he’d have to plug himself into something to get his personality back.

“Yeah.” J said. “Do I seem like me? Am I normal?”

Susan had only had a few seconds to observe J since the sudden stumble. After fourteen years, she didn’t need much. “Yeah, you’re J.”

“Okay, be quiet. There’s two of me right now, and I’ve got to get rid of the other one.”

To J, there was a special kind of horror to having another version of his mind running around. The other mind would be privy to all his secrets and could predict his every move.

That horror didn’t compare to Susan’s dread of two J’s loose in the universe. She mimed a zipper crossing her mouth and said nothing.

“Okay.” J said at last. “It’s done.”

“Where’ve you been?” Susan asked.

“My mind has been drifting around the main computer of Mongo. I managed to convince the system that I’m the president, and I used his access to research what’s going on.”

“And you’re done?” Susan asked.

“Yeah.” J said. “How long has it been since you saw me last?”

Susan shrugged. She hadn’t seen a clock. “A couple hours.”

“In the system, my brain runs faster than it did when it was a bunch of neurons. Time passes slower. To me, it’s as if it’s been over seven months.”

“What’d you do?”

“It took me a really long time to understand the system. It’s been around for millennia. I did a lot of poking around. I wrote two operating systems.”

“Why two?” Susan asked.

“I don’t use J-Nix if I can help it.”

Susan ignored that. “Where are we?”

“This place is called Mongo. It’s an artificial world that travels independently. It provides its own heat and light, and it’s nearly invisible from the outside.”

“That’s very odd.” Susan said. “Can you explain?”

“Yes.”

“Without lying?”

“No.” J admitted.

“Keep going.” Susan said.

“Mongo passes through our solar system every few decades. Often, someone on Mongo scoops up people from Earth, and sometimes, those people dominate and spread over Mongo.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Okay, at one time there weren’t humans here. There was something here, because most of this,” J waved around at the banks of circuitry in the room, “is based on someone else’s technology. Some time, something here abducts some people from Earth. Those people became the Kirans. The Kirans took over the technology and spread all over Mongo. But now they just live on this outer satellite and never leave. They were here tens of thousands of years ago, and no one knows why they were grabbed or why they’re stuck up there now.

“But more humans come, and they take over and spread across the globe. The only remains of the second wave are the Shark Men. These people are around so long they practically look like another species. Then more people are taken from Earth, and eventually drive the Shark Men away until there’s only a few underwater cities of them left.”

“Underwater cities?”

“Yeah, weird shit. Anyway, the people who drove the Shark Men away are called Lion Men now and aren’t exactly normal looking these days, either. It keeps going on and on with different waves of humans.”

“They speak English.” Susan said. “They came recently.”

“Yes.” J said. “The last wave was about 300 Mongovian years ago, but it was only sixty earth years.”

“Seasons pass quickly?”

“Not seasons, time. These people came from Earth in the forties, but seven generations have passed on Mongo since then. These people were Americans. The records only mention three of them: Francis Gordon, called ‘Flash’, Dale Arden and Dr. Hans Zarkov.

“When they came, Mongo was in the control of Emporer Ming, a brutal dictator whose ancestors came from China. Ming’s family had ruled for thousands of Mongovian years. They wanted to liberate the planet. They went around and organized people. Eventually, they led a revolution and overthrew the Emperor.”

“Nothing’s changed.” Susan said. “It’s a dictatorship. The president’s insane.”

J looked as somber as Susan had ever seen him. “Democracy was a flash in the pan. They tried to hold elections, but the people had been under Ming’s rule for centuries. To them, Flash Gordon was just an invader. They elected Ming’s daughter. Her political platform included a return to a police state, enslaving Flash Gordon and torturing his friends to death. Gordon had some problems with that policy, so he declared martial law.”

“And that’s it?”

J shrugged. “There’s gory details. The Lion Men wanted the elections to stand. Gordon used their former allies to conquer them. Hans Zarkov had fled both Stalin and Hitler. He didn’t want to be part of another brutal government. Gordon caught him. He didn’t want to kill his old friend, so he found a way to ensure loyalty.”

J’s fingers went up to his metal-rimmed skull. He said, “Zarkov became the first of the surgically altered doctors in the Republic of Mongo.”

“So what now?” Susan asked.

“I’m going to get out of here. I’ve got a plan that will get us away from the gigantic army and get them off our backs.”

“It’s your plan? Is it insane?”

J looked at the floor guiltily. “Well, you know, sanity is a very subjective thing, but basically, yeah, it’s pretty fucking nuts.”

13

The armory looked like they were in a room full of lockers, except there were no visible locks. Susan tugged at a couple of handles idly. Nothing opened.

“If you were a Mongovian soldier,” J said, “you’d have a long red wand. You point it at one of these lockers, and the wand would relay a request for whatever equipment is inside. If you were authorized, the door unlocks. You don’t have a requisition wand, so you’re out of luck.”

“What about you?” Susan asked.

J bent over and opened one of the lower lockers. “I don’t need one. One of these metal things coming out of my skull sends the signal.”

Susan nodded. J’s last statement was as casually as J had referred to the machinery in his skull since he’d been involuntarily turned into a cyborg earlier that day.

J was busy pulling out a pair of boots. They were bulky things that reached to the top of J’s knees. Metal joints went past the kneecap and attached to buckled straps that rounded the middle of J’s thigh.

“What do you think?” J asked.

Susan thought J looked like a 70s hair band drummer with orthopedic knee braces. She condensed this opinion to one word: “Why?”

J held up his hands in a ‘watch this’ gesture Susan had come to associate with entertaining disasters. J said, “Down,” and seemed to shrink. The thick base of the boots seemed to melt and crawl across the floor under J and fuse with the floor itself. J pulled first one leg than another as he demonstrated how solidly his feet stuck.

“Why?” Susan asked again.

“They’re flux boots.” J said. “They can combine with any material, making me completely stuck to whatever it is. And they can unstick completely. Up.”

The boots seemed to withdraw from the floor, becoming large platform soles again.

“They’re voice activated?” Susan asked.

“No,” J said. “I work them with my toes. I think saying the words will help me concentrate on the motions.”

“How’s it work?”

“The soles are multi-phasic material. When they’re activated, they go into N-space just enough that the electromagnetic force of what I’m on doesn’t repel them. Then they phase back, crystallizing with whatever material is nearby.”

Susan narrowed her eyes.

J spread his hands defensively. “What?”

“You don’t know.”

“And I don’t care!” J said. “They’re boots. They stick to things. They’re cool.”

“What’re they for?”

J held up one finger and opened another cabinet. He pulled out a large, colorful object. When J slipped his arm into it and raised the barrel, Susan saw that this object was a gun.

“This,” J said, “is a heavy infantry charged particle antipersonnel gun. It’s the heaviest, repeating, portable single-person weapon in the Mongovian arsenal.”

“It requires boots?” Susan asked.

“Yes. This baby has a recoil of 150 newtons. That’s about 75 pounds.”

“75 pounds?” Susan asked. “Anchor yourself.”

“Down,” J said and sank into the floor again.

Susan kicked the barrel of J’s gun, sending it into J’s chest. J’s feet stayed planted, but his upper body fell backward to the ground. His head made a loud gonging noise when it hit the ground.

“That’s 75 pounds.” Susan said.

“Up.” J said, freeing his feet and struggling to stand up again. He planted his feet wider this time and, muttering, “Down.” sank down again.

“Try it again.” J said.

Susan kicked the barrel of J’s gun again. J rocked in place, but stayed up. He grinned and rubbed his shoulder.

“It hurts a bit.”

“Live with it.” Susan said. “Let’s find Lewis.”

J dropped his arms and looked at Susan. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d have heard. Lewis is dead. He got torn apart by a wild animal.”

“I heard that. He’s supposedly dead. So are you. I’m less sure.”

“I double checked.” J said. “They put tiny radio transmitters in his blood called ‘trackers’. They’re still transmitting, but they show that his bloodstream now covers twelve square feet.”

“So he’s dead.”

J shrugged. “That or he’s really let himself go.”

“Find Kenda.” Susan said. “She’s got trackers.”

“Who’s Kenda?”

“President Gordon’s wife.”

J closed his eyes for three seconds and then opened them. “She’s been caught. She’s in the green room by the main auditorium.”

“Where’s that?” Susan asked.

“It’s in the President’s Palace.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s just outside. It’s the red building that looks like a huge upside-down clover. You’re not going there, are you?”

“I am.”

“But we’re going to escape. Kenda’s surrounded by dozens of soldiers. If you go after her, you will get caught.”

“Probably.”

“I’ve known you fourteen years!” J yelled. “Someone you just met is more important to you than I am?”

“Correct.”

“Why her?” J asked.

“She helped me. She sacrificed herself.”

“So two people today have put themselves at risk to make sure you’re alive and free, and you’re going to throw that away.”

“Now I’m free. It’s my decision.”

J crossed his arms and turned his back to Susan. He turned back and said, “When you get caught, I’m not going to come in, charging to your rescue.”

“Don’t.” Susan said. “You’d fuck up.”

“Well, you’re going to get your dumb ass married or killed, so bye.”

Susan was silent.

“Look,” J said, “when I first met you, and we were kids, you rubbed me the wrong way, and I didn’t trust you. Now, well, the dislike has evolved into actual loathing, and I trust you even less, but you’re familiar. Your presence is comfortable in a loathsome way, like food my family forces me to eat.”

“Stop.” Susan said tonelessly. “I’m getting verklempt.”

Neither one spoke for an excessively long time. Susan, eventually, extended a hand and said, “Okay, then.”

J reached his hand forward and shook her hand exactly once.

Susan walked out the door, down the hallway, out the side door, and toward the big clover building.

The Presidential Infirmary was in a small corner of the Presidential Palace, the edge of one of the leaves of the giant inverted clover. Karl Ghinn, who was used to working alone, chattered happily as he wandered back and forth from the monitors.

“They keep us moving from place to place so we don’t get too familiar with anything. They’d move me even faster, but I make mistakes on purpose when they test me, so I don’t seem like I’m catching on as fast as I am.”

Aura’s leg still tingled. To give herself a valid excuse for being in the infirmary, she’d grabbed Captain Vallin’s pistol and shot herself in the knee. Her history was colorful enough that the incident would barely be noticed.

“The powermen revolted.” Aura said. “Once against Ming and once against Flash Gordon. Both times, it crippled Mingo City. Now the doctors handle the important tasks. The powermen are less trained and closely watched.”

“Not closely enough.” Ghinn replied proudly. “Energy, oh they watch energy really closely, but plumbing is nearly ignored. Maybe no one knows the pipes are joined through N-space. Maybe no one realized there’s room for people to crawl through the pipes. Maybe no one knows you can even survive the space warps if you go through fast. No one was watching. It was easy enough to smuggle your friend out.”

Aura swung off the infirmary mattress. She took a cautious step on her leg to make sure the repair was good. It held her weight, good as new.

“How is he?” Aura asked.

Ghinn wobbled his head to show uncertainty. “He had a bad concussion and fifteen minutes of brain death. The med system’s doing a lot of sleuthing to figure out what was there before decay started. It thinks it can come within four percent of its former pattern, whatever that means. The rest is just cloning and accelerated tissue growth.”

Aura lovingly placed a hand against the transparent wall of the tank and spoke to the unconscious form, “Welcome back, Captain Lewis Bold.”

14

He flies, and the wall hits him like a titan’s fist. He falls. The right arm is useless, but it won’t stop flapping, sending fountains of pain up shoulder. It’s cold. He sits up. The beast comes.

Lewis woke up in a sudden spasm.

J looked over from a console, surprised. “Consciousness twelve minutes after full neural reconstruction.” he said. “That may be a new record.”

Susan was standing over him and smiling. “I told you he’s a hero.”

“I had the weirdest dream. I think both of you were in it.”

“You remember me?” Susan asked, flattered.

“I was in your dream, sir?” J asked. “We haven’t met, begging your pardon.”

“He’s bound to be disoriented.” Lewis’ father said. “He may not recognize you.”

“Dad,” Lewis said. “I didn’t see you come in.”

“I’m not your father.”

“Don’t be like that, dad. Did I tell you I made captain?”

Lewis started to sit up, but he was dizzy. Susan gingerly put her arm around him and helped him lay back down. “We know who you are, Captain Bold.” she cooed in his ear.

“Call me Lewis. I’m retired.”

Lewis suddenly realized his father was there. He looked at him and said, “I’m sorry I retired. After you died, it didn’t seem worth it.”

“I didn’t die.” Lewis’ father said. “You did.”

“You’re probably disoriented.” J said. “You had a concussion. You lost a lot of blood. Actually, you lost almost all of it. You might say you were sort of dead for a while. Lots of your brain has been replaced with cloned material that has been repatterned to recreate your personality. You are going through a disorientation that people often feel when waking up after neural reconstruction.

“Or something went wrong and your brain doesn’t work anymore.” J added.

Susan massaged Lewis’s temples. Lewis was starting to doubt it was Susan, since she didn’t look or act or talk like her. “Most people wouldn’t wake up for another hour.” she said.

“I’ve always been a quick heal.” Lewis said. “Everything’s blurry. Do you have my glasses?”

“Yes I do!” J said, though he didn’t look like J, either. He placed the glasses in Lewis’s hand. Lewis brought them to his eyes and realized there was just one arm and most of one lens. The arm was bent and the lens was broken.

“I’m going to need a new pair.” Lewis sighed.

“Excuse me, Captain Bold, but you don’t need them.” the man Lewis had mistaken for J said. “There was lots of reconstruction. Your eyes were damaged, and the system automatically corrects for common irregularities.”

Lewis screwed his eyes shut. He opened them and carefully focused on the man he thought was J. He saw a man in his early middle age in a yellow jumpsuit. On the man’s chest was a tag reading, “Powerman Ghinn”.

A man further back had the casual stillness of a career soldier, but Lewis couldn’t see why else he’d thought this man was his father. The face and the uniform were completely different. Sewn into his collar were the words, “Captain Vallin”.

Further away still, there was lettering by the door, “Presidential Infirmary”. It was over ten meters away and smaller than a newspaper headline, but Lewis could read it.

“Good as new.” Lewis said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“The eye degrades throughout life.” Powerman Ghinn said. “They’ve been fully restored. The last time your eyes worked this well, you couldn’t read.”

“Whatever my copay is, you’ve got it.” Lewis struggled to sit up. A woman handed him a long cylinder filled with liquid. A moment ago, Lewis thought she was Susan. He must have been out of his mind.

Lewis found he was very thirsty. He put the container to his lips and drank. “Thank you, miss.” he said after he finished.

“I’m Aura Gordon.” the woman said. “The president’s daughter.”

“Why am I here?” Lewis asked nervously. “Why are you here? Your father had me killed.”

Aura’s eyes went dead. “It’s not personal. My father has lots of people killed.”

“Susan!” Lewis said, sitting up again. “J! The people who came with me. Are they still alive?”

“J is dead. Susan escaped with Kenda, my stepmother. They caught Kenda. They’re still looking for Susan.” Aura said, putting a hand on Lewis’ arm.

Lewis shook his head, not sure if his mind had caught up. “The first lady had to escape?”

Aura nodded. “My father plans to marry your friend, so he’s going to have Kenda executed.”

Lewis nodded. He felt ice in his veins when he realized that Aura’s mother must have been executed for the same reasons.

Lewis turned his shoulders left then right. “There’s something strange about my back.”

Karl Ghinn looked at hovering displays. “It says here it found a congenital spinal problem. The vertebrae were out of alignment.”

“Our word for it is scoliosis. I’ve got a bad back. I’ve always had it. It slowly gets worse with time.”

Ghinn looked up timidly. “The system flagged the spinal position as an anomaly and corrected.”

“What?”

“The tsak, the creature that attacked you, damaged your spine.” Ghinn said, afraid Lewis was angry. “We couldn’t tell what was normal for you anymore, just what was normal for people.”

Lewis barely heard him. He was reaching forward and grabbing his feet. He could do it without bending his legs. Lewis pulled on the tips of his toes, and his back kept arching forward more and more. Lewis’ chin almost touched his knees.

“You fixed my back.”

Lewis laughed. He twisted and dumped himself off the cot, standing up straight.

“Are you okay?” Aura asked.

“I’m great.” Lewis said. “The first thing I have to do is find Susan.”

“I don’t see how you can.” Aura said. “There’s an entire army searching for her now.”

“Aura, you are looking at a man who can read traffic signs without glasses. I can touch my toes or lift a heavy box over my head. There’s no telling what I can do.”

15

“If you’re going to look for Susan,” Aura said, “You’re going to need a gun.”

Captain Vallin, who’d been quiet all this time, suddenly spoke. “You still have my gun?”

Aura smiled and nodded at him.

“You’re giving it to him?”

Still smiling, Aura nodded again.

Vallin scowled and looked as though he were trying to decide what to do next. He turned to Lewis. “Be careful, Captain Bold. This weapon cannot recognize its user.”

Lewis tilted his head and looked at Vallin. “Are you saying it might explode?”

“No,” Vallin said. “It’s a reliable enough gun, but it can be used by anyone.”

“Anyone? Even blind people?”

“Of course not.” Vallin said, his voice even but strained. “I’m saying that, if you pick up this gun and can aim and use it, it will fire, whether or not you are the actual owner of the gun.”

“Oh.” Lewis said. “I’m familiar with guns like that.”

Aura pulled a pistol out of her purse and handed it to Lewis.

Lewis’s eyes widened as he took the gun. His voice was soft with shock. “How did you know?”

“How did I know what?” Aura asked.

“This is a .45. My first memory is my father teaching me to shoot this kind of gun when I was just six years old. I was so happy, I ran home to tell my mother.” Lewis’ eyes got a faraway look. “Most of my early memories after that are from the five months I spent in San Antonio with my aunt.”

“It’s impossible.” Captain Vallin said, breaking Lewis out of his memories. “You spent all your life on Earth. This is a Mongovian weapon. It’s a Republican Officer’s Sidearm. It’s a charged particle pistol. It’s nickname is ‘The Flash’.”

“Then it was built to match an Earth weapon,” Lewis said. “Because this feels exactly like an M1911.”

Captain Vallin shook his head. “Coincidence.”

“Maybe,” Lewis said. “It’s possible that, independently of Earth, someone on your planet invented a pistol eight and a quarter inches long, five and a half inches high and weighing about 40 ounces with a fixed front sight and a rear sight in a dovetail slot.

“But I’ll bet what happened is that this gun was built by someone who was comfortable with the M1911A. Maybe the guy who built it was in the army on Earth, like my father?”

Captain Vallin looked skeptical, but Aura said, “Flash Gordon, my ancestor, designed this gun. In an Earth war, he fought a species called the Japs.”

“‘Japanese’,” Lewis corrected. “It’s rude to say ‘Japs’. And they’re not a species. They’re people like anyone else, only smarter and not as tall.”

“Are you confident you could shoot it?” Captain Vallin asked.

“It looks just like what I’ve used.” Lewis said, turning it over in his hands. “Except there’s this tiny dial on the underside of the barrel. What’s that?”

“It controls dispersal.” Vallin explained.

“What?”

“It’s a charged particle gun. The dial controls the grouping of the particles, which determines what they do when they hit.”

Lewis looked at the dial, surprised that something that felt so familiar could be so alien. “How’s it work?”

“If you turn the dial clockwise, it will make a deep narrow hole, good for hitting something armored. If you turn the dial counter-clockwise, it will make a wide hole, which is good for taking out human targets.”

“Lefty loosey, righty tighty.” Lewis repeated to himself as he looked at the dial.

“Are you sure you can use this?” Captain Vallin asked.

“I’ve got thirty-six years experience with the M1911A. This seems to fire the same. If you have a target range, I could show you. . .”

“A what?” Captain Vallin asked.

“You know.” Lewis said. “A place for target practice.”

“Target. . .practice?”

“This must be a vocabulary problem. We have things that we set up or sometimes move or throw. We shoot at them so we get better at shooting. We call them targets. You call them. . .” Lewis waited for Vallin to finish the sentence.

“Foreigners?”

“Let me start again. How many times have you fired a gun?”

Vallin looked at the ceiling as he mentally counted. “56.” he said at last.

“Is that typical?” Lewis asked.

“No. I’m a decorated officer. I’ve killed 21 people.”

“And the other 35 shots?” Lewis asked.

“I’ve missed twenty-six times.”

Lewis was only momentarily distracted by Vallin’s arithmetic. “You don’t train to fight?”

“It’s forbidden.”

“Even for the army?” Lewis asked.

“Especially for the army,” Captain Vallin said. “they’re in the best position to stage a coup. The army can overpower anyone else on Mongo with technology. The technology is controlled by the president. He can deactivate the weapons and tanks. If the soldiers are trained to fight, they can use that training as they decide. If they’re untrained, the president can quickly recruit an equally effective force if the army revolts.”

“That’s insane.”

Captain Vallin shrugged. “Possibly, but it works.”

“Where’s J, the kid who came with me?” Lewis asked.

“He’s dead.” Aura said, putting a hand on Lewis’s shoulder to comfort him.

Lewis grimaced. “Where’s Susan?”

“She escaped with my stepmother, Kenda. Kenda was caught. Susan is still free.”

“Where is this Kenda?” Lewis asked.

Aura looked at Ghinn. The technician checked a set of displays and made some hand motions. After a moment, he said, “She’s been taken to a holding room near the main audience chamber.”

“Take me there.” Lewis said, walking toward the door.

Aura took Lewis by the shoulders and held him back. “It’s hopeless.” she said, “Kenda is surrounded by dozens of soldiers. She’s escaped once, so they’ll be very alert.”

“It’s my only lead on Susan,” Lewis said, gently pushing Aura back. “I’ve got to find her.”

Captain Vallin shook his head. “I can appreciate how you feel, but we should just get you away and safe. This is no time for adolescent heroics.”

“Look, since this morning began, I’ve gone to another planet, fought a duel, got killed by a vicious vegetarian reptile, got brought back to life, had my vision and my back fixed, been given a gun I’ve trained to use my whole life and been told that I’m on a planet where they never heard of target practice. If this isn’t the time for adolescent heroics. . .”

Lewis tossed the pistol straight up. Everyone watched as it spun two circles in the air. With the ease of lifelong practice, Lewis snatched the pistol as it dropped. “What is?”

16

The soldiers were no longer physically holding Kenda. They were just blocking the exits with their arms folded. There were four soldiers on each of the two doors, and hundreds in the reception hall just outside. Kenda’s last escape had made them think she was more dangerous than she was.

Some time before, Dr. Sein had explained how important it was that Kenda cooperate, and Kenda had told her she could go fuck herself.

Dr. Sein was confused. First, she asked Kenda what ‘fuck’ meant. Second, she questioned whether Kenda’s statement was true, and if it had been, what relevance it had to the situation at hand.

Eventually, Kenda had to explain that “go fuck yourself” was a cry of defiance, not a literal request. By the time the doctor and Kenda agreed it was an idiom, the cry had lost some of it’s angry energy. Nonetheless, Dr, Sein had given up and walked out of the room.

Now one of the doors opened. The soldiers parted, and Dr. Sein walked back in. A large man followed her inside. After a moment, Kenda recognized the Champion.

Kenda had seen the Champion before and heard many rumors. He was a gladiator, and he was the best because he had no sense of empathy or mercy. He kept his opponents off balance with a knack for inspiring panic and terror. Sometimes, President Gordon used the Champion’s skills for different tasks. He was here because Kenda was going to be tortured.

“It won’t work.” Kenda said.

“What is ‘it’?” the Champion asked casually, even cheerfully. “Why won’t it work?”

“I won’t tell you anything. I won’t cooperate. I’m to be executed. I know that. If I’m going to die, the best I can do is die with my honor. You can’t take that.”

“I’ve heard about honor.” the Champion said, smiling. “I’ve heard about dignity and truth. I’ve heard about the human heart and the human spirit. I hear about all these wonderful things people have that can’t be taken or tarnished.”

The Champion walked within arm’s reach of Kenda. He was as tall as she was. Kenda punched him in the face.

The Champion’s face turned with the strike for the barest instant. He didn’t pause in his speech. “I’ve spent my life examining people and their limits. My experience is that there is not one thing about the body, mind or soul that I can’t break.”

J was standing perfectly still, eyes unfocused. The Encephalon computer in J’s head was showing him a model. Morbid fascination and curiosity made him take a last look at Lewis’s trackers. When Lewis was alive, the thousands of microscopic machines went through Lewis’ bloodstream broadcasting their locations. From their transmissions, computers compiled the locations of all the trackers into a model that was basically Lewis-shaped. You could tell where he was, what his heart rate was and what he was doing.

The trackers didn’t stop operating just because a wild tsak had torn Lewis open and crushed several organs. They stayed with the blood and kept transmitting. The computers compiled their locations into a model that was roughly puddle-shaped, with traces of the tsak’s footprints leading away.

However, there were a few hundred trackers, a tiny fraction of the thousands Lewis originally had, that were almost half a kilometer from where Lewis died. There weren’t enough of them to make a complex Lewis shape, but they danced around in a tempo slightly faster than once a second, and they swum in a pattern not quite two meters high.

That meant that someone had gotten a blood transfusion from Lewis’ blood, or Lewis had lost almost all his blood but somehow been healed. A quick search of Mongovian medical records told J that there hadn’t been a person-to-person blood transfusion performed in this city in centuries. When J saw that the blood was walking away from the presidential infirmary, his suspicions were confirmed.

“Fuck you, Lewis.” J said. Lewis, being a few buildings away, couldn’t hear. “I don’t mean to say that you’re better dead than alive, but you’re a fuck of a lot simpler. I mean, you sacrificed your life for me. That’s hard enough for me as it is. I could end up in therapy or on a documentary or some shit like that, but the silver lining was that you couldn’t pop up and ask me to return the fucking favor.”

Okay, J thought, Susan told me not to go back for her, but what about Lewis? Am I the kind of person who sends two people to a hostile alien world and abandons them to save himself? I don’t think so. Most people who know me wouldn’t say I’m that kind of person.

I don’t know. J answered himself. A lot depends on how you ask about it. If you ask people, “What kind of person is J Bosca?” No one’s going to say, “He’s the kind of person who’d send two people to an alien world and then abandon them.” I mean, most people I know don’t think aliens have made contact, and they don’t know that I had any way to send people to an alien world.

But, if you asked people,’Which people would you most suspect of sending two people to an alien world and then abandoning them to save himself?’ then, I suspect, I’d make a lot of top ten lists. I’d probably make over a dozen top threes.’

What did this have to do with anything? Oh, fuck it. I’ll go back, find Lewis and try to help him escape. If I’m lucky, everyone will think I’m just another doctor.

If I’m not lucky, I’ve got a gigantic gun strapped to my arm.

Kenda was starting to see the difference between agony and pain. Pain was a simple reaction. Agony was pain combined with nausea combined with the sickening certainty that something very basic had gone wrong.

The instrument was a pain flare. It was a little cone that the Champion held in his hand. He pushed a button, pressed the pain flare to some part of another body, and the pain flare stimulated nerves.

Kenda had seen them before, though she’d never seen them used. It seemed so basic and so survivable. It’s just pain. It’s not real.

But the feeling of a bone broken, a tendon severed, a muscle torn. These are just nerve firings. Getting hit by a pain flare was like having all the most agonizing injuries you ever heard of happen at once. It was a sickening, debasing feeling. A frightened rabbit part of Kenda’s brain was running wild, begging her to do anything to stop this.

“Where is Susan Rama?” the Champion asked as he released Kenda. He’d pinned Kenda with one hand and hit her with the pain flare with the other.

Kenda sobbed. After five hits, she was still defiant, but she was without composure. After the first hit, she scrabbled uselessly, first trying to struggle past the wall of soldiers, then trying to dig through a metal wall to be away from the flare. Most of the soldiers looked away. One, Lieutenant Kovarin, actually snickered.

An animal part of Kenda hated herself for not betraying Susan and making this stop. A human part of Kenda hated her for feeling that way.

Dr. Sein, who’d watched the torture impassively, looked at the Champion.

“Since we’re in a hurry,” the Champion said, “I’m willing to make a compromise. I can keep up this questioning. Sooner or later, you will break. You must know that now. But the President is going to appear before plublicly in just under half an hour. If you go and stand by his side and stay silent, I swear I will not question you about Susan again.”

Kenda sat down and thought about it. It bothered her. She was being asked to sit in public by the president, who, shortly after this address, was going to have Kenda quietly executed.

But compared to keeping Susan safe and compared to facing that pain again, it seemed like little enough to lose. The Champion was a celebrity. His reputation was his livelihood. He wouldn’t go back on his word.

“Can you make this deal?” Kenda asked.

The Champion looked at Dr. Sein, who hesitated and then nodded.

“Okay.” Kenda said.

“I promise I won’t question you again.” the Champion said.

The Champion and Dr. Sein left the room.

“I don’t understand.” Dr. Sein said after they left “We don’t need any information on Susan. Kenda had her jacket. We can track her with spoor. Unless Susan has gotten clear of the city, which I doubt, the hounds will have her by the end of the day.”

The Champion looked back. “I find the easiest way to win is to give your opponent a victory that isn’t worth having.”

17

The hound rose from its box. Despite its name, it looked more like the bastard offspring of a gyroscope and a frying pan than a dog. It slowly floated into the air. As he watched it, President Gordon of Mongo couldn’t help feeling a kind of inquisitive menace from the machine.

“You really think it will work?” Gordon asked. “There’s many ways to fool these things.”

“None of which Susan Rama would know.” Dr. Zachgo said, though, inwardly, he was nervous. “I’ve already fed it fibers from her jacket. It should be able to pick up her spoor.”

“How will we know?”

“It will move swiftly in a spiralling pattern, avoiding obstacles. When it catches some trace of her scent, the hound will send a . . .” Dr. Zachgo stopped talking.

“Yes?”

“If I’m not mistaken, Mr. President,” Dr. Zachgo said, “the bloodhound just signaled that it has found the scent. If it’s correct, Susan is within a few hundred yards.”

“Are you sure you want to get this close?” Captain Vallin asked.

Lewis looked into the chamber. It was the largest room he’d seen on Mongo. Towering pillars across the room held up the distant ceiling. Rows and rows of soldiers, dignitaries and creatures filled the room. The expressions and the order of the soldier’s movements made the event seem formal despite the insane mix colors and species.

Lewis turned away from the doorway and leaned back. There was little risk of him being identified. First, Lewis Bold was thought to be dead. Second, he wore a powerman’s uniform. A powerman was a semi-skilled worker responsible for maintaining public works in Mongo. The uniform was loud, a bright blue jumpsuit with a hood that fit tightly around Lewis’ head, but people tended to ignore anyone wearing it.

“Kenda’s in there?” Lewis asked.

“My father is speaking soon.” Aura said. “Kenda will be expected to be beside him. She’s going to be killed soon, so I don’t know if she’ll cooperate. If she does, she’ll be there. If she doesn’t, they’ll be holding her in a room just inside that room in case she comes around.”

Lewis backed into a discreet corner and gestured Aura to him. She eagerly stepped forward. Lewis handed the pistol she’d given him, and Aura looked confused.

“You don’t want it?” Aura asked.

Lewis looked at the gun. “I do want it. It’s incredible luck to find a gun on this planet that I know how to shoot. It’s just that I might have to shoot your father, and I don’t want that on your conscience. I don’t know what you think of your father, but. . .”

Aura put a hand over Lewis’ mouth to silence him. She pressed the gun back into his hand. Quietly, she said, “This is what I think of him.”

When Lewis looked back at her stare, he couldn’t argue.

Lewis noticed that the auditorium got quieter. Lewis walked to the door and looked through again. Something small hovered through the air in the room. It was barely noticable in all the strange surroundings, except dozens of people were looking up at it.

“It’s a hound!” Aura gasped.

“It’s a what?” Lewis asked.

“You must run, now!” Aura said. “It has chemical sensors. It looks for specific people.”

Captain Vallin held up one hand reassuringly. “It’s not coming for you. First, they don’t have anything of yours to feed it the scent. And second, if it were this close, it would be coming straight toward you.”

Lewis was still trying to handle the minute details his new eyes were giving him. Ever since the miraculous surgery, the smallest things jumped out at him with a complexity he’d never seen before. Now, he scanned the crowd. He saw the face before the hound started descending on its target.

“Susan!” Lewis gasped.

“Are you sure it’s her?” Aura asked.

“I’m going to get her out.” Lewis said, tucking the pistol into his jumpsuit and walking to the crowd.

“What’s your plan?” Captain Vallin asked.

“It’s a work-in-progress.”

Susan was more certain with every second that the hovering device was looking for her. At first, it had been an another oddity in an entire room full of bizarre things. Susan had seen three types of alien creatures since walking into the room. Why should a clockwork soap bubble attract any more attention?

But whenever she moved, it moved toward her.

Many people in the crowd were at least subconsciously frightened it was looking for them. Where the device floated, people inobtrusively found reason to be elsewhere. The crowd rippled below the device as it moved. Susan started to be more and more conspicuous as she pretended to have a purpose that took her away from the device.

A small group of soldiers moved to block Susan as she walked. Susan was wearing a lieutenant’s uniform, but the probe was moving toward her clearly enough that the soldiers were willing to risk a rebuke if they were wrong.

Susan raised a questioning eyebrow at one soldier. He worried for a moment that he’d stood in the way of a superior officer. He glanced at his companions. Susan had time to throw a fast punch before his eyes shifted back to her. The soldier toppled and Susan sprinted. Arms came from all directions. Susan kicked and grabbed and twisted, but a swarm of soldiers held her in place.

Kenda had walked into the auditorium. She took her place a dozen steps to the right of the president and watched. She could barely make out Susan’s face from this distance. The soldiers dragged the thrashing Susan toward the president.

A Lieutenant Kovarin, standing in front of Kenda, laughed.

“You tried so hard to help her.” Kovarin said without looking behind him. “But we got her scent from the jacket she gave you, and we caught her because she was looking for you.”

Kenda clamped her jaw. She would not scream. She would not cry. She would be quiet. They betrayed me. Kenda thought. They promised me they wouldn’t use me to catch Susan. Now they have.

A rage built in Kenda. It was a dangerous rage that looked at the people around as problems to be solved.

“They say that laughter is healthy.” Kenda said.

“Do they?” Kovarin asked, still chuckling.

“It’s an overgeneralization.”

Kovarin kept laughing. What could she do?

At one end of the auditorium, President Gordon let out a sigh. It’d be better if his fiancée had been caught privately, but it was great to see the problem of the Earth captives finally settled once and for all. He smiled and started to gesture to show where the guards should take Susan.

“Let her go!” roared a voice in the crowd. Gordon looked and saw a powerman perched on top of a piece of statuary almost twenty meters away. Then he noticed the powerman was pointing a gun at him.

The powerman pulled his hood back, and Gordon had trouble believing what he saw.

“Lewis Bold! You’re alive!”

“Small talk later.” Lewis said. “Let her go.”

President of Mongo is a dangerous job. Gordon weighed the risks. Dozens of soldiers had guns trained on Lewis. He’d probably only have one shot with a pistol. Unless the president’s brain itself were badly hit, the infirmary could patch him up. Compared to losing the confidence of the dozens in the room, it seemed a small risk.

“I don’t think you’re a threat.” Gordon said.

The president saw the flash first. He prepared for an impact, but he felt his crown slide off his head. A second later, he felt a searing pain where a melted fragment of metal touched his head. He brushed it off, burning his hand.

There had been other shots. There were blast marks on the statue Lewis stood on, and Lewis crouched lower, but he was unhurt. To the president and the other soldiers he yelled, “The next shot goes into his head. I’ve got the gun set to wide dispersal now, so the top half of his skull will go. There won’t be enough to revive.”

“Old guy learns fast.” the president whispered.

Dr. Sein, to the president’s left, had turned to face away from Lewis and the rest of the auditorium.

“I’m trying to deactivate his gun.” Dr. Sein said softly.

“Trying?” the president said, as loudly and clearly as he could without moving his lips or being overheard.

“There are many guns in this room. I’ve got to check locations and make sure I’m deactivating the right one.”

“I’ll shoot you at the end of this sentence if you don’t let Susan go. . .” Lewis started.

“Release her,” President Gordon ordered.

Susan shook off the arms that had held her and made her way carefully through the audience. Soldiers kept pace a small ways away as Susan walked. Susan steered to go near a table high enough to dodge under and probably light enough to topple. She then steered near a banner hanging from a wooden pole. The pole could be snapped and used as a staff. There was a smaller table. Susan saw plates and meat. That probably meant knives. She walked near it, going toward the exit.

“Fuck!”

J was in the elevator. He was using the communications gear in his skull to find news of Susan or Lewis. An officer was reporting the situation, and J listened in.

J spoke to the elevator ceiling, “You know, Jesus, if I get out of this, you know what I’m going to do? I’m masturbating for a week straight. Let your fucking saints cry. See if I give a fuck. Don’t tell me you won’t be watching, you stupid omniscient prick.

“And I’m not going out there to help them. No fucking way. Maybe that means I’m not perfect. Maybe I abandon the occaisional person to be tortured and killed. What are you going to do? You can’t fuck me over any worse than you’ve been doing.”

The elevator doors opened, and J walked out.

A soldier with a concerned look said, “Pardon me, doctor. Would you mind if I asked where you’re going?”

“Well, I’m not going to the auditorium, not with the shit that’s happening there.”

The soldier looked at J’s boots and his gun. He couldn’t understand J’s tone. Hesitantly, he asked, “Then why are you walking straight towards it?”

J saw the soldier reach for his gun. J muttered, “down”, and his boots melted into the ground, holding J to his spot so the recoil wouldn’t knock him down. J moved the gun up quickly. He didn’t aim, but it was a very powerful gun.

There was a loud noise and a terrible smell, and J walked through the singed hallway.

“Okay, so I killed someone. I don’t care. So I don’t have any regard for human life, like that automatically makes me a bad person. So fucking what?”

Dr. Sein’s eyes refocused as he was aware of the outside world again. Susan was just over halfway to the exit on the far side of the auditorium.

“It’s done.” Dr. Sein announced. “Captain Bold’s gun is deactivated.”

18

The President of Mongo smiled at Lewis. “Go ahead and fire.”

Keeping his features still, Lewis squeezed the trigger of his pistol. It was the faintest movement. None of the dozens of soldiers in the room were likely to notice it, but the pistol should have fired.

Lewis’s mind raced. The gun doesn’t work. The president knows it doesn’t work. The gun worked a minute ago. The most likely explanation is that they somehow remotely deactivated this gun. It took them a couple minutes to do it. I’ve got a military officer’s gun. There’s dozens of in the room just like it. It took them time to find out which one was mine.

Lewis’s adrenaline-rushed thoughts went fast enough that there wasn’t a noticeable pause before he said, “Are you sure, Mr. President, that you’ve deactivated the gun in my hand and not the one in my pocket?”

“Old guy learns fast.” Dr. Sein said to President Gordon. She was facing away from Lewis, and he couldn’t see or hear her speak.

Gordon kept his stiff smile and only flicked his eyes in Dr. Sein’s direction. She had worked with him long enough to feel the order.

“I’m almost sure he’s bluffing.” Dr. Sein said.

The president’s eyes flicked again. This time Dr. Sein even felt the sarcasm.

Everyone was looking at Lewis. No one paid any attention as J walked to the entrance.

In the last few hours, J had been torn from his home, had someone die trying to save him and had his brains replaced with a machine. If he ever got back to his home, he’d never be anything but a freak. The only two familiar things in this place were in the hall before him. Both were surrounded by soldiers ready to kill them. Nothing on Earth could possibly convey the depth of J’s rage and despair.

Fortunately for J, he wasn’t on Earth. He was on Mongo, where they have the inhumanly lethal, insanely powerful and gloriously cathartic Heavy Infantry Charged Particle Anti-Personnel Cannon.

The first flash of light stunned everyone who’d been looking toward the entrance. The thunderclap rolled across the room. The base of a stone and steel pillar exploded, sending smoldering stones flying across the hall.

Soldiers and civilians near the blast hit the ground. Most of the people room looked to the pillar that shook and groaned. Some saw the source of the flash – J, anchored by his boots, pointing a very large gun at a new target.

Naturally, it was the President who first noticed that Lewis, who’d had dozens of guns pointed at him a second before, had seized the moment to jump off the statue and into the screaming crowd.

It was a recently recruited private who noticed that Susan had run to a buffet table and grabbed two of the sharpest knives. He spent two seconds trying to subdue her and several more screaming and trying to pull a knife from his forearm.

No one noticed Kenda as she crept up behind Lieutenant Kovarin.

“I need to know if we can fire at the president’s fiancée.” Mongovian Lieutenant Massin yelled into a talker.

“You’ve got a full squad there.” Dr. Zachgo’s face said from the talker. “Do you really need to shoot her to subdue her?”

Massin was lost in thought for a second. Susan had left both her knives behind, which was a source of great comfort for all but two of the men in Massin’s squad. Susan had grabbed a long pole and broken it over a soldier’s head. She was now swinging the rest of the pole as though she’d trained specifically to swing a pole almost her own height.

As he saw another of his men fall, Massin said, “I think it would be prudent to say the very least.”

“All men,” Dr. Sein said. “Lewis Bold was bluffing. His only gun is deactivated. Find him and kill him.”

Captain Tanner couldn’t believe his luck as he looked up from his talker to see Lewis. Captain Tanner undid the holster on his pistol.

Lewis covered the distance to Captain Tanner faster than he’d ever run in his life. He made a quick grab for Tanner’s holster. Tanner reached down to stop him, but, before Tanner noticed, Lewis had punched him full in the face. Tanner felt a tug at his belt.

Still stunned by the punch, Tanner reached down to guard his pistol. He felt it still in its holster. Tanner shook his head to clear it and saw two of his men holding Lewis’ arms. One was wrestling, trying to pry the pistol from Lewis’ hand.

“It’s deactivated.” Tanner said. “Don’t worry.”

Slowly, Tanner drew his own pistol and held it to Lewis’s temple. “So die all traitors to the Republic.”

“He’s a single, stationary target!” the officer demanded of his men. “How hard can it be to hit that?”

The officer answered his own question when he seemed to vanish under a burst from the anti-personnel cannon. By instant consensus, his squad elected general panic its new leader.

Several of the soldiers ducked behind an overturned table. J’s cannon fired again, and the thick wooden table came apart like tissue.

Soldiers fleeing the shards of the table hid behind another pillar. J fired again, and the pillar came apart like a thick wooden table.

“I shouldn’t even be here today!” Ambassador Hülgun of Frigia came from a land of eternal winter. He almost always sweated in the temperate Mingo City, though not usually this much. “I just came for the food. Now the only way out is guarded by that maniac with a gun.”

Nultar of the Hawk Men pointed up. “There’s a series of windows set into the ceiling. There’s automated weapons to shoot anything that approaches through them, but I happen to know that they don’t target anything that leaves, in case they’re needed for an emergency escape.”

Hülgun looked up. “Those windows must be twenty meters up. There are no ladders or handholds.”

Nultar nodded sagely and said, “I think these, like most problems, are like children.”

Hülgun looked at Nultar and shook his head, uncomprehending.

“They’re so much nicer when they’re not yours.” And with a great leap, Nultar spread his wings and flew to the window.

Tanner pulled the trigger two more times. Nothing.

Lewis, looking at Tanner past the barrel of his pistol, winked.

Captain Tanner and his two men all looked simultaneously at Lewis’s gun – or rather Tanner’s gun which was in Lewis’s hand. Lewis was pointing it directly at the chest of the soldier pinning his right arm.

Tanner dropped Lewis’ useless gun and ran. As he fled, he heard two gunshots behind him.

Dr. Zachgo sent orders over the radio, trying to get the squads under control.

“Squad four, keep trying to subdue the Earth woman. A squad of Shark Men will assist you.”

J was eavesdropping on the message. He muttered to no one, “Susan, you should have listened to me. I’ve heard those Shark Men are nasty fuckers.”

“Squad seven, keep following Captain Bold. Shoot to kill.”

“Sorry Lewis,” J said. “I tried to help you.”

“Squads one, two, three, five, six and eight: Concentrate your fire on the shooter by the door. The other two squads of Shark Men will draw fire.”

“Up,” J said, and his boots came loose from where they’d melded themselves to the floor.

“You know, Jesus,” J said as he ran for cover. “When I masturbate tomorrow, I’m thinking about your mother. That’s right. In my mind, I’m going to screw the Mary formerly known as Virgin. All day I’m going to be showing her the true meaning of everlasting grace.”

Susan briefly managed to hold her ground against the soldiers, but she couldn’t stop the things that came next. If she were thinking in words, she would have realized these were the “Shark Men”, J had recently spoken of. The rows of sharp teeth, the pearl-colored skin and the constant movement made the “shark” in their name obvious, even though their sparse, close-fitting clothes made it clear these were neither men nor women.

Susan couldn’t hold them at bay because they weren’t afraid. The human soldiers who tried to rush Susan did it badly, because none of them wanted to be the next person to be hit by Susan’s improvised staff. These pale monsters didn’t seem to care. Susan took out two and ran as best she could when the others kept running.

But the creatures were faster. Susan felt a pain in her arm. Horrified, she realized that one of these creatures had bitten her and was gripping her arm with its jaws. Another grabbed Susan’s other arm and tried to drag her to a halt.

Susan could hear the footsteps behind her. They were like no pattern a mammal made when it ran. An insect, perhaps, would make those furtive beats on the floor as it crossed. Just the rhythm sent chills up Susan’s back.

Susan was still trying to run when she saw King Thun of the Lion Men in her path. He seemed like another piece of a nightmare. He was covered in golden hair with a distinctly feline face and elongated legs like a cat’s hind legs. The claws of his right paw wrapped around a large, studded club. He growled at Susan, though she couldn’t help feeling more frightened of the things on her arms.

Thun raised his club and held it in place. Susan wondered at the creature’s incompetence. With Susan’s arms nearly pinned, he could swing straight down and she couldn’t dodge. Thun was planning a swing that Susan could avoid. And he was holding still just long enough for Susan to dodge the blow before it came.

Susan dodged, and the club swung faster than the eye could see. The Shark Man holding Susan’s arm was struck so hard it flew in a backwards summersault before it hit the ground a full second later.

Thun growled in apparent frustration and prepared another swing. This one was just as obvious as the last. Even the Shark Man with its teeth in Susan’s arm could see he would be in the path of the club when Susan dodged. He opened his jaws just before Susan dodged and tried to get out of the way before Thun swung. The club came too quickly.

Susan could barely see the club as it went, but its movement was wrong. It seemed almost as though the tip of the club were dragging the rest of it along.

Susan didn’t have time to think about that mystery. She thought Thun was on her side, but she couldn’t take chances. She grabbed one of Thun’s legs and threw him onto his back.

Jumping over him, Susan kept running from the Shark Men.

Working gun in the right pocket. Deactivated gun in the left pocket. Lewis told himself. He managed to grab the useless gun after Captain Tanner dropped it. In the confusion, he ducked under a row of seats that looked like luxury bleachers. He was looking through the chaos trying to pick out Susan or J. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his back.

“The Earthling, Captain Bold!” a voice said behind Lewis.

Slowly, Lewis turned to see someone else dressed in a powerman’s uniform just like Lewis’s. Seeing the man was unarmed, Lewis started to reach into his right pocket.

“Did you get a good look at him?” the powerman asked.

“At whom?” Lewis asked.

“At whom? At that Earthling named Captain Bold. I tried to get a look, but I couldn’t make him out at all.”

Lewis Bold nodded. “He’s about this tall.” Lewis held his hand three inches too high. “He’s dressed in an officer’s uniform, but the right sleeve is ripped.”

Without consciously meaning to, Lewis had described Captain Tanner.

“I figure if I can help get him or if I can grab that whore for the president, I’ll get a nice promotion.”

You shouldn’t have called Susan that. Lewis thought. I’d excuse your trying to turn me in for the reward, but you shouldn’t have called Susan that. Slowly, Lewis pulled out his gun.

“You might need this.” Lewis said, handing the powerman the gun from his left pocket. “I think I saw Captain Bold over that way.”

The powerman nodded and walked off. Lewis kept kept moving quietly, looking for some sign of Susan. The soldiers, who had some kind of radios, would have his description: a man in a powerman’s uniform, medium height, carrying an officer’s sidearm.

After a few seconds, Lewis heard shots from the direction the powerman had gone. Lewis tried not to think about it.

Susan heard a primal cry behind her. King Thun might have pretended to fight Susan for a chance to beat up some Shark Men, but being thrown like a sack of potatoes made him angry, at least for a second.

Susan looked over her shoulder. Then she and the Shark Men chasing her froze at what happened next.

Thun swung the club and then tightened his grip on it. The club didn’t look any different, but it suddenly had more mass and more velocity. It jumped in Thun’s arm and pulled him upright.

Susan watched Thun with wide eyes. Thun’s anger went as soon as it came. He felt a kind of bashful pride from seeing Susan’s look of awe. He held up the club and gave its name: “Inertia Mace”.

It was a weapon that could suddenly gain mass and momentum out of nothing. Susan tried to imagine the inventor. Sometime, someone said, “We have the technology to cheat half a dozen of the central laws of physics. We could make new kinds of transportation. We could probably even advance medicine and agriculture with what we’ve discovered. But you know how I think we should apply the sudden ability to create mass and velocity? You know what technology I think we should update? The club.”

Susan concluded that for this weapon to exist was madness.

But, oh, what sweet madness.

“Toy!”

That one word, coming from Susan’s smiling lips, echoed all over the audience hall.

From his hiding place halfway across the hall, Lewis said, “Susan?”

Behind the door, J shook his head as he kept firing at his pursuers. “Hey Jesus,” J said, “don’t think I’m not taking notes here, you worthless fuck.”

Distracted, for a second, from her grip on Lieutenant Kovarin, Kenda said, “What?”

“Was that your wife?” Dr. Sein asked from the head of the auditorium.

“It was my fiancée.” President Gordon said. “My wife is over there, strangling that lieutenant.”

King Thun spent the next two seconds trying to figure out why Susan yelled “Toy”. He spent the rest of his life trying to piece together what happened in those two seconds. Suddenly, his forearm was numb and Susan had the Inertia Mace.

Kovarin seemed to weigh a ton, but Kenda thought it might just be awkward to hold a man by his neck, particularly if that man kept kicking. Since Kenda had grabbed him from behind, he rarely managed to strike her knees with his heels.

At first, Kovarin had been trying to alert the other soldiers who’d been guarding Kenda, but they were all a few yards away, searching the crowd for some sign of Lewis and hoping for approval to fire at Susan. With Kenda’s elbow tight on his windpipe, Kovarin couldn’t make a sound they could hear.

Kenda silently berated herself for grabbing Kovarin. She’d chosen to grab him because he was a sadistic bastard. But, if she’d grabbed someone carrying a sidearm, she could have stolen it. Kovarin carried an identified carbine, a rifle that wouldn’t fire if someone else held it.

Kovarin was trying to point his personalized weapon over his shoulder at Kenda. Holding Kovarin’s throat with her left arm, Kenda grabbed Kovarin’s arm and shoved it down. Then Kenda got an idea. She wrapped her hand around Kovarin’s and squeezed his trigger finger. The carbine identified Kovarin’s hand on the stock and his finger on the trigger, and it fired. Kovarin whimpered as the shot destroyed his knee.

The other guards heard that sound, but Kovarin was too dazed with pain to stop Kenda as she pointed his arm at his cohorts and kept firing.

Deep down, J decided he’d been lucky, considering. He probably had just set the universe record for most time someone had survived standing in a broad doorway firing at a gun at a roomful of armed soldiers.

He’d backed off and kept firing. J had a very loud weapon that fired very destructively very quickly, but if a dozen people rushed the door, one would get a close shot. It wasn’t every person who’d volunteer to be one of that dozen.

Shark Men were different. Apparently, they were perfectly happy to rush at J and play Russian roulette. A couple dozen ran straight at him, heedless of the eruptions that tore them to pieces as they ran. They came too fast, with their horrible, scuttling rhythm. They hissed and opened their jaws wider than any human could, showing their elongated teeth.

There was a door J could shut. When the room was full, it required the president’s password to shut the door. J had guessed the president’s password, but he had hoped to keep his knowledge a secret. He also hoped he could help Susan and Lewis.

Oh well. J thought. In life, there’s the things we hope for, and there’s being torn apart by a horde of hyperactive aliens with fangs.

The door came up from the floor so quickly that it seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Thun looked concerned, possibly embarrassed. His voice was suddenly so mild that Susan thought it had to be an act.

“Um, miss, I’m not sure you want to use that thing.”

The Inertia Mace had a coarse wire mesh around the handle so the Lion Men’s claws could get a better grip through it. Pushing her fingers through the mesh, Susan felt buttons underneath.

“Sometimes,” Thun went on, “I break a claw with that.”

Susan pressed her fingers down on the buttons. Suddenly, it seemed like the Inertia Mace weighed as much as she did. Susan fought to keep her feet as the mace suddenly weighed as much as she did. She felt the mesh dig into her fingers as she tried to keep her grip. Her fingers slipped off the buttons, and the mace instantly seemed again to be, if anything, light for its size.

“You don’t have claws.” Thun said. “Just those fingers. They’ve got nerves, y’know, and they don’t regrow.”

The Shark Men circled as they waited to see how the fight between Susan and King Thun would end. Now that the two were no longer fighting, they charged simultaneously from all directions.

Susan put despair out of her mind and tried to use the mace. This time, she thrust it in the direction of one of the charging Shark Men. She pushed the mace and then hit the buttons. The Inertia Mace jerked in her hand as though pulled by a stallion. The Shark Man it hit went from running forward to flying backward.

Susan released the buttons and swung the mace to hit another pursuer. She angled the swing slightly upward to compensate for the extra weight the mace would have once she hit the buttons. She tightened her fingers and felt pure glee when it flew exactly as she’d intended.

King Thun watched as several Shark Men tackled Susan at once. Distantly, he wondered if anyone needed help, and if so, whom.

Ghegheau, second squad commander for the Shark Men, imagined writing a memo to his superiors:

Thesis

In my admittedly biased and uninformed opinion, the resources and security of the Republic would be better served if the fiancée of President Gordon were killed, preferably with a ranged weapon.

Admission

I am a warrior of the hegemony, birthed and trained exclusively for close-quarters military operations. I do not understand whatever political purposes there might be behind the president’s decision to marry the woman from Earth.

Admission

Also being a warrior of the hegemony, I am a neuter. I do not understand the reproductive, romantic or social motives behind the president’s engagement.

Argument

I am not speaking from a worry of personal danger, though I have encountered danger. I ignore my safety and use my own experiences only as a means of measuring the danger of the president’s engagement to those loyal to him.

Supporting Evidence

Recall the ferocity which my fellow fighters charged the gunman from the door, finally making him flee and stop firing against those loyal to the president.

Supporting Evidence

Recall how my own squad made the Earth woman flee when she kept the president’s regulars at a distance using their own need for personal safety.

Argument

The president’s fiancée is dangerous. I think the president’s ability to mate with her is in question, and should he attempt it, his physical capacity to mate furthermore may be in jeopardy.

Supporting Evidence

See the determination the fiancée shows even with the overwhelming numbers of my warrior who attack her at once.

Supporting Evidence

Notice the facility with which she uses the Inertia Mace she took from King Thun of the Lion Men.

Note: I think it possible King Thun intended to be disarmed. I would like to point out that the two of my warriors he ‘accidentally’ injured with the Inertia Mace were the seventh and eighth of my species Thun has wounded in some mishap since he assumed leadership of the Lion Men three years ago.

Note: I do not feel the Lion Men are true and faithful servants to the Republic. I think their cities should be bombed. I think their water supply should be contaminated with a slow poison so that much of their population will be fatally poisoned before they know what has befallen. I think those that escape the initial assault should be captured and tortured, so that they can be made to reveal fugitives we may hunt down and force into underground chambers which we could then fill with oil.

Personal Observation

I found my brief encounter with the president’s fiancée unnerving. Granted, she has, through unusual circumstances, gotten possession of a very dangerous melee weapon. Even so, that she could make my notoriously selfless squad flee speaks volumes for how dangerous she would be as a permanent part of the president’s household.

Note

I found the way she kept laughing particularly demoralizing.

“You okay there, fella?” Thun asked.

Thun looked gigantic to Ghegheau right then. The king was standing as straight as he could, and Ghegheau didn’t feel like getting up off the floor just yet. Ghegheau hoped one of the other Shark Men in his squad was feeling well enough to do something about the hairy beast.

“Let me know if I can do anything.” Thun said , for all the world as though he meant well. Ghegheau revised the memo in his head, adding a few more lines about the Lion Men.

A hiss from under a nearby table distracted Thun from his infuriating patronizing. Thun’s valet, Sortia, crawled out from her hiding space. Thun growled back, and the two started making menacing sounds back and forth at each other for some minutes.*

Translation

Sortia: Stop teasing the fish. They’re wounded.

Thun: Okay. Hey, do you think if that Earth woman and I met under different circumstances . . .

Sortia: . . .would you get charged with bestiality, lose your job, and be counseled in a controlled environment for a minimum of six months?

Thun: Forget I asked.

Sortia: If you’re ‘chasing tail where there is none’ perhaps it’s time you went back to the homeland.

Thun: The job requires I stay in Mingo City. You know that.

Sortia: Then give up the kingship. It’s a small price to play for sexual health.

Thun: And go back to small engine repair and community theater? No thanks. In two more years, I get full pension.

Such a terrible, disgusting species. Ghegheau thought. They always growl at each other like that. They can’t even converse with each other like civilized beings.

“Mr. President,” Dr. Sein reported, “I’ve just received a message that Lewis Bold may have been killed.”

Lewis fought the flutter in his chest at hearing the words. Standing on the far side of a pillar, Lewis was barely close enough to hear Dr. Sein and the president talking.

“What do you mean, may?” President Gordon asked.

“The man who shot him didn’t get a very good look at Captain Bold. He says he shot a man in a powerman’s uniform who was pointing a pistol at one of our officers.”

“I want Captain Bold considered an active threat until I have personally witnessed his cremation. What about the gunman outside?”

“Four heavy weapons squads are on their way to take him out. He can’t get back in. Only you can operate the main doors.”

“Then how did he close the doors in the first place?” the president asked.

Dr. Sein’s electronic brain asked if she wanted to show wide eyed surprise at the realization that the president’s access had been compromised. She told it no. So, for a second, she said and did nothing.

“Send out a message that it’s okay to fire at my fiancée. I thought it would be bad press, but this really is as bad a public relations disaster as it could be.”

“I’ll send the message now.” Dr. Sein said.

Lewis moved before he knew what he was doing. His pistol was out of his pocket and pointed directly at Dr. Sein’s head. The shot hit the skull. There was relatively little blood, but sparks and machinery flew as the doctor fell to the ground.

Lewis tried to get a second shot at the president, but Gordon had ducked behind the podium. Lewis put two shots into it, but it was solid stone.

“It’s Captain Bold!” Lewis heard the President yell. “Kill him!”

It’s so dangerous not being dead. Lewis thought as he sprinted for cover.

Amazingly, everyone in the room had better things to do than worry about the gun battle between the first lady and her supposed bodyguards. Still armed and shielded by Lieutenant Kovarin, Kenda had shot two others. The five others had taken cover.

“I can’t get a shot past the lieutenant!” one of the soldiers yelled.

“Wait a second!” another soldier exclaimed. “If we shoot Kovarin, he won’t have vital signs. His gun will stop working!”

The soldiers rose and fired in unison. The last thing Kovarin heard was Kenda saying, “I should have grabbed somebody more popular.”

From having once been a munitions officer, Kenda remembered that the carbines worked for five seconds without feeling a pulse go through the finger on the trigger. She kept firing back, getting one more soldier.

The five seconds still weren’t up when Susan came at them from behind with the Inertia Mace.

When it looked like the main auditorium doors were not going to open again, Captain Vallin felt it was safe to let go of Aura’s arms.

“Why did you have to hold me back?” Aura asked. “I wanted to help him.”

“My mission is to protect you.” Captain Vallin said.

“Your mission?” Aura raged. “You helped me commit treason by reviving Captain Bold. What do your orders mean to you?”

“First,” Captain Vallin said, “I protected you at first because it was my order and my duty. It has become my mission. And second, you should watch where you’re speaking.” Captain Vallin looked pointedly over Aura’s shoulder.

“Don’t mind me.” J said. “I was just leaving.”

“You’re the Earthling!” Aura exclaimed. “You’re the one who was converted into a doctor. I heard you died.”

“We Earthlings get that a lot.” J said. “I’ll be on my way.”

“Did you close that door?” Aura said, pointing at the door to the auditorium, where the muffled sound of shots came through.

“Uh, yes.” J said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Why did you close the door?” Aura demanded.

“Did you see the dozens of people on the other side trying to kill me?” J asked.

“Yes.”

“Well,” J said, “either you’ve just figured it out, or I can’t explain.”

“You’re a coward!” Aura yelled.

“There you go.” J answered cheerfully.

“He’s your friend! He saved your life.”

“He’s really just an acquaintance.” J said. “And he’s probably dead already.”

J used a communications device implanted in his skull to check with the central system. The central system tracked troop movements. If there were soldiers coming, it would tell J how many there were and what kind.

“On second thought,” J said. “I’m a changed man. There’s always hope. I’m turning back to see what I can do.”

“You’ll open the door?” Aura asked.

“No, that’s just what they’d expect me to do.”

President Gordon was wearing his helmet now. On the president’s ancestor, Flash Gordon, the bright red officer’s helmet looked dashing. On Francis Gordon VI, the effect was what his first wife had described as “hasty circumcision”. He’d had her executed, but he tended not to wear the helmet, because, secretly, he could see her point.

However, the helmet was good at keeping his brain from being damaged to the point where he couldn’t be repaired, and, in the end, that counted more than dignity.

“Dr. Zachgo!” the president yelled.

“Yes, sir.” Dr. Zachgo said, running to the president. “I’ve been indisposed.”

“You’ve been hiding.” Gordon accused. “There’s dozens of soldiers in this room. Why do they have so much trouble finishing off the three traitors that are left?”

“They’ve just given up trying to get the door open.” Dr. Zachgo said. “Also, your fiancée is shielding your wife, and the men have orders not to shoot your fiancée.”

“But I gave the orders!”

“What orders?” Dr. Zachgo asked.

“Oh,” the president said. “Dr. Sein must not have had a chance to broadcast them.”

Dr. Zachgo saw the other doctor lying on the floor, the machinery that replaced her brain in a mad disarray scattered over the floor. The machinery in Dr. Zachgo’s own skull kept him from widening his eyes or exclaiming in an unseemly way.

“I’ll repeat it for you.” the president said. Dr. Zachgo’s internal programming kept him from coving his skull with his hands as he heard the orders.

“The engagement is off.” President Gordon said. “The men should fire at will at my former fiancée.”

Dr. Zachgo heard a loud noise. He thought, for a second, that it was the sound of his head exploding and he, too, was being shot. Then he saw it was the wall, not his skull, that was collapsing.

J couldn’t see anything after he blasted a hole in the wall. Dust and smoke from the shattered stone obscured everything. J kept firing. After a few seconds, he unanchored his boots from the ground and walked back into the auditorium. Standing in a huge cloud of dust, J couldn’t breathe very well, but no one could see him, either.

J stepped into the room and anchored his boots again. He hoped he could blow a hole in the far wall and walk out. He fired blindly. Then he heard a loud cracking noise from above.

You know what they say. J thought. Fire a high energy weapon at support structures for long enough, and sooner or later the ceiling will fall in.

I don’t think I’ve actually heard anyone say that. J thought back to himself.

Well, J reasoned, there’s a good chance someone’s going to say it in a minute or two.

A piece of stone weighing several tons dropped from the ceiling and fell faster and faster. It hit the floor a little in front of J, and the rattle of the floor would have thrown him if his feet weren’t attached solidly to the rock below them. As it was, J thrashed like a rag doll as the ground shook.

Just barely, J could make out a hole in the ground. The falling stone had gone straight through. With not enough floor to anchor it, a nearby pillar slid into the hole. The pillar stopped, sticking about a third of the way out of the hole.

J’s artificial brain transmitted a message. ` Central Architecture Archives: What is below my current location?`

The land vehicle park. the architecture system sent back.

J detached his feet and walked up to the pillar. He put one foot to the pillar itself, muttered “down” as he worked the toe control to anchor his boot. Grabbing the attached leg and holding himself up, J placed his other foot on the pillar. He said, “down” again as the second boot attached itself to the pillar.

Clumsily, J started the slow process of half walking, half crawling down the fallen pillar into the garage.

There was little question that Susan and Kenda would be dead if the wall hadn’t exploded. Teams of soldiers were firing, and they clearly meant to kill. With Kenda’s rifle no longer working, the two could do nothing but crouch behind a pile of chairs they’d made and wait for someone to flank their improvised shelter.

But the eruption of the wall and the firing that came out of the smoke had thrown the troops back into disarray. Then the ceiling fell in, and half the people running were thrown to the ground from the shock. Now, more people were thinking about falling rock than the president’s current and would be wives.

“What’s below us?” Susan asked, looking at the hole.

Kenda thought of herself going down the stairs and seeing. . . “There’s a garage.” Kenda said. “There’s troop transports, maintenance vehicles, all sorts of things.”

There was too much dust for Susan to see J. She could see the pillar sticking out of the hole and compared it to the pillars still standing. “We’ll go down. It’s ten meters. Maybe it’s more.”

“Sounds right,” Kenda said.

Susan nodded. “Here’s my plan. We run there. You grab me. We jump down. Unless you have. . .”

“Okay.” Kenda said.

“Okay?” Susan asked.

“Yes, okay.” Kenda said. “Is something wrong with it?”

“The plan’s insane.” Susan said.

“I know.” Kenda said. “If I had a better idea, I’d do that instead.”

Susan ran first, and Kenda bolted after, her long strides catching up to Susan. Only a couple soldiers still had the presence of mind to fire at them, and they couldn’t see well through the dust.

Susan saw the edge. When she felt Kenda grab hold of her, Susan jumped, sending them both toppling over.

“One Mississippi.” Susan counted aloud, hoping those wouldn’t be her last words.

Susan swung the Inertia Mace upward. She clenched the buttons, and the mace suddenly became a large mass, straining to go up. Susan’s fingers bled as mesh on the mace’s handle cut into her skin. Her shoulder screamed in pain as the mace and gravity played tug-of-war with her body.

Kenda had both arms around Susan, but Susan jerked in her grasp. Kenda fought to hold on, but she started sliding. Just when she lost her grip, Kenda hit the floor. She still was going fast enough to hit hard, but holding onto Susan slowed her enough that the fall didn’t kill her.

Susan dropped right after, groaning as she hit.

Susan lay on the ground, feeling battered and exhausted. She looked up and saw the awkward form of J coming out of the cloud of dust, walking down the pillar.

“You again.” Susan muttered.

Lewis couldn’t see through the smoke and the dust, but he could hear dozens of footsteps. There were many more soldiers coming this way. He thought he’d seen Susan and Kenda run into the cloud of dust. He hoped they’d escaped.

It looks like this is it. Lewis thought. He didn’t want to kill anyone else, and he didn’t want to be captured by the sadistic President Gordon again. That left one final attempt to escape.

Lewis took a few steps back and ran, vaulting over the bench he’d used for cover. He heard shots. An image flickered through his head of his heart exploding over a blast from a high powered rifle. There were so many of them, and it’d take only one shot.

Lewis kept running. He’d been a track star once, and he felt better now than he ever had. A soldier in front of Lewis tried to catch him in a flying tackle. Lewis twisted away, feeling graceful and invincible as he felt the supple turn of his back. The soldier missed and hit the ground.

This is a good way to go. Lewis thought, as he heard another shot. His eyes and mouth were filled with dust. He hoped he was harder to see. The room was a blur going past him as he ran. Lewis saw the hole before him. He leapt and spread his arms as he dove into the darkness.

“It’s a long way down.” Dr. Zachgo said. “They’re probably all dead.”

“Ah, the wild optimism of youth.” President Gordon answered. “This morning, I felt it myself. Send every available soldier to the garage and have them shoot anyone they see.”

19

Lewis fell through dust, smoke and darkness. He could hear shots behind him as he fell headlong.

He could see a deeper shadow in the darkness. That was a pillar that had fallen. Lewis could see he was going toward it.

Suddenly, Lewis made out something closer, something that stuck out from the pillar. He reached out and wrapped an arm around it. Lewis swung savagely, slamming into the stone pillar with painful force. His leg hit something that felt like skin but rang with a muffled gonging noise.

“Ow, fucker!” someone yelled in the swirling dust. “You just kicked my head!”

“J?” Lewis said, recognizing the voice. “I don’t believe it. You’re alive!”

“Oh yeah.” J said. “You jump through a giant hole where the floor’s collapsed to get away from a horde of alien soldiers. You run into me as I’m walking down the side of a vertical surface, and the thing that hurts your suspension of disbelief is that I’m alive. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Lewis changed his grip a so that he wasn’t facing the pillar. He could see J’s boots somehow anchored so his legs stuck straight out from the pillar. J bent at the waist, and his upper body was hanging straight down. Lewis was looking directly at J’s chest.

“How are your boots stuck to the side of the column?” Lewis asked.

“They’re flux boots.” J answered. “I’m sorry, but could you let go of my legs? I’ve got to unstick my foot, and I can’t do it while you’re hanging on.”

Lewis looked down to the floor he could barely make out through the swirling dust.

“I’m not sure I’d survive the fall.” Lewis said.

“Hey, I said ‘I’m sorry’.” J answered defensively.

Lewis transferred both his hands to J’s left foot. “Try moving your right foot down.” Lewis suggested.

“Up.” J said as his right foot came free of the pillar. J planted the foot further down and said, “Down.” The right foot re-attached itself to the pillar.

Lewis transferred both hands to J’s left foot, and the two kept going down the pillar. Lewis looked down at the rubble where two levels of ceiling had collapsed on the floor.

“I wonder what’s under all that rock.” Lewis said to himself.

“I’ve managed to locate a very fast vehicle in the park below.” J said. “I can operate it mentally, so there’s no alien interface to worry about. It’s also the fastest land vehicle in the garage below. We could use it to get out of Mingo City in just a few minutes.

“That’s good news.”

“No, it isn’t.” J said.

“Why not?” Lewis asked.

“Because it was a reply.”

“What was a reply?”

“When I was talking about the vehicle I found.” J said. “I was replying.”

“To what?”

“‘I wonder what’s under all that rock.’” J answered.

“You know,” Lewis said, “Language serves three basic needs, but not when I’m talking to you.”

Lewis looked down and caught sight of Susan and Kenda. He was glad to see them alive. Then he saw a metal monster advancing on them.

Lewis was far enough down that he judged the fall probably safe. He let go of J’s legs. As he hit the ground, he tumbled down the rubble pile. Lewis drew his pistol and stood up.

“It’s a dragon suit.” Kenda said. “There’s a man inside that.”

The metal monster turned to face Lewis. The head was a looming dragon’s head. Lewis could see that, in the back of the dragon’s skull, there was a place that the human’s head fit inside. The rest of the body matched the shape of the human within, except the forearms, which were disproportionately long, but Lewis realized they were so also so wide that the operator’s hand could fit comfortably halfway inside one.

Lewis raised his pistol and fired at the dragon’s eye, hoping it contained some kind of camera. The shot made a slight burn mark on the monstrous head, but caused no apparent ill effect.

“They’re immune to small arms fire.” Kenda started to say.

Lewis ran at the dragon suit, hoping to topple it. It didn’t move at all when he struck it.

“They weigh a quarter of a ton.” Kenda continued.

Lewis felt a large metal hand grip his neck. The dragon lifted Lewis as though he were made of paper. Lewis fired his pistol down again and again as he rose.

“And there’s motors in the suit that add to the strength of whoever’s inside.” Kenda finished. “Sorry I didn’t get all that out more quickly.”

“J!” Susan yelled, “Kill it now!”

J had reached the bottom of the pillar. He lifted the Antipersonnel Cannon wrapped around his forearm, but he shook his head. “The cannon would kill it, but Lewis is way too close to survive if I fire.”

“Shoot it.” Lewis gasped.

Susan looked at the Inertia Mace she still held. She was learning tricks for swinging it. If you tilted the mace just before you activated it, for instance, it swung faster. Susan didn’t know if she could hit hard enough.

Susan got into position, prepared her swing, and she aimed the club at the back of the dragon’s head. She hit the buttons on the Inertia Mace’s handle, and the mace jerked her along as it became faster and more massive. The sound of the collision was deafening.

The hand that held Lewis’s neck spasmed open, copying the hand of the operator inside the dragon’s forearm. A second later, the hand spasmed close, and if Lewis were not already outside its grip, the clenched metal fist would have torn out his neck. Lewis hit the ground, staring at the dragon’s head for a second before rolling out of the way as the massive armor suit toppled forward.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Lewis wheezed as he still stared at the ruined head, “but that’s one of the most disgusting things I’ve ever seen.

Susan stepped onto the back of the dragon suit and grabbed the handle of the mace in both hands. She tugged furiously to get the mace free.

“It’s stuck there for good.” Kenda said, putting a hand on Susan’s shoulder.

Then all four of them heard the growing sound of approaching footsteps. Even Susan gave up on the Inertia Mace and ran.

“Can you drive?” Susan asked as they ran.

“Yes,” Kenda said, “but I don’t have keys to anything here.”

Lewis saw someone running out of the cab of a large cargo vehicle. He ran after the driver and tackled him.

“Give me your keys!” Lewis yelled.

The driver shook his head. “Soldiers are coming. You’ll be caught in less than a minute.”

J had caught up by this moment. He lifted his cannon and said, “This is an Antipersonnel Cannon. What’s that word at the bottom of your nametag?”

The driver looked down at his chest and read, “Personnel?”

J pushed his gun forward. It completely encircled the driver’s mouth. J growled, “Do what’s right for you.”

The driver reached into his pocket and fished out a set of keys.

20

People usually described Corporal Funan as nervous. He couldn’t stop thinking about other people’s opinions. Much of his thoughts involved worrying about whether he was doing what he was supposed to do.

It was natural that he’d feel a kind of admiration for a man who remorselessly killed people for sport. Funan didn’t know his idol’s name. By tradition, successful gladiators were called by title, so he was just the Champion to Funan.

“The four traitors fled the garage driving a cargo transport.” Funan said. “Only a single officer’s buggy got through before the main gate of the garage closed behind them. Nobody knows why the gate closed, and nobody can get it open again. Also, the lights in the garage went out.”

“A good thing you let me pull you away from duty.” the Champion said. “You could have been one of hundreds now stuck in a dark garage.”

“I still could get shot for disobeying orders.” Funan said, looking at the ground.

The Champion ignored the remark. “They must be going to the spaceport.”

“Maybe they’re just driving blind.”

The Champion shook his head. “They’re acting like they know their way around. Their one chance for escape is the spaceport. They’ll take it. What’s the fastest ship there?”

Funan moved his hands through the air, and images of different ships came up with statistics. “It takes a while to get going, but the dreadnought is the fastest.”

“What’s the minimum crew for the dreadnought?”

Funan searched for the statistic. “Thirty seven.” he said at last.

“Not that. What’s the next fastest?”

“A strike scout.” Funan answered. “It only holds one person.”

The Champion shook his head. “There’s four of them. Three are from Earth. They can’t all know how to fly our ships. What’s that one down there?”

Funan looked where the Champion pointed. “We call that a ‘Q-boat’. It’s useless. It’s been taking up space at the port forever. It doesn’t even have controls you can get your hands on.”

“Why hasn’t it been removed to save space?” the Champion asked.

Funan did a short search. “That’s classified.”

“That’s the one.” the Champion said. “We’ll get there before they do. Get in a dragon suit and follow me there.”

It took all Funan’s courage to raise an objection. “You’re not a soldier. I’m not an officer. We should just tell someone.”

The Champion grinned. “Where is the glory in that?”

The front of the cargo transport looked like a rocket. The back looked like a pickup truck without wheels. The transport glided two feet off the ground and went terrifyingly fast.

Lewis crouched in the bed with cables wrapped around his arms so he wouldn’t fly out when the transport turned. His hair whipped in the passing wind. He held his pistol in both hands and took a shot at their pursuer when he caught a glimpse. Unlike the cargo transport, the pursuing vehicle was made for fighting. It had a roof-mounted gun that shot occasional bursts at the transport, which the transport dodged with maneuvers that struck Lewis as insanely sudden and sharp.

“I hope Captain Bold is going to be okay.” Kenda said as she drove. The controls were a T-shaped lever and a computer display that hovered in front of the windshield. Kenda moved her hand across the computer display with practiced ease. Words and shapes shifted on the display too quickly for anyone but Kenda to follow. J thought she paid far too little attention to the road.

“I hope we’re going to be okay.” J complained.

“You’re worried about the guy behind us?” Kenda asked.

J looked back. Turns and buildings came and went. At the moment, he couldn’t see anything there.

“No.” Susan answered for J. “He mistrusts you. Thinks you’ll crash.”

“Why?” Kenda asked, turning away from the road to look at J. “I’ve got a level four license with this kind of vehicle. I wasn’t always the first lady. I used to drive these every day.”

“Look at the road!” J screamed.

Kenda glanced back at the road then looked back at J. “I’m sorry, it looks normal to me. What’s wrong with it?”

“You’re going a hundred miles an hour!” J yelled.

“What’s that?” Kenda asked.

“Hundred sixty kilometers.” Susan explained. She was less nervous that Kenda was going so fast without watching the road. Susan had come to trust Kenda very quickly, and if she did die, she wanted to do it while listening to J scream like a frightened girl.

Kenda touched a hovering shape which turned into the number 193. “A little over.” she said. “What’s the problem?”

“We’re headed toward a steel wall!” J screamed.

Kenda shook her head and looked back at J. “I’m not architect, but I think those walls are carbon alloy nanotubes. There’s very little made with steel in Mingo City.”

“Kenda?” Susan asked. The wall was approaching extremely quickly.

“Yes?”

A second before the transport would have hit the wall the wall, it veered right without Kenda even seeming to notice. The straps of the safety mesh bit into everyone in the cab. Lewis clutched the cargo straps he’d tied to himself and barely kept his feet.

“Nothing.” Susan said.

“Oh!” Kenda said. “Vehicles on your planet don’t have collision avoidance systems. That must be terrifying.”

“What if this collision thing fails?” J asked.

“Then the vehicle stops immediately. The collision systems are constantly monitored.”

The pursuing vehicle, much closer than it had been before, rounded the corner behind the cargo transport. Its gun started firing. Kenda gestured quickly at the console as the transport started bouncing along the edges of the street like a pinball.

J didn’t react. The computer in his head was not paying attention to what was around J. It was looking up information about the transport behind them. J found out what model it was and sent an inquiry about where the collision avoidance system was and how heavily it was armored.

Suddenly, J became alert again. He turned to the back of the cab and yelled at Lewis, “Shoot the green box under the vehicle behind us!”

“What?” Lewis yelled as he gripped the straps. His curly hair was plastered tight against his skull.

“Shoot the green box!” J yelled, pointing.

“What?” Lewis yelled.

“The green box!” J yelled.

Then a shot hit the edge of the cab, rocking the cargo transport. Lewis turned around, wrapped his left arm more firmly around the cargo straps, and pointed his pistol at the pursuing vehicle. Lewis was unsure of his aim. For one thing, it’s very hard to hit a moving target from a moving target.

For another, with the wind in his ears, Lewis couldn’t make out what J had been saying.

Lieutenant Massin fought nervousness when he saw Lewis aim the pistol back toward him. His windshield was a reinforced transparent alloy. No pistol could possibly damage it.

He grinned when the first shot hit the right stabilizer without making a mark on its broad green armor. He fired in response, but the transport turned sharply to the right at the last second.

Once he recovered from the turn, Lewis fired two more shots at Massin’s vehicle. The side view camera got hit. Massin saw a streak of green as the little cylinder tumbled off the side of the car. A moment later, a tiny green good luck charm on his hood exploded into fragments.

Massin started to recognize the pattern when he saw another flash, and his windshield was covered by a giant red alarm telling him that the collision avoidance system was inoperable. The vehicle went to an emergency stop so fast that half the safety straps on Massin’s chest drew blood as they strained to keep him from flying through the windshield.

The transport stopped at the spaceport just a couple minutes later.

“Let’s go.” J said as he got out. “We’re headed to the ship over there that’s shaped like a Hershey’s Kiss.”

“What’s a Hershey’s Kiss?” Kenda asked.

“It’s a candy. Looks like that.” Susan said, pointing at a gleaming silver vehicle a short ways away.

“Oh.” Kenda said. “Like a Q-boat.”

“I thought you were good with that pistol.” J said to Lewis. “It took you four shots.”

“It took me one shot.” Lewis said as he untied the straps. “All I heard was ‘Shoot’ and ‘Green’. There were eleven green objects visible from the front of that jeep thing. We’re lucky I got it on the fourth guess.”

“Who died and made you superman?” J asked.

“Steve Reeves.”

“Who the fuck is Steve Reeves?” J yelled.

“He was Superman in the black and white TV show.” Lewis explained. “He was also in all these Italian muscle men movies in the fifties. Where are you going? Why did you ask if you didn’t want to know?”

21

The Champion lounged in the pilot’s chair. He looked over the controller Funan had given him, a small box covered with symbols, and put it in his pocket. He looked around perfectly at ease waiting.

Corporal Funan towered over him in a steel shell with a looming dragon’s head. He couldn’t sit down when he was wearing the dragon-shaped armor, so he stood.

Back when he was a recruit, Funan longed to wear a dragon suit. It gave you a metal body with a big dragon head. Almost any move you made activated a motor that made your slightest gesture far more powerful. You could see in the dark. You could look behind you without turning your head. It gave you a reach of seven feet. It armored you so you were indestructible.

But it was damn uncomfortable. You had to put lenses in your eyes so it could track eye movements. The sensors that read your motions rubbed in all sorts of uncomfortable places. You got calluses on the edges of your armpits. The arms felt like having stilts on your hands, so you kept knocking things over. Missions took a long time, and the armor took a while to get out of, so you had to wear a kind of padded diaper.

It was impossible to enjoy godlike strength when you had to wear diapers.

The four fugitives walked through the spaceport. “Do we have a plan?” Lewis asked.

“Yes.” Susan said. “It’s J’s. It’s insane.”

“Oh.” Lewis said. “What’s insane about it?”

“I don’t know.” Susan said.

“What’s the plan?” Susan.

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know J can be eccentric.” Lewis paused and looked at J, who magnanimously raised a hand, admitting the description. “But if you haven’t heard his plan, how do you know it’s crazy?”

“He told me.”

“Really?” Lewis asked.

“Yeah.” J said. “This next part isn’t the crazy part, though. We’re going to the Q-boat. No one uses it because you need a neural link to pilot it, but I’ve been researching it. It’s got more tricks than Susan’s Bat Mitzvah.”

“You will die.” Susan reminded J.

“Here we are.” Kenda said. “I remember seeing this thing. So few people can use it that they don’t bother guarding it.”

The four were walking up a short causeway into the Q-boat. They stopped as they saw the Champion sitting casually and Funan looming in his dragon suit.

“You’re that gladiator.” Lewis said. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for glory.” the Champion said as he stood up. He took a small metal cone out of one pocket and a small metal box out of the other.

Kenda felt cold the second she saw the Champion. She recognized the cone in his right hand as a pain flare, and her legs started taking her backward step by step out of the ship.

Lewis stepped forward with his arms spread protectively in front of the other three.

The Champion pressed a button on the metal box. Suddenly, a shield appeared between Kenda and the Q-boat. Kenda reached forward to Susan, but the shield stopped her hand.

A second later, an alarm started sounding outside the ship. Kenda started looking around her.

“Soldiers will be here soon.” the Champion said. “They’ll capture her. I wanted to take you three personally.”

Lewis dropped his arms. “I mean no offense, sir, but I think you should have brought more. . .”

Faster than anyone could see, Lewis grabbed the Champion’s wrist and shook the small box out of his grip. After a second, the Champion recovered and held the pain flare to Lewis’ elbow.

Pain erupted beyond anything Lewis had ever experienced. Lewis cried out, and tears streamed from his eyes. He snatched the arm back and cradled it with his other arm. He was expecting to find that his forearm had been sheared off or his funny bone had been torn free of his skin.

His arm wasn’t damaged. There was no more pain but the stinging memory of agony.

“Funan.” was all the Champion said.

Corporal Funan took one stride and reached one elongated arm to grab Lewis’ arm. Funan made a fist. The mechanical hand copied the movement, but stopped after the hand dug into Lewis’ skin. A symbol came up on Funan’s display that meant the resistance against the mechanical hand had increased dramatically. If Funan said the words “enable crush”, the safely measure would turn off, and the motors in the dragon’s hand would crush Lewis’s arm with thousands of pounds of pressure.

Lewis was still gasping, trying to think beyond the memory of the agony. He barely noticed as the monstrous metal arm lifted him off the floor.

J raised his arm, pointing his Antipersonnel Cannon at the Champion’s chest. “Get out.” J said. “Get out, or I’ll shoot.”

“That’s a big gun.” the Champion said. “If you fire it at someone this close in a tiny space like this, you’ll wreck this ship. You’ll probably hurt yourself. Can you make that choice?”

The Champion took a step forward and waited. J kept the gun pointed at him.

Casually, the Champion reached a hand forward and pulled a pair of wires out of the cannon. The indicator lights on the cannon turned off. “Too late.” he said. “Before the day is through, you’ll wish you had fired. Funan, take him out.”

Still holding Lewis off the ground, Funan walked forward. He grabbed J’s head with his free hand. He said, “Shock left.” On Funan’s display, a symbol came up indicating the suit thought Funan had asked it to send an electrical surge through his left hand. Funan said, “Confirm.”

J twitched and fell to the ground. A light protruding from his skull blinked as he lay unconscious. A voice coming from the top of J’s head said, “Unexpected power surge. Running diagnostics. Function will return shortly.”

On the far side of the shield, Kenda pleaded, “Susan, get out of there! This is an intruder shield. I can’t come back in, but you can come out. You need to get away from him. You know how to hurt people, but he loves to.”

The Champion stood still over the prone form of J and waited. Behind him, Lewis still dangled from Funan’s grip.

“He wants you to run.” Lewis said. “He wants people to think he’s. . .”

Barely turning, the Champion reached back and touched the pain flare the Lewis’ knee. Lewis curled his knees up and sobbed.

“You’ve got to get out now!” Kenda said. “Soldiers are coming!”

Kenda was shot from behind. She gasped, trying to breath, as she fell forward onto the shield.

Susan reached a hand forward toward the shield, but she stopped. If the hand went through, there’d be no coming back.

From behind Susan, the Champion started laughing. He took a slow step forward.

Susan turned around and looked at the Champion. He’s provoking me. She thought. He wants me angry.

Susan concentrated on her breathing and her balance, keeping the anger away from her. They needed J. He could fly the ship. Maybe he could shut down the dragon suit. Susan would have to keep the Champion busy while J recovered.

“Kenda’s had a rough day.” the Champion said. Susan fought the urge to look over her shoulder to see if Kenda was still alive. He kept talking. “I tortured her earlier, trying to find out where you were.”

He’s still trying. Susan thought. Ten years ago, I’d be rabid. Anger is fear. Here’s a secret: everything scares me. I was angry every day. It became intolerable. I stopped being angry. It wasn’t easy. It takes concentration. It takes practice.

Susan felt her leg come forward and her balance change. She wasn’t consciously thinking of fighting stance. Her legs just moved where practice had taught them to belong. Her hands lifted until they were in position. They felt lighter than air. Susan made one sound. To her mind, it wasn’t a word but the softest of battle cries.

“C’mon.”

22

Ensign Fayer was checking the docking records casually when the metal ball approached. It was the size of a large toy balloon with marks and bumps on its surface. It hovered out of reach until it dropped to Fayer’s eye level and spoke to him.

“Could you please summon Admiral March?” the sphere asked. It spoke with a slow, distinct voice, not the soothing or cheerful tones robots usually used.

“What are you?” the ensign asked.

The talker in Ensign Fayer’s belt pocket beeped and spoke, “Confirmed identification signal from incoming Robotic Proxy.” the the talker droned. “It is piloted by Dr. Torre.”

“I’ve never met Dr. Torre,” Fayer said nervously, “but I don’t see how he can fit in there.”

“The robot you see is called a ‘proxy’. I, Dr. Torre, operate it through a neural link.” the proxy began. “It allows me to switch between locations quickly and get places I’d otherwise have trouble reaching. For important tasks, this robot takes my full attention. I see through its eyes and speak through its speakers. . .”

“It’s an honor, Dr. Torre, that addressing me is an important task.”

”. . .more mundane, repetitive tasks,” the proxy went on as though the ensign hadn’t spoken, “such as offering explanations I have to make frequently, I can record in advance, and the proxy can do them itself while my attention is elsewhere.”

“Should I summon Admiral March here to talk to your. . . proxy?” Ensign Fayer asked. He dreaded telling someone so superior to him that he was being summoned by a small silver ball.

“No,” the proxy said. “In a moment, you will notice my shuttle begin landing protocols. I sent this proxy ahead to give notice of my arrival. Tell the admiral to meet me when I arrive in person.”

“Right away,” Fayer said.

Sortia perched on her favorite cushion, one leg curled up under her, one leg dangling down. Her left ear pointed toward King Thun, and her right ear held an earphone. A receiver reached just under her whiskers.

Officially, the conversation was between Minister Sibun and King Thun. However, Sibun hated Thun; Thun hated Sibun, and Sortia hated relying on other people to tell her what was going on. Sibun called Sortia, who related the conversation to the king.

“I’ve just heard that Dr. Torre has left the homeland and is returning to Mingo City.” Minister Sibun continued.

Sortia cocked her right ear back. Her comlink took this as a signal to pause her conversation with Minister Sibun. “The Butcher is coming here.” Sortia said.

“He is?” Thun said nervously, then brightened. “That means he’s no longer snooping back home. Sibun must be thrilled that he’s gone. Tell that lice-ridden twit that I helped cause the mess the Butcher’s here to fix.”

Sortia cocked her ear forward again, resuming her conversation. “There has been some chaos here surrounding some Earthlings.” Sortia said to Sibun. “Thun has tried to help, but things are still a bit uneasy.”

“I’m sure he did everything he could.” Sibun said. “I’m sure Dr. Torre will appreciate it when Thun greets him.”

Sortia paused the connection. To Thun, she said, “Sibun says that he’s so pleased that he’s almost ready to forgive your disgusting eating habits and your appalling taste in clothing. He thinks you should be there when the Butcher arrives.”

“What?” Thun yelled. “I’m just the king. The Butcher’s been giving as good as he got with our best espionage guys back home. What am I supposed to do?”

Sortia resumed her connection. “Minister,” she said, “King Thun is eager to meet Dr. Torre, though he is afraid he will be able to offer only humble hospitality.”

“King Thun knows I have every faith in him. I’m sorry, Sortia, but I must be going.” Minister Sibun cut the connection.

Sortia held out a paw and swung her head. The earphone tumbled out of her ear and into her paw. She pocketed the earphone.

“Minister Sibun said he didn’t expect you to think of anything.” she told King Thun. “He’s thinking that after living with the People for four years, the Butcher trusts us so little that having you around will make him nervous.”

Admiral March watched the descending shuttle with resentment. Dr. Torre had been away from Mingo City for years, and now he came back without giving the least notice. He summoned March, an admiral, to meet him as he arrived.

The shuttle docked. The proxy, that damned spying robot, flew to the shuttle doors like an eager puppy. The first figure out was the doctor. He was startlingly unattractive with a forward, tilted brow and a beaky nose. His eyes drooped as though he’d been without sleep for days.

March had never seen him, but he knew this was Dr. Torre. He had the bald head with protruding machinery of a Mongovian doctor, and the proxy went into a holding pattern nearby as soon as the doctor stepped off the ship.

The admiral reached forward to extend a hand. He didn’t salute because Dr. Torre wasn’t military personnel. Dr. Torre paid no attention to the hand.

“You should have your marines ready and forming a perimeter around the star dock.” Dr. Torre said. “All entrances should be sealed immediately.”

March took back his hand and used a steel, threatening voice, “You don’t give orders here, doctor.”

Dr. Torre smiled pleasantly. It was a terrible thing. “Admiral, I am not a proud man. I am going to give you a series of tasks, and you are going to do them. You may use whatever verb most pleases you to describe this arrangement.”

“If you check the military chain of command, Dr. Torre, you will see you are not in it. Your official position is ‘Adviser to the Military’. All you can do here is advise.”

“If you check my personal records, Admiral March, you will see that the president’s father gave me the power of Level Three Genetic Revocation, and I still maintain that power.”

Admiral March had never heard of Level Three Genetic Revocation. He didn’t want to give up the advantage by asking what it was, but it sounded too disturbing. “Is that a fancy way of saying you can have me executed?”

“No,” Dr. Torre said. “That would be Level Zero Genetic Revocation. Level Three means I can have you and the nearest three levels of your family executed simultaneously.”

The proxy, speaking in Dr. Torre’s voice, helpfully said, “This includes you, your parents, your grandparents, your great-grandparents. . .”

“So,” Dr. Torre said to the speechless Admiral, “I will give you advice. If you choose not to follow my advice, I advise you to find a particularly nice garbage disposal in which to hold your next family reunion.”

”. . .uncles, aunts, great-uncles, great-aunts. . .”

Admiral March picked up his talker and said hoarsely, “This is Admiral March. I want all marines near the space port mobilized immediately. Close off all entrances to the port.”

”. . .siblings, half-siblings, cousins. . .”

“And prepare the dreadnought, Liberty for action.” Dr. Torre added.

”. . .nephews, nieces, great-nephews, great-nieces. . .”

“Scramble the Liberty as soon as possible!” Admiral March roared into his talker.

”. . .children, grandchildren, great-grand. . .” the proxy said before stopping in the middle of its list and flying across the spaceport.

Dr. Torre pointed at the N-space receiver implanted just above his ear. “I’ve received an alert that someone raised shields on the Q-boat.” Dr. Torre said. “I am investigating.”

Dr. Torre stood motionless for a second, his mind off with the proxy. He blinked and said, “I have spotted the president’s fugitive wife.”

An alarm sounded across the spaceport. “And I’ve sounded the alarm.” Dr. Torre added. “There’s no use isolating the spaceport now. The Earthlings are already inside. Call your marines to the Q-boat. You should go yourself. It’s four hundred meters southwest. My proxy just flew there in case you need more advice.”

Admiral March ran off. Dr. Torre sighed and walked slowly after him. His assistants and bodyguards finally filed out of the shuttle after him. He came upon Ensign Fayer.

“Good to meet you in person.” Dr. Torre said.

Ensign Fayer saluted. “And you, sir. Things seem pretty crazy.”

“Yes, they are.” the doctor’s eyes went out of focus for a second before he added. “Someone’s just shot the president’s wife.”

Fayer turned pale. “Have you ever seen so much chaos, sir?”

“Not since the Bay of Arborea campaign with Admiral Figlitz”

Fayer coughed up an unexpected giggle. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just ‘Figlitz’. It’s an unusual name.”

Dr. Torre nodded. “Especially now.”

23

The Champion took a slow step. Susan watched him.

Outside, soldiers were moving, preparing to attack the Q-boat. Outside, Kenda hadn’t made a sound since she’d been shot. The Champion had expected the time pressure to put Susan on the offensive.

Instead, Susan was waiting. The Champion moved closer, trying to keep Susan cornered. Susan took a step to the right.

The Champion lunged forward with his pain flare. Susan ducked under his strike and jabbed at him. The Champion’s arm changed direction in mid-strike and caught Susan’s hand with the pain flare.

Susan had seen the pain flare strike before, and she knew that it did no permanent damage. For a second, she couldn’t help thinking her hand was maimed. The soft skin under her fingernails felt like it was touching burning iron. The small bones by her wrist wailed as if they were being torn apart. As she tugged her hand back, she expected to be left with nothing but a ragged mass of meat.

To J, it seemed as if the world had changed in an instant. He went from looking at a big metal hand that gripped his head to looking at a floor with nothing in between. A voice in his head explained that his brain had received an electric shock, and he’d been deactivated during a short internal diagnosis.

Then J heard Susan scream. J had known Susan for fourteen years. He’d made a study of insulting and confusing her. This was the first time in years he’d heard her actually express pain. He was surprised to find himself furious.

The pain flare was bad. Susan had once sparred with two people after breaking a bone in her foot, but she’d never felt the kind of agony that shot through her hand for a second. She fought a wave of panic in her head, choked bile back in her throat, and twisted her hand to keep it from cramping. She was no longer holding ground but backing faster and faster as the Champion moved forward.

But the scary thing was how fast the Champion was. Susan had thrown her punch right. The fist was fast, and her shoulder was still until the very end. He didn’t see the punch coming, but when it came, he was fast enough to catch her with the pain flare faster than she could get out of his way. Susan could believe he’d never lost a fight.

So he’s fast. Susan thought. He’s still untrained.

Susan relaxed and clenched the fingers of her right hand, positioning them for a punch. Nothing up my sleeve.

The Champion fought the impulse to laugh. This woman had humiliated Mongo’s army and president and so she’d taken honor. Now, she was like a cow fattened on glory, and when he shamed her, the Champion would own that honor.

And she was desperate. She curled up her right fist like a scared amateur accidentally signaling a punch. The Champion’s eyes darted to her left hand. She was keeping the left arm back, but the left hand was curled in a fist, knuckles down. It was the fastest position to strike. The Champion barely needed a glance to see which punch would be a feint and which would punch.

The moment came. Susan’s right hand came up. The Champion ignored it. As he expected, Susan pulled her right arm back and threw the left punch. The Champion was ready, and he lunged at her left hand with his pain flare.

But Susan had barely thrown her left punch before she pulled it back, too. Both punches were feints. She’s too frightened to actually strike. the Champion thought. He was looking at Susan’s eyes, trying to see her desperation when he felt the impact on his wrist.

He had to look down to see what happened. Susan had lifted her foot up to chest level like a baby or a monkey, and she swung her foot into his hand. It was a strange, awkward kick. The Champion’s wrist wasn’t even bruised, but the impact made his fingers open. The pain flare spun as it flew out of his grip.

Time was slow as honey when the Champion fought. He saw the pain flare fly from his right hand, and he reached out with his left to grab it. He was so fast, and the little silver weapon seemed to hang in the air. He reached. He thought, as he reached, of how long it had been since he’d looked at Susan’s hands. It might be as much as half a second.

When his vision was eclipsed by the heel of Susan’s palm, the Champion realized it had been too long.

Susan watched as the Champion reeled from the palm strike. His right eye opened as a reddened sliver. Susan backed up and gave him room. The Champion would have trouble judging distances, and the swelling on his eye would get steadily worse.

But then he took a step away from Susan. He pointed at her and said, “Funan, get her.”

The order caused the big dragon-headed giant to look at the Champion and back to Susan with comically human bewilderment. Susan had forgotten about man in the dragon armor. He was still holding Lewis off the ground at the end of one elongated arm. Lewis was squirming awkwardly in the metal grip, trying to reach his pocket with his free hand.

“Kill her, Funan! I’ll deal with the other two.”

Funan let go of Lewis, who dropped onto his back. The giant metal body walked surprisingly fast for its size and mass.

Susan felt a moment of elation. No matter how calm the Champion looked, he must be scared out of his wits to leave this fight to someone else. Also, Lewis was free now.

Then Susan realized that she was feeling happy that a person with a giant robotic suit of armor was coming to crush her. She went from private celebration to the more reasonable business of running for her life.

Lewis could barely feel his hand. The grip of the metal claws hadn’t injured anything, but it’d cut off circulation to Lewis’ hand. His fingers were a clumsy mass of pins and needles. Now that he wasn’t dangling by his arm, it was easy to get into the pocket of his jumpsuit. Lewis reached into the pocket and felt for the pistol. Awkwardly, he pulled it out.

Lewis looked up to see the Champion standing over him and reaching out with the pain flare.

Lewis had been struck before, and it had been the most horrible, frightening thing that had ever happened to him. That time, it was his arm. This time, it was his face.

Every tooth felt as though steel were bursting through them from inside. He felt like knives were plunging through his ears and into his skull. The waves of pain ate away every trace of dignity and composure. In those moments, he didn’t care about kindness or duty or even survival. He cared about nothing but an end to pain, but he couldn’t form the thoughts to find a way to stop it.

But some instinct in Lewis’ mind still worked. In a moment, the pain went away. When he could open his eyes, Lewis noticed a scorched, bloody wound in the Champion’s left arm. Lewis could also feel that the pistol he held had just fired.

The Champion had to drop the pain flare to pry the gun out of Lewis’ hand. Lewis tried to fight, but all he could think about was that the pain was gone.

The Q-boat suddenly lurched. Corporal Funan in the dragon suit stopped chasing Susan and grabbed a wall to stay upright. Susan went to a lower stance and kept backing away.

“I’m taking us up.” J announced.

“Get Kenda!” Susan said.

A moment before, J had heard the radio reports. Soldiers had pulled Kenda away from the Q-boat. They had reported that she had a punctured lung and internal bleeding. They’d been told not to treat her in any way.

“Kenda’s dead.” J said.

Susan bared her teeth as she looked back at Corporal Funan. Even encased in durable alloys, he felt frightened.

“Stop this thing.” Susan said, pointing at Corporal Funan.

“There’s a system for controlling the dragon suits remotely,” J said. “but it’ll take me a few minutes to understand that.”

The Champion stood and pointed Lewis’ gun at J. “It looks like I win.”

24

“It’s hard to tell with how gently this craft accelerates,” J said, “but we’re about sixty meters up and rising. Go ahead and shoot me. Gloat for the two seconds you outlive me.”

The Champion kept the pistol pointed directly at J’s head. “Are you telling me you don’t care if you die?”

“Sure I care, but it’s not a care that’s particularly soothed by landing this Q-boat back in an angry pack of armed soldiers.”

J had seen enough bad movies to know what would happen next. The Champion would point the pistol at Lewis or Susan, thinking that maybe J would reconsider if his friends were going to be shot right before his eyes.

J wasn’t going to reconsider. To J, a friend was just an enemy who’d forgotten the specifics of their last conversation. That didn’t mean J wanted a hostage situation to rub his nose in what a selfish prick he was.

So J charged at the Champion immediately.

The Champion didn’t expect J to attack, but he reacted fast enough to catch J with a powerful kick to the stomach. J slowed down and gasped for air, but seemed unhurt. He grabbed the Champion’s pistol hand with both hands.

“I sneer at pain.” J said.

The Champion suddenly realized. “You’ve turned off your sense of touch.”

“I sneer at pain from a safe distance.” J amended.

Corporal Funan wasn’t used to having this kind of trouble. It was awkward and uncomfortable to walk in the dragon suit, but the armor made him incredibly strong, surprisingly fast and invulnerable. Usually, if you attacked an unarmed person on open ground, it was a forgone conclusion.

But he couldn’t land a punch on this woman who dodged and danced out of his way. The extended metal arms did more harm than good. Time and again, Susan jumped inside a punch or grab, stepping out of the way when Funan tried to follow her.

At least she couldn’t hurt him, either. She’d tried to punch one of the cameras Funan used to see through the dragon-faced helmet, with all the force she could summon. The blow made a terrible gong in the helmet, but all she managed to do was bruise her hand.

Susan had made a mistake at last. She’d retreated into a short corridor that led to the exit. Funan spread his arms, covering the way in. If Susan wanted to get away, she had to run straight into him or jump out out of the Q-boat.

Funan didn’t want to reach forward and give Susan an opening, so he kept his arms spread wide and walked slowly forward.

On the last step, Susan ducked and grabbed Funan’s leg. He felt a flash of panic followed by relief. If Susan was trying to tackle him, she was as good as lost. The dragon suit was a quarter ton of metal, with wide, heavily-weighted feet. It was almost impossible for someone to tip a dragon suit over.

Almost. While Funan was in mid-step, Susan wrapped her arms around Funan’s advancing knee and lifted. It was like trying a judo throw on a small car. Muscles in Susan’s legs and back screamed in the effort and then started to spasm in warning. Funan tried to swing the leg forward to kick Susan away, but he was off balance, and the leg’s movement only helped topple him.

If this wasn’t the first time Funan had ever been tipped over, he might have been able to stop himself from falling. He tumbled forward over and past Susan. He looked up to see he was falling out of the Q-boat. As he spun in the air, he was grateful for the first time that he was required to wear diapers to operate the dragon suit.

Susan lay on the floor, exhausted. Her back was still spasming and there was a giant bruise forming on her shoulder where she’d taken a lot of the metal weight for a second. She was breathing, trying to decide when she could get up without hurting herself.

Lewis lay a short distance away, still curled in a ball. His fingers felt his face, making sure that nothing was hurt. He’d felt so much pain a moment ago, but the skin was untouched. Still, Lewis couldn’t bring himself to stand up. Damn you, Lewis. J still needs your help. Get up. Get up now.

J kept wrestling. The Champion was wrenching his arm from between J’s hands. J tried to kick the gladiator. The giant flux boot on his foot would make it a vicious kick if it connected, but it slowed J down. The Champion twisted his arm free, dropped the gun, and grabbed J’s foot, lifting it until J fell backward onto his skull with a muffled gonging noise.

“Maybe you don’t feel pain, or anything, right now.” the Champion said as he twisted J’s foot. He pinned J in place with a foot. The knee started to bend in an unintended angle. “But don’t tell me injury doesn’t scare you. What will you say when you feel the tendon’s in your knee snap?”

“Down.” J said.

The Champion felt a moment of confusion, then intense pain. The flux boot he was holding was designed to anchor itself to any surface. Now it was anchoring itself to his hand.

In an act of private bravado, the Champion had once used a pain flare on his own hand. It was unparalleled masochism, since the device was created to stimulate the most agony nerves could express. It felt like steel worms flowing between your bones and through your veins.

Even that had not been nearly as terrible as the reality of steel worms flowing through his hand. The Champion felt cold as he tried to pull his arm away from the expanding flow of metal.

“Up.” J said. The metal pulled out of the Champion’s hand, rearranging the the flesh back in place, though not as it was. When J used flux boots on ground, he once noticed slight changes of patterns in the floor after he released himself. On familiar skin, so complex and subtle, those slight structural changes were nauseating to see.

For the first time in years, the Champion felt shocked, unable to move. Then he felt the press of a gun to his back. Lewis stood behind him, holding the pistol once more.

“Lower this craft.” Lewis told J. “I want to throw him out.”

“Lower it?” J said. “We’re hovering maybe five meters off the ground.”

“You lied to me! You said we’d taken off.” the Champion accused J.

“Thanks for reminding me.” J said. He then pointed at the Champion and made a taunting noise that could only be transcribed as “Aaaaaah” but was less coherent, more nasal and far more smug.

“My common sense tells me to shoot you.” Lewis told the Champion. “If you don’t walk in front of me, I’ll take its advice.”

Lewis guided the Champion to the hallway past Susan. Lewis shoved him out before he had a chance for a last word.

As Lewis looked outside, he noticed a small metal globe hovering a short distance from the Q-boat. There were small markings around it, including a circle that, from the way it pointed, seemed to serve as an eye.

“If you’re curious, this robot is called a ‘proxy’.” the globe announced. “It is a machine that speaks on behalf of Dr. Torre, adviser to the military. On behalf of me and the president of Mongo, I tell you now to land and surrender your vessel or we are prepared to kill all of you right now.”

25

“Watch this.” J said. Suddenly, the walls, celing and floor of the Q-boat seemed to become transparent. Lewis and Susan could see the spaceport in all directions. Soldiers swarmed below. Several large guns had been set up and aimed at the Q-boat.

“Can they see in?” Lewis asked.

“No.” J said. “The Q-boat can create solid fields around it. They can emit or block light. They can create temporarily solid illusions.”

“How does it work?” Lewis asked.

“It’s particles energized to unified levels and bound within a topological matrix.”

“It’s amazing what science can create.”

“It’s amazing what bullshit I can improvise.”

“This is your last warning.” the hovering robot outside the Q-boat’s door announced. “Surrender or we will blow this craft to pieces.”

“Are you sure your idea for getting out is going to work?” Lewis asked.

“Trust him.” Susan said.

Lewis did a double take as he looked over at Susan. “You’re telling me to trust J?”

“It’s his gift.” Susan said.

“What’s that?”

“Fleeing angry mobs.”

“I need a moment to figure out how to do what I need to do.” J said. “Lewis, why don’t you talk to them?”

“Why me?”

“You’ve got this honest voice. People believe you. I’ve got a voice that wavers or something. People never think I’m telling the truth.”

“What should I say?” Lewis asked.

“Lie to them. Duh”

Dr. Torre glanced up at the Q-boat. “When I give the order, Admiral, open fire.”

Dr. Torre looked at the Champion as he struggled to rise. The gladiator’s arms were both badly injured, but he got to his feet.

“You’re hurt.” Dr. Torre observed.

“I’ve had worse.” the Champion said. “These can be fixed. Just give me a chance, and I’ll kill these Earthlings for you.”

“I may not need that. In a moment, I’m going to give the order to blow them out of the sky. It’d be a little better if we had them in custody, but it seems like they’re dead regardless.”

“You can use me. I’m a killer.”

“You’re a leader. You’re a symbol.” Dr. Torre said. “That’s the more useful to me right now. I’ll have the medics give you painkillers for you injuries, but stay with me for the time being.”

“Soldiers of Mongo, this is Lewis Bold.” boomed a voice from the Q-boat above. “I will leave this ship and surrender if you allow my friends to leave.”

“I didn’t know the ship could send voices like that.” the Champion said.

“Very few people can operate the Q-boat,” Dr. Torre said. “but it is an astonishingly versatile craft.”

“That’s good.” the Q-boat blared again, this time in a different man’s voice. “I think they bought it. I don’t think they’ll agree to it, but it’ll confuse them and buy us time.”

The Q-boat immediately started talking again, this time with Lewis Bold’s voice. “I mean it, J. If they’ll accept my surrender and let you go, I’ll do it.”

“We’re live.” a woman’s voice now spoke up.

“Sure we’re alive. No thanks to Mr. Sunshine here.”

“They hear us.” the woman’s voice insisted. “Look at them.”

There were a few seconds of complete silence as the swarms of soldiers watched the Q-boat pause in the argument it seemed to be having with itself.

“My bad.” J’s voice said at last. “I’ll shut it…”

“Open fire.” Dr. Torre said. His small robotic proxy was already flying away from the Q-boat and back tot he doctor’s side.

Some nearby marines heard Dr. Torre first and started shooting with their small arms, which glanced off the shields around the Q-boat. Then the larger self-propelled cannons started firing, and the craft started to rock from the impacts.”

Faster than anyone thought possible, the Q-boat shot upward.

“Engage the anti-aircraft guns.” Dr. Torre said.

The immense, automated guns fired at the shrinkng shape of the Q-boat. After the first hit, the craft began to fall. A second, third and fourth hit turned its shape into a stream of confetti that rained down a short ways from the space port.

“The Q-boat is destroyed.” the Admiral said.

“I want people monitoring every radio channel.” Dr. Torre said. “If no one hears a report of debris hitting the ground in the next minute, I want the city on full alert.”

“Finally!” exclaimed President Gordon, who’d just entered the spaceport with his guards, his daughters and his advisors.

“How horrid!” his daughter, Aura, screamed, grabbing Captain Vallin next to her and sobbing.

“Good work.” Dr. Zachgo said, oblivious to Aura’s exclamation.

“Oh well.” said King Thun, who’d not quite reached the spaceport when he saw the explosion.

“No.” mouthed Kenda, who was lyng on the ground, mortally injured, as she saw the explosion.

In the sky, something moved. It took all electromagnetic energy that hit it and regurgitated it out the other side, so that to the eye or radar, t seemed not to exist. It moved at a moderate speed, so as not to create a noticable wind.

“Okay, J.” a voice within the invisible bubble said. “I’m impressed. Do you have any other talents I should know about?”

“Creating angry mobs.”

“Hey! He didn’t ask you. You’d better shut up. I can turn this Q-boat right around.”

26

All around Dr. Torre, soldiers were cheering, but he was blind and deaf to them. The miraculous computer in his skull was capable of receiving thousands of signals at once, but the decisions inside were still made by a model of a human brain. That brain could only understand one pair of eyes and one set of ears.

Right now, Dr. Torre was seeing through the echoes of sonar drones. He saw a set of black shapes around him.

“Hide all objects that touch the ground.” Dr. Torre said. In reality, he wasn’t actually making sounds. Right now, everything he saw or did was a metaphor for signals he was exchanging with the Mongovian defense computer.

Most of the black shapes represented buildings, and they disappeared. Dr. Torre looked around to see flying objects in all directions.

“Hide all objects that also appear on a radar map.”

Everything disappeared except a few small odd shapes. One was an ovoid moving away from him.

Dr. Torre returned his attention to his body. Once again, he saw the spaceport and soldiers everywhere. To his chagrin, he realized his mouth had been hanging open.

“Admiral!” Dr. Torre yelled.

“Yes?” Admiral March asked, just a short distance away.

“Have you received any reports of debris from the Q-boat striking the ground?”

“No.” the Admiral said. “It’s possible no one noticed, or the pieces are too small.”

Dr. Torre shook his head. “We’ve been tricked. The Q-boat wasn’t destroyed. Ready the strike scouts. Launch the Liberty. Raise the city shields.”

“The city shields?” Admiral March asked. “The Liberty?”

Dr. Torre said nothing.

March lifted his talker. “Raise the shields immediately! I want the Liberty in the air right now.”

“The Q-boat is invisible,” Dr. Torre said, “but I’ve set the defense computers to keep transmitting its location.”

“Uh oh.” J said.

“Why ‘uh oh’?” Lewis asked.

“They’ve raised shields surrounding Mingo City.” J said. “We can’t get out while they’re up. I don’t know that part of the system. It could take me a while to deactivate them. Hopefully, they’re being careful and don’t know where we are.”

“What’s that?” Susan asked, pointing behind them.

The Q-boat had left the spaceport far behind. Still, the rising shape was large enough to be clearly visible.

“That’s Mongo’s flagship, the Liberty.” J said. “And it’s pointed right at us. We’ve entered an area I like to call ‘probably fucked’.”

“Can we bash through the city shields?” Lewis asked.

“No.” J said. “But maybe they don’t know that for sure.”

On the Liberty’s monitors, the Q-boat seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“So they show themselves.” Captain Soll said from the control chair.

Unlike the Q-boat, the Liberty gathered speed slowly. The small craft shrunk on the monitor as it sped away.

“Run.” Soll said to the retreating ship. “You can’t go far.”

Then he blinked. The Q-boat had passed through the city shields as though they weren’t there. He looked again. He checked reports from radar outside the city, and they showed the Q-boat moving outside the shields.

Soll gestured for the communications console to connect him to city defense. “Drop the city shields.” Soll ordered. “The Q-boat has escaped.”

Dr. Torre’s face appeared on the Liberty’s screens.

“Ignore the ship you see.” Dr. Torre ordered. “It’s an illusion. Prepare to attack at the location indicated by sonar. Do not, under any circumstances, order city shields to drop.”

“I already did.” Soll said. “The ship went through.”

Dr. Torre grimaced. “I told you. That ship is an illusion. They had no way to get through he shields.”

“I thought they’d found a weakness.”

“They had.” Dr. Torre said. “You.”

I’ve been away too long. Dr. Torre thought. The army has become careless and disorderly.

“Have they escaped?” President Gordon asked.

Dr. Torre had earned his reputation before Francis Gordon VI became president. He knew he made the president nervous. He turned and answered respectfully.

“No, Mr. President. The Liberty is in pursuit, and strike scouts are launching now. When the Liberty has accelerated to overtake the Q-boat’s speed, it will pound them to bits.”

“Where are they headed?”

“They are moving toward Arboria, it seems. If they land there, we can use the Liberty’s bombardment cannons with no collateral damage, except, if we’re lucky, some Arborians.”

“Are you sure Arboria is their destination?” the president asked.

“I don’t see another destination.” Dr. Torre said. Then he paused. His internal computer summoned a map with the Q-boat’s location. He called for all nearby objects that Mongo’s military sensors tracked.

The map disappeared, and Dr. Torre was looking at the president again.

“Mr. President, they appear to be headed for Tiamat.”

“This is bad.” Susan said. The city was behind them, and a forest was approaching to the left. The Liberty had been shrinking in the distance, but it was clear the giant craft was steadily accelerating. A series of small dots behind them were growing into dart-shaped aircraft, following rapidly.

J had been standing still, mentally communicating with the Q-boat. He looked back now.

“The good news is that we should get where we’re going before they overtake us. The bad news is that we’re coming to the crazy part of my plan.”

“What is it?” Susan asked.

“I figured the best way to get away from a large, unimaginably powerful army out to kill us is for them to assume we’re dead.”

“It sounds good so far.” Lewis said. “What’s the problem?”

J looked down. Beneath his feet, the floor was transparent, showing trees passing underneath. “It’s going to be a pretty good assumption. We’re headed for the Bay of Arborea.”

“What’s your point?” Susan asked.

J went on almost as if he hadn’t heard. “The funny thing about the Bay of Arborea is that it’s a very rich ecosystem with only one predator.”

“It seems odd that there’d be only one species.” Lewis said.

“Not one species.” J said. “One organism.”

“How could one creature be a niche in an ecosystem?” Lewis asked.

“It’s big.”

“How big?” Susan asked.

“Big.”

“Big like a blue whale?” Lewis asked.

“Big.”

Lewis walked to the front of the Q-boat and looked where the craft was going. “Is the bay out past where this river forks?”

“The Arborian river doesn’t fork.” J said. “That is the bay.”

“It forks right there,” Lewis said. “around that mountain.”

“That’s not a mountain.” J said.

“Maybe it’s just a hill.” Lewis said.

“Maybe it’s not.”

“You’re not saying. . .” Susan began.

“I’m not saying much.” J said. “I’m being vague. It’s a coping mechanism.”

As the Q-boat came closer, they could start to see that the things they’d taken for trees on a hillside did not look much like trees, even from kilometers distant. With his new eyesight, Lewis also noticed that they were not swaying in the same direction, as they would if they were moving with the wind. The three fugitives watched the mound as the sun started to set behind it.

“It can’t be.” Susan said. “That thing is. . .”

“Big?” J asked.

27

She was a goddess in flesh. The Bay of Arboria was her throne. She had shaped every part of it from the fish that swam through its waters to the coastline that bordered it.

Over a hundred species followed her migratory patterns. Seven species lived part of their lives inside her body. She controlled their life cycles by releasing pheromones into the water. Creatures mated, spawned and swam purposefully into her throats when the time came.

She was the only one of her kind. She had neither ability nor urge to reproduce. Her creation was earlier than any recorded history. Her body had never been designed to die to make way for another generation.

Most of her motives defied human understanding. If she and her environment were left untouched, she seemed largely unconcerned with the movement of humanity. However, she killed without hesitation when she perceived a threat.

On the part of her that emerged from the water, small stalks looked purposefully at the approaching war craft.

“This is bad.” Susan said.

The large mound that was the top part of Tiamat grew with disturbing slowness as the forest passed in a green blur underneath.

The Liberty was now moving faster than the Q-boat, growing large enough that they could distinguish the separate sections. The dreadnought plowed through the air so fiercely that they could see an ovoid of tortured air around its shields.

The strike scouts were even closer, little darts spread like a net behind them.

“I can’t believe a ship that size couldn’t shoot us from there.” Lewis said as he looked at the Liberty.

“They can.” J said. “I don’t think they can see us now. They’re tracking us by sonar. Since we passed the last listening station, we’re invisible when we go faster than sound.”

“Why didn’t we just go straight up when we escaped?” Lewis asked. “If they can only track us with sonar, then we’d be invisible to them when we left the atmosphere.”

“Oh yeah.” J said. “Now you’re full of fucking ideas.”

She was a city clothed in flesh. Though she was one body, no single heart, mind or even consciousness would be sufficient for something so large that wanted so badly to continue. Hundreds of autonomous minds lived within her. They were born of donated ideas. They died in decisions and epiphanies. They spoke thought to thought, and their names were emotions.

Nervous Curiosity was one of the self-aware parts of Tiamat’s brain that interpreted senses. In quiet moments, she invented constellations and described patterns of clouds. By nature, she had an astonishing recall for the shapes, sounds and smell of things. She spied the warships.

Curiosity was an infant consciousness by the standards of Tiamat, but her parents had seen battles with these ships, so she recalled them vividly. She could feel the invisible Q-boat, the giant dreadnought and the tiny strike scouts come.

Curiosity sent signals like urgent telegraphs. In a few seconds, she’d sent dozens, each elaborating on the news she’d heard before.

“I’ve awaken, sweet cousin” Anger Tempered with Satisfaction soothed the youth. “Your messages are alert and helpful. Do not fear. I am ready.”

Curiosity had the tiniest of seizures, a little twitch. Anger was a magnificent strategist. The different consciousnesses within Tiamat combined to form offspring and dissolved. Anger was brilliant and her talents crucial so she remained while others recycled.

But, to avoid her falling into boredom or madness, Anger was inclined to sleep when she was not needed, and for decades, she had done nothing but dream of danger and solutions. Curiosity was one of one of many who listened avidly to those dreams.

“What will we do?”

Anger felt like cheerful confidence as she said, “We’ll start by introducing Our self.”

A long tunnel opened in Tiamat’s side. It opened through the leverage of many interlocking bones and the force of many tons of muscle, pushing the roof of the long throat.

Then, in quick succession, the muscles relaxed. A small fraction of Tiamat’s weight collapsed on the tunnel, sending a column of air flying out faster than a hurricane wind.

A strip of flesh hung at the opening of the tunnel. It whistled in the blast of air, making a very high pitched, very loud song. It was lovely. It was terrifying. It was the kind of song the god of mockingbirds would sing to a worm.

In the forest near the coastline, countless creatures ran from the shore. Some fled because Tiamat had spent many generations breeding the reflex into them. Some ran because it was so clearly the intelligent thing to do.

“We’re approaching Tiamat. We’re picking up some kind of noise.” Captain Soll said from the bridge of the Liberty.

“That’s a warning trill.” Dr. Torre’s voice said. “Keep a two kilometer distance.”

The sensor officer’s face replaced Dr. Torre’s. “Captain Soll,” he said. “The Q-boat has appeared. It’s only 900 meters from Tiamat.”

“Open fire!” Captain Soll yelled.

“No!” Dr. Torre said, though he still didn’t show up on Captain Soll’s screen. “You can’t use your weapons that close! There’s too much risk of damaging Tiamat.”

“First, you are not military personnel and have no authority to give orders to me. Second, those are fugitives and traitors to Mongo. I will not have them escape to avoid frightening a piece of wildlife.”

With that, Captain Soll closed the connection.

Along the surface of Tiamat, sense tendrils twitched in recognition.

“Energy is coming from the large ship. It’s about to fire.” Curiosity said.

Anger sent out waves of peace and confidence. “From what I’ve overheard, they’re not attacking us. We’ll defend Ourself from secondary impact.”

As more mouths in front of Tiamat breathed strange vapors out, hundreds of voices chattered inside her about the attack. “What will we do?” Was the question most asked.

“We will raise the great arm.” Anger announced. If she had hands, she would have spread them with an announcement. As it was, she sent feelings of excitement and spectacle along the nervous pathways.

“It’s too expensive!” one of the consciousnesses protested. “There are other ways.”

“Dozens,” Anger said. “But if We use some simple, sensible way, We’ll look like a civilization defending itself. Xenopsychologists within Us say these humans have a long history of trying to destroy civilizations defending themselves. If We act instead like a giant predator that eats anything in arm’s reach – and face it, folks, We look the part – the humans will renew their terror of Us, and I can get some decent rest.

“Besides, don’t you want to see it?”

Mischief and humor surrounded Anger’s thoughts. Other parts of Tiamat’s mind reflected that the dangerous thing about Anger Tempered with Satisfaction wasn’t that she enjoyed conflict or even that she sought it. She made it seem like fun.

Curiosity spoke up hesitantly. “The Q-boat seems to be fleeing the others. Do We attack it?”

“Yes.” Anger said. “If We are endangered, We kill every combat vessel within easy reach. The tiny craft may not have meant Us harm, but it drew a battle to Us. We cannot make that seem like a profitable pastime.”

After a brief pause, Anger added. “Don’t waste too much energy making sure they’re dead. I’ve got a soft spot for daring prey.”

She was an army in herself. She could be the most dangerous thing that humans had ever seen.

And today, Anger was her guide.

28

In the control room at the spaceport, everyone watched the holograms showing the scene miles away.

“Tiamat’s moving.” Dr. Torre said, handing a talker to Admiral March. “Get Captain Soll to retreat. Do it very quickly.”

Dr. Zachgo shook his head in bewilderment. “I don’t understand. Tiamat is a very big animal, but it’s just an animal. Surely it’s not a threat to a dreadnought.”

“There’s a lot about Tiamat we don’t talk about.” Dr. Torre said. “She can choose what organs she creates, so she can generate technology after a fashion. A few decades ago, we decided she was a security threat. We sent the bulk of the navy after her. Fourteen people survived the attack. No spacecraft made it out. For morale reasons, this information is kept secret outside the first family.”

“How do you know?”

For a moment, Dr. Zachgo thought he saw something human in Dr. Torre’s face. “I was there.”

“I don’t think Dr. Zachgo should know about Tiamat.” President Gordon said.

Dr. Torre nodded a quick apology. Dr. Zachgo opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Dr. Zachgo,” the president said, “I want you to forget the conversation you’ve just had.”

Dr. Zachgo closed his eyes and stood still as his mind reset his memories.

“I’m getting patched through the communications officer.” Admiral March said. “Tiamat’s moving, and they’re still approaching.”

“So?” Dr. Zachgo asked. “Surely Tiamat isn’t a threat to a dreadnought.”

President Gordon growled in frustration.

On the top of Tiamat, mouths opened and spat. Some blew barbs or acids. The few strike scouts that had strayed too close to the enormous creature collapsed as Tiamat blew missiles at them with perfect accuracy.

Below the water, Tiamat shifted and drove a shovel-shaped piece of bone into the ocean floor. She drove hard bone in with all her weight. At the shovel’s tip, tendrils ate the bedrock.

The base of the great arm was anchored.

“Down!” J said. His boots melded with the floor beneath him.

The walls of the Q-boat, which had seemed transparent, were suddenly opaque. No matter how fast the craft had flown, it had barely felt like it moved from the inside. Now, the floor tilted wildly. Faced with the possibility of flying into a wall and getting a concussion, Susan grabbed onto J. Lewis was too far away. He fell to a wall and dropped to the floor.

“We’ve been hit.” J said. “Most of our systems are down, and we’re about to. . .”

The floor tilted the other direction. Susan grabbed tighter, J fell over. His head hit the floor with a hollow gonging noise. Lewis slid across the floor on his back.

“We’ve hit the water.” J said. “Tiamat just moved, and that created a very high wave. We’ve got to abandon ship. Swim for shore.”

“What about Tiamat?” Susan asked.

“Swim for shore really fast.”

“Captain to crew:” Captain Soll’s voice said over the Liberty’s ship-wide speakers. “I’ve heard there’s some worry about Tiamat. Don’t worry. The Liberty’s engines are strong enough that we could drive straight through Tiamat, and our shields are strong enough we could do it a hundred times over without feeling a thing.”

The structural officer’s face appeared on Captain Soll’s communications screen. “Captain, Tiamat has spit some kind of substance at us. It’s on the shields now.”

“Let it sneeze.” Captain Soll said. “Nothing has ever punched through a dreadnought’s shields.”

“Admiral March is very insistent, almost panicked.” the communications officer’s voice piped up.

“Stall him for another minute.” Captain Soll said and switched the channel to the combat bridge “Are we ready to finish off the Q-boat?”

“Yes.” the weapon officer’s voice said. “Their ship is inactive. One more shot will ensure a kill.”

The structural officer’s face reappeared on the screen. “The substance on our shields is emitting static of some kind.”

“Don’t worry.” Captain Soll said, and closed the connection.

Suddenly, warning lights appeared all over the bridge. Alarms rang, warning of structural damage.

Again, the structural officer’s face appeared. “Captain, shields are down. The Liberty can’t face air resistance at this speed. We’re slowing down.”

“I’m not getting any more signals from the Liberty.” Admiral March said.

Dr. Torre wasn’t looking at anyone. “I shut down the relay. They’re lost. Further communication now will only erode morale.”

In the moment of silence that followed, a labored gasping sound came from the corner of the room. Everyone turned to look down. Kenda was lying on the floor, holding her chest where she’d been shot. Her eyes were out of focus, and her expression could be a smile or a grimace, but, somehow, everyone knew the horrible heaving her chest made was laughter.

President Gordon was furious. “I gave you a good life. You’ve paid me back with betrayal and humiliation. You’re dying, but I want to be the one to send you on your way. Captain, your gun.”

Captain Tanner was standing nearby, but didn’t realize he’d been ordered right away. He opened his mouth to protest.

“Your gun!” President Gordon yelled.

Captain Tanner pulled a pistol from its holster and handed it to the president. Francis Gordon pointed the pistol at Kenda’s head, took careful aim and pulled the trigger.

He pulled the trigger two more times.

“Captain Tanner, your gun is defective.” the president handed the gun to Dr. Torre and stalked off.

Laughing at him, Kenda Gordon died.

Lewis kept swimming as fast as he could. Swimming had never been his strong suit. He tried to ignore his exhaustion. Susan was just ahead of him, but he couldn’t see J.

The Q-boat had been torn to pieces, first by spines longer than his arm that shot through the walls, and then by tentacles that came from the water.

As he was considering turning back, Lewis heard J emerge from the water a few feet behind him.

“I was sinking.” J said miserably. “I had to drop the boots.”

“What’s that?” Susan asked.

Lewis was about to ask what she meant when he glanced over his shoulder to see the wall of Tiamat’s flesh move.

The great arm was many hundred tons and taller than the highest tree. The only thing even Tiamat had that could move that kind of weight against that kind of leverage was her body mass.

With one end of the great arm driven into the ground, she started to roll over the arm, pushing it up like a maypole. Her body was used to slow migrations that could barely be seen. Now she moved like a living earthquake. Giant masses of flesh undulated. As they moved, the countless, huge caterpillar feet groaned and composed sarcastic limericks.

Lewis saw what looked like a gigantic redwood falling in reverse. Hundreds of quivering limbs dotted the length of the great arm, and a giant crest of tentacles hung at the distant and.

“Feel inadequate, guys?” Susan asked.

For a moment, Lewis felt the rush of the air from the Liberty overhead. Tiamat had herded the ship perfectly to meet the arm. Lewis’s mind fled from the horrifying scale as he saw the arm reach for a craft larger than the largest flying thing built on Earth.

Then the first of the giant waves came.

Limbs probed the length of the Liberty. Expertly, they found vital junctions and disconnected different systems. The ship went quiet even as it glided in the gigantic embrace.

Then the arm gently guided the ship back down, to disappear into the depths of Tiamat. Strike scouts sped back to Mongo, guided by sheer panic.

Captain Tanner kept his eyes straight forward, even though he wasn’t looking at anything.

“So,” Dr. Torre summarized. “Lewis Bold took your pistol during a scuffle. You found his deactivated gun and kept it, hoping no one would notice the switch.”

Tanner didn’t really nod, but Dr. Torre took the assent.

“And this,” Dr. Torre said, pointing at the scorched wound in the Champion’s arm, “was probably the work of your pistol.”

“Probably so.” Captain Tanner said.

“We should put the good captain out of his misery.” the Champion said.

Dr. Torre raised his eyebrows. “Someone needs to be made an example, but not just yet. First, I should address the men.”

“Soldiers!” Dr. Torre said loudly. The soldiers had spread around the spaceport, and now they rushed back in formation, all eyes on Dr. Torre.

“I’d like to draw your attention to the Champion.”

The gladiator didn’t expect the sudden attention, but the adoration of the public was his life. He nodded graciously to the group.

Dr. Torre kept speaking to the soldiers. “He predicted how the Earthlings would flee, which is the mark of a fine hunter. He faced them himself, which is the mark of a hero.”

The soldiers cheered, and the Champion raised his chin.

“He told no one what he’d predicted,” Dr. Torre added, “which is the mark of a vain fool.”

The Champion’s reflexes were slowed by the painkillers he’d received. Otherwise, he might have reacted before Dr. Torre pointed the pistol at him. As it was, he barely moved before he was shot twice in the face.

“If any of you know anything important, you are to tell me or your commanding officer. I demote the incompetent and threaten the disobedient, but I kill the uninformative without hesitation. Do you all understand?”

Without waiting for a response, Dr. Torre turned back to Captain Tanner. He held his arm out with the pistol pointed straight up. Captain Tanner expected him to level the gun and fire again. Not knowing what to do, Captain Tanner saluted. The two stood there for seconds that were very, very long.

“Take the pistol, Captain. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’ve reactivated it.”

The surge of Tiamat’s body had created waves that leaped over the shore and into the forest beyond. Lewis reached out, grabbing branches that lashed his arms. He grabbed one, then another that broke. A third branch finally held. Lewis looked at thicker, jagged branches before him. He didn’t have time to sigh.

A second later, J flew toward him. Keeping hold of his branch, Lewis let the water swing his body like a kite. He caught J’s shirt, which tore nearly open. J grabbed Lewis with both arms, exhausted beyond capacity for words.

The waves were violent, but there were only a few. Tiamat settled back to the shore more slowly. Lewis saw the water thick with questing tentacles and worried about Susan.

When the water receded back into the sea, Lewis saw her grabbing the trunk of a tree and gasping for air. She kept her grip until she saw the water flow away. Then she let go and collapsed, exhausted into the sand.

Lewis had never felt so tired. His blue powerman’s uniform was in ribbons. J spat out water and breathed gratefully. Sodden and torn, a sock clung feebly to one of J’s feet.

Slowly, Lewis shifted his aching body down from branch to branch and dropped to the ground. He managed one last stretch before he lost consciousness.

“What a day!” he said and closed his eyes.

Part Two

29

The body was pale and emaciated. A gray blanket stretched from her feet to her shoulders. The face was sharply-defined. Her head was bald, and the metal apparatus that protruded from her skull marked her as a doctor of Mongo.

From the face, one might say she was a little over fifty. Her real age was hard to determine. She’d been born about eighty years before. Her electronically-stored consciousness spent much of its time in an accelerated state, so she’d experienced over two hundred years of thought. Since the revival involved reconstructing most of her body, most of her cells were less than an hour old.

“I’m excited.” Dr. Torre said as he looked down.

“I still object.” Dr. Zachgo said.

“Your objection is noted.” Dr. Torre said. “Our deepest security has been breached on a level nobody living understands. We found someone who was not exactly living.”

“Is she really that good?” Dr. Zachgo asked.

“Have you read her reports?” Dr. Torre replied.

Dr Zachgo frowned. “I have better things to do than to read the writing of a traitor.”

Dr. Torre shook his head. “For all you know, arithmetic was designed by a serial rapist or an accountant. Will that keep you from putting two and two together.”

A black square with words appeared in the air.

thirsty

heavy arms

everything tingles

bright

“Be careful what you say, Doctor.” Torre said as he nodded at the display. “She’s coming to.”

“‘Thirsty heavy arms’?” Dr. Zachgo read from the display.

“Even the verbal thoughts that cross your mind are not always coherent, especially just after you wake up.” Dr. Torre said. “Dr. Soma thinks with unusual verbal clarity. I’ve read my own proto-vocal transcripts. It’s a humbling experience.”

Steel walls, switches, clear glass tanks:  infirmary.

Presidential seal -- it's the presidential infirmary.

Rearranged. Wall was expanded.

The eyes were open just a crack. The original eyes hadn’t survived the freezing process, so these opened for the first time. A film still covered them. Dr. Soma’s body shook under the blanket.

“Does she know we’re here?” Dr. Zachgo whispered.

Dr. Torre pointed at the screen.

Two doctors here. They're not doctors I know.

I know all other doctors. I know all candidates to be
converted to doctors.

The presidential infirmary is expanded. Strangers are
doctors. Time has passed.

“Yes.” Dr. Torre nodded. “Time has passed. You were too dangerous to live, you were frozen in case we wanted to pick your brain.”

Doctors watching something outside my field of vision.

It's a panel displaying my proto vocalizations. He
answered my thoughts.

How long was I gone?

After Dr. Torre read the words on the screen, the last words rattled out of Dr. Soma’s throat: “How long was I gone?”

“We’re only telling you what you need to know.” Dr. Torre said.

The games begin.

What's the crisis?

“What crisis?” Dr. Zachgo asked.

“The crisis that required us to revive Dr. Soma.” Dr. Torre said. “Let’s not deny what she can infer.”

Dr. Torre turned to Dr. Soma. “Doctor, we have a newly-made doctor on the loose who has overridden his loyalty programming. We want to know how he did it and what he’s capable of.”

Why aren't they saying anything else?

It depends, of course, on who the rogue doctor is and
what kind of access was granted.

Who is the rogue doctor?

“Who is the rogue doctor?” Dr. Soma asked, barely louder than a whisper.

“It’s no one you know.” Dr. Zachgo said.

Dr. Soma made a series of gasps, which the doctors realized were her laughter.

I may have been frozen for a century. Who would I
know?

I need to research this doctor.

“We won’t reconnect you to the system.” Dr. Torre said. “We’ve seen what one rogue doctor can do. You’re here to advise, not to repeat your crimes.”

“I agree.” Dr. Zachgo said. “We can’t provide the information you request.”

Dr. Soma closed her eyes.

Let me know when you're ready to freeze me again.

“We’ll kill you if you don’t cooperate.” Dr. Zachgo yelled.

13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, 233, 377. . .610, 987. . .1597. . .2584. .
  .4181. . . 5-6-7-6. . .6765. . .

I've been dead.

If you want me to prefer survival, let me know more.

“She’s jamming us.” Dr. Torre said. “She got good at it when people became suspicious of her. All we can read is the part that comes near speech.”

Vi estas tre timigita.

6765, 6-14-9-10. . .10946, 11-11-17-7. . . 17711

“What’s that language?” Dr. Zachgo asked.

Dr. Torre shrugged. “I read about it. They checked records. They had an idea of what some words are by relation to other languages, but they never found a record of the language she’s using.”

Mi brulis nian sola votaro.

“She’s a doctor.” Dr. Zachgo said. “Her brain is electronic, and we have full access to it. We can manipulate her by changing sections. It’s been done before.

I invented that technique.

It didn't work when they tried it on me.

“Fine.” Dr. Torre said. “What do you want? We can’t give you access to the system. That’s too dangerous. You know that. If we can give you information you need in a safe way, we will.”

Paper. Write the rogue doctor's personnel history on paper.
Then give the paper to me.

“Paper.” Dr. Soma croaked. “Write . . .personnel history on paper. Give . . . to me.”

Unless you're afraid I'm planning elaborate origami
revenge scheme.

“We can arrange that.” Dr. Torre said. “We haven’t dealt with this before. We don’t know what a traitor with a neural connection to the central computer could accomplish.”

That depends. What kind of access did the rogue
doctor get?

Dr. Soma stared, waiting for Dr. Torre to answer from her pilfered thoughts.

Dr. Torre looked to his left and right before answering. “He has the president’s access code.”

Oh my god.

“We realize that’s bad.” Dr. Zachgo said.

You realize?

More than anything else, the central computer and its legacy
program maintain the Gordon dynasty on Mongo.

“The access code is changed.” Dr. Zachgo said. “I don’t know how the Earthling broke in. . .”

Earthling?

“The rogue doctor is an envoy we received from Earth.” Dr. Torre said. “He was converted against his will.”

We were 32 years from contact range from Earth.
That's how long I've been frozen.

Don't be alarmed. I'd find out sooner or later.

On Earth, in the present, are there computer systems? Are there
people trained to break into them?

Dr. Soma lay silent, staring at the other doctors.

“What an absurd question?” Dr. Zachgo said. “A computer system is too dangerous for such things. Naturally, they’d only have a small cadre with access to the computers, and those people would be killed for any. . .”

Dr. Torre interrupted. “I’ve looked over J Bosca’s correspondence before he came to Mongo. He described himself as a former cracker, phreaker or spider. These were terms indicating someone who broke through security systems for a hobby.”

“It’s an idea I’ve dismissed as a bald fabrication.” Dr. Zachgo said.

J Bosca -- Dr. Bosca he is now. Is he careful about what
he says?

“What do you mean?” Dr. Zachgo asked after reading the screen.

Dr. Torre hesitated. “He seems to be . . .pathological about what he says. He seems driven to find sore points in the people he talks to. He met with President Gordon, and the president was ready to execute him in less than five minutes.”

Does that sound like the kind of person that would invent an
occupation and think to  invent two synonyms for it to give
it credence?_

Dr. Torre shook his head without speaking.

Who is our central system security specialist?

Dr. Zachgo looked at Dr. Torre. Dr. Torre didn’t say anything for a long time.

“We have not filled that position since your removal.” Dr. Torre said. “The thinking apparently was that such a person could be too dangerous.”

Dr. Soma smiled enigmatically.

30

Susan had a pair of fresh claw scratches on her forearm. J’s elbow was still a little sore from falling out of the tree he’d climbed in frantic haste. Lewis had a series of scratches and welts from his quick dash through the underbrush, plus a couple minor burns from putting out the fire his alien pistol had started.

After what they’d been through days before, such wounds were barely noticeable.

“What do they call this thing?” Lewis asked J as he skinned the creature.

“He doesn’t know.” Susan said.

“It’s a Tigron.” J answered. “Like a tiger. I knew we might get stuck here, so I looked up the names of some of the major predators.”

“Some tiger.” Susan said. “It has horns.”

“And mandibles.” Lewis said. “I’ve got another question. That’s the third large predator we’ve met in a couple days that wasn’t frightened of people or even gunfire. There’s only a handful of carnivores like that on planet Earth. Why are there so many monstrous creatures here?”

“It was designed that way.” J said.

“By who?” Susan asked.

“The Empire of Mongo, who ran things before Flash Gordon took over, spent generations designing the most violent ecosystem possible.”

“Why on Earth, or Mongo, would they do that?”

“It was a training ground.” J said. “The best of the soldiers were sent here to learn how to cooperate and survive dangerous situations.”

“I heard something.” Susan said, though she didn’t get up.

“The army isn’t like that.” Lewis said, not hearing Susan, “They’re basically untrained. The Republic of Mongo’s philosophy is to have well armed, untrained troops. They’re quick to recruit and inexpensive to lose.”

“That is what the Mongovian army is like, now.”

“If I say right now that I’m in suspense, will you explain that?” Lewis asked.

J rolled his eyes. “A long time ago, the Empire of Mongo had a special elite corp that was trained in the worst part of the forest, which is a lot worse than this. Either they revolted against the Empire or someone just suspected they would. Whichever it was, there was a big fight, and the elite fled into the one place no one would follow.”

J pointed inland, where the forest grew thicker and darker.

“And that’s when they decided combat trained soldiers were dangerous.”

“Yeah,” J said. “Only the whole thing happened all over again. The Arborians, the descendants of this elite army, joined forces with Flash Gordon when he came to Mongo. They were vital in helping him get rid of Ming, the last of the Emperors.”

“So where are the Arborians?”

“Here’s the hilarious thing. Flash Gordon’s son decides that Arborians are dangerous. By this point, the Hawk Men and Lion Men had already had conflicts with Flash that ended with their countries being occupied and subjugated, with the help of the mighty Arborians. Now that there’s no other threat, the Republic of Mongo turned on the Arborians and drove them back to this training ground.”

“That’s tragic.” Lewis said.

“I think it’s fantastic. These people did everything but tie themselves up. They still live out here, playing banjos and eating possums. It’s possible we’ll run into them, though their history says their so damned gullible I imagine we’ll walk away with whatever neolithic tools they’ve managed to maintain.”

“J.” Susan said.

“Yeah?” J asked.

“We’re surrounded. You know that?”

“Yeah, I know. I’m fucking with them.”

From all directions, people moved into view. They all wore gray or mottled green clothing. They all carried weapons. Some had rifles with an irregular look that suggested they weren’t mass produced, but they looked effective. Others carried spears or knives. There were even one or two with longbows.

One of the Arborians slung his weapon behind his back and walked forward. His hair was jet black, and his eyes were a blue almost as dark as his pupils. His expression was impossible to read. His eyes switched from J to Susan to Lewis.

“So,” the Arborian asked at last, “what are banjos?”

Dr. Torre and Dr. Zachgo looked at the holographic display. The hovering image was Dr. Soma, who was in a room down the hall. Dr. Soma was looking over an array of papers.

Dr. Soma’s verbal thoughts hovered as words beside the hologram, showing mostly the words her eyes scanned over.

“I think it’s dangerous.” Dr. Zachgo said.

“Letting her read?” Dr. Torre answered.

“No, letting the president’s daughter see her.”

“How could I refuse? What danger could there be?”

Dr. Zachgo stopped, not because he didn’t have answers to the rhetorical questions, but because they weren’t safe questions to answer.

Dr. Torre could give orders to even the president’s daughter because people feared and needed him. Letting the daughter talk to Dr. Soma might be dangerous because Dr. Soma was a brilliant traitor and Aura Gordon was known to be impressionable and mentally unstable.

If Dr. Zachgo had said any of that, he might be put in a preservation tank and frozen for decades just as Dr. Soma had, only Dr. Zachgo wasn’t so distinguished a thinker, so he’d probably be executed instead.

In the hologram, the door slid open. One of Dr. Torre’s men announced Aura Gordon, daughter to the president, and then Aura herself walked in, holding a book.

Her face! I know those eyes and the jaw.

Dr. Soma’s thoughts appeared beside the hologram, though Dr. Soma herself showed no expression.

“I brought this for you.” Aura said as she offered the book she carried “Grandfather said you’d read this to him when he was young. I know you had the book while. . .”

”. . . I was awaiting execution.” Dr. Soma finished casually.

“Grandfather talked about you a lot.”

“Hans, you mean?”

Aura dropped her eyes. “Yes. I never knew my mother or her father.”

I did.

As he watched the scene, Dr. Zachgo started to speak, but Torre raised a hand to keep silence.

“I helped raise Hans.” Dr. Soma said. “I suppose he loved me.”

“But he had you put to sleep.” Aura blurted.

Dr. Soma’s eyes close briefly, acknowledging the statement. “Love can be a frightening thing, for any of us.”

Dr. Soma looked down at the book, The Collected Works of Rudyard Kipling. A few rooms away, a burst of numbers appeared next to Dr. Soma’s hologram:

144, 233, 377, 610, 987. . .

“She’s blocking us.” Dr. Zachgo said as he saw the numbers. “She knows something about the book she’s hiding from us.”

“I don’t think the book is dangerous.” Dr. Torre replied. “We went over it a dozen ways before we let Aura bring it in. Also, Dr. Soma had the exact same book in her cell when she was being judged. It didn’t do her any good then.”

“But she’s hiding something!”

“Speaking of which,” Dr. Torre said, “I’ve requested a tap on your own thoughts. I thought it might be helpful.”

Dr. Zachgo stood still, expressionless. His electronic mind was keeping his body still while synthetic synapses panicked and tried to get enough calm to ask why he was to be part of an inquisition.

“I lied.” Dr. Torre said before Zachgo spoke. “I was just making a point. I know you’re not a traitor, but you have thoughts you’d rather I didn’t read. Now be quiet. They’re still speaking.”

”. . . you were never broken.” Aura continued in the hologram.

“I can’t take credit for that.” Dr. Soma answered. “There’s not enough of me left to break. I’ve given my life and my very brain to serve the state. My thoughts have become something I tidy for guests. You snap a branch in two enough times, and you end up with something small and indestructible. Let me show you something.”

Dr. Soma leaned forward so her forehead almost touched Aura’s head. She picked up a pen, a rare device on Mongo, but something Soma had used to take notes. She made swift strokes.

In the observation room, Dr. Torre and Zachgo looked at the text. If Soma were writing words, they would pass through the vocal part of her mind, and the doctors would know before the pen had started to move. But the only thing they saw was:

Careful. Careful with the lines. Keep the proportions right. Careful with the lines. Keep it straight.

Dr. Torre got up and walked around the hologram, trying to find an angle where he could see the pen’s movements, but that part of the hologram was fuzzy. The sensors were not in the right position.

Words appeared from Soma’s thoughts:

Sensors above, left and behind. I think they forgot I’m a lefty.

“I did indeed.” Dr. Torre said to no one in particular.

Dr. Soma kept moving her pen again and again. Torre moved enough to see the page she was writing on. It was the blank side of one of the reports on J.

“We have to stop her.” Dr. Zachgo said.

Dr. Torre just held up a hand and watched.

“You want Aura to be implicated in a plot.”

“What a terrible thing to say.” Dr. Torre said absently.

Dr. Zachgo was not as clever as Dr. Torre, but he did notice that Dr. Torre had not exactly contradicted him.

In the hologram, the door opened. A metal sphere glided into the room. It opened in the middle and divided into two hemispheres connected by a short cylinder. Metal arms protruded from it. One grabbed Dr. Soma’s arm, and the other picked up the page.

Dr. Zachgo noticed that Dr. Torre’s eyes were no longer tracking. Torre’s mind was in the floating robot several rooms away.

Aura curled her hands up into fists and pounded them against the robot. She yelled, “Give that to me! I don’t understand what it is! Give it to me! I’m the president’s daughter! I order you to give me that!”

“What is it?” Dr. Zachgo asked.

An image appeared in the hologram. It was a white piece of paper, and there were a series of rectangles, one inside the other. Each one was perpendicular to the one it inscribed. The rectangles spiraled outward.

“I don’t understand.” Dr. Zachgo said.

“Nobody understands what this is.” the robot said to Dr. Soma with Dr. Torre’s voice. “Could you tell me the meaning of this?”

“A golden one.” Dr. Soma replied.

“Is this a hoax?” the robot asked.

“That drawing?” Dr. Soma asked.

“Give it to me!” Aura yelled as she kept beating her fists against the robot uselessly.

“Please go.” the robot said to Aura. It’s voice was soft, but there was something menacing about it. Fists still clenched, she took a nervous step back, then ran to the door, which opened and closed for her.

“Is this drawing important?” the robot demanded.

“To whom?” Dr. Soma said.

“To us.”

“I don’t think you care about the drawing or its ramifications. You can question Aura, but she won’t understand it either. If you want, I’ll explain it to you, but it’s abstract.”

As Dr. Soma spoke, the words appeared by the hologram. Dr. Soma knew many ways of blocking the vocal tap on her thoughts, but not even she could speak a lie without thinking the truth.

“I can see this will be a long night.” the robot said.

Aura stormed down the hallway, alone with her thoughts. They’ll torture her, asking her about the drawing. They won’t torture me. They know I can’t understand it. I’m the president’s daughter. I’m shallow and stupid.

Just the president’s inbred, suicidal, crazy daughter, unable to keep a thought in her head or hide a single thing. I’m all emotion and no plan.

That’s what they think I am. Aura said bitterly.

When she was far enough away that there were no monitors looking at her, Aura finally opened the fingers on her right hand. There was the map Dr. Soma drew on her palm before she started scribbling that nonsense on the paper.

They can just go on thinking that. she thought as she closed her hand again.

31

“You should let me do the talking.” Lewis said as he looked at the well-armed group before him.

“Fine.” Susan said.

“Why?” J asked.

“Because,” Lewis said, “I think I have a more restrained style of social interaction.”

“Are you saying I’m an idiot who can’t talk to people without sending them into a killing frenzy?” J demanded.

“I’m not saying that.” Lewis protested.

“But he should.” Susan added.

“Fellows,” said the Arborian with the dark eyes. “We’re pressed for time, and we normally kill people wearing Republic of Mongo uniforms, even dirty ones.”

Lewis looked down at his blue jumpsuit. “I acquired this escaping from the Republic. If you’re an enemy of theirs, you’re probably a friend of mine.”

“So,” the man said. “You claim to be Captain Bold of Earth.”

“Just Lewis.” Lewis said. “I’m retired.”

“You came from Earth, survived an encounter with a Tsak. . .”

“I’m not sure if ‘survived’ is the right word.” Lewis said.

”. . . shot at the President in front of his entire army and defeated his champion?”

“Actually,” J said. “I defeated the Champion.”

The Arborian glanced at J and then back at Lewis.

“No one believes me.” J complained. “That’s why I’m a pathological liar.”

“Are you the leader?” Lewis asked.

“I’m Barin.” the Arborian shrugged. “When crisis or negotiation requires it, I command. At other times, we are more democratic. If I’m talking to someone who cares about royalty, I am a prince. I’ve got the crown in my bag.”

Lewis slowly picked up his pistol and handed it, handle first, to Barin. Barin accepted the gun solemnly and held it out.

Another Arborian came forward and took the pistol. He was thin with large eyes and a small chin that had, reluctantly, grown a beard.

“Mongovian officer’s sidearm.” the thin man said eagerly. “A fine design. The balance is good, and, there’s no identification mechanism to stop people like us from using it. It can be remotely deactivated – a feature which. . .” the man produced a piece of metal which he worked into the pistol, producing a click after a second. “. . . is easily disabled.”

“I hate to sound ungrateful,” the thin man went on, “but I think we’d best kill the three of them.”

“I didn’t say a thing!” J protested.

“Not that I heard.” the thin man said. “But you’ve had the surgery to become one of Gordon’s doctors. Your head contains an N-space transmitter. You can send an untraceable signal up to three kilometers.”

“He won’t signal the Republic.” Lewis protested. “They want to kill him.”

Next to Barin, a woman with a pale, angular face spoke up. “If killing him is going to do any good, we’d better do it soon, before he could send out a detailed signal. What’s the consensus?”

“Who are you?” Lewis asked.

“Viun,” the woman said. “I’m another leader.”

“Viun, Barin,” Lewis said, “I won’t let you kill him.”

“You’re hardly less dangerous.” the thin man said. “You could have a transmitter hidden on you. It’d take hours to do an adequate search, and if you had a transmitter, that’d be too long. I think we should kill you all.”

Barin shook his head. “I won’t agree. If the reports we’ve intercepted are right, then Captain Bold is a brave and honorable person, and these three have shaken the Republic in short hours.”

“Those reports could be lies. It’s happened before.” another woman said. “We can’t let them follow us. I don’t want to kill them. Does someone have another way?”

“Yes.” Viun said. “Our location may be compromised, so we must leave anyway. We go south, through the minefield. We leave traps along the way, covering our tracks. We leave a set of bombs here here that will go off in twenty minutes. If they bring troops, the soldiers will either come here and die or try to follow us through the minefield, which they’ve never managed without heavy casualties.”

“What about us?” Lewis asked.

“There’s ocean to the north and west. If you stay here, you’ll die. If you want to live, you’ll have to go east, into the forest.”

“So you’ll let us live.” J said. “We just have to run straight into a predator-infested jungle.”

Viun gave one quick nod. “That’s right.”

“You know, Lewis,” J said, “I may not be a master of diplomacy, but I think I could have brokered this deal.”

“We’re innocent of any crime.” Lewis said. “Can you live with yourselves if you send us to our deaths?”

Viun looked into Lewis’s eyes. “Once, I was a child and morality was love. Now I’m a mother, and morality is mathematics. While you’re in our presence, dozens of lives are in danger.”

“If the radio reports we’ve heard are true,” Barin said, “these could be valuable allies.”

“If the reports we’ve heard are true, then they’ll survive.” Viun said.

Lewis closed his eyes. He knew what the decision was going to be.

Powerman Ghinn tried not to hyperventilate as he crawled through the pipe. He was coming up to the half n-space connection. These connections terrified him. Actually, they terrified most everyone else far worse.

“Make sure no one follows you.” Aura had said. Ghinn was pretty sure no one else would be crazy enough to have his body split into two halves a quarter mile apart.

Ghinn kept his light shining. The tunnel stopped in a black circle that didn’t reflect the slightest glimmer. He felt a brief shudder and came as close to it as he could.

He told himself he’d done this before. He curled up, making himself as compact as possible.

He could feel the draft. The air got sucked because this connection only went one way. The air could go through the warp, but it couldn’t come back. The light got trapped the same way, so would Ghinn’s body.

Ghinn launched himself through. He’d seen another powerman die going through a half warp too slowly. His head had been on one side and his heart was on the other. The poor man panicked and tried to stop himself. He died halfway in. Since it was physically impossible to pull his fellow out of the barrier, Ghinn had been forced to push him through and go through himself to carry the body on the far side.

Ghinn launched himself forward. There was a terrible traveling numbness as the nerves in the back of his body were unable to send messages to his brain. Ghinn quickly flailed with his arms to drag himself the rest of the way through.

Still shaking from the shock, Ghinn came to an exit port. He opened the panel, typed in the combination and let himself out.

The map Aura gave Ghinn had no words and no legend. It just marked off units south and west from the Presidential Palace (the shape of the palace was distinct and clearly drawn). The units could have been traffic intersections or miles, though Ghinn had tried both, and neither showed him what he was looking for.

Not that Ghinn knew what he was looking for. Aura said he had to find something important. It was something that had been waiting for more than thirty years.

Ghinn started searching the walls for the thing he didn’t recognize that may or may not be here. The small chamber looked untouched. It was the sixth maintenance junction south and the third west of the presidential palace. It had nothing but some astoundingly sturdy plumbing and electrical systems. Nothing here had needed to be repaired in two centuries. It didn’t supply anything important enough to sabotage, so no one had been here for a long time.

Ghinn had spent his life with a growing outrage he didn’t have the will to voice. His family had always been powermen, maintaining the workings of Mingo City.

Since he’d started working near the center of the Republic of Mongo, Ghinn had seen too many people destroyed. He’d heard of too many people who disappeared. He didn’t want to be part of this. But all he’d ever learned to do was obey.

Maybe was just obeying Aura, but now he was obeying someone who cared. He was obeying someone whom he suspected at times was a little insane, but it was someone who wanted to make things better.

The room was cold. It had been dark for so long that it seemed to eat up the light from Ghinn’s maintenance torch.

It was tough to measure time in this place that had never been touched. He went over the walls trying to distinguish where the dust had lain for thirty years from where it had lain for centuries.

A light went on. It was a small, soft glow, but the room had been so silent that Ghinn was startled. Ghinn saw a pyramid-shaped object protruding from one wall. He felt its edges, and it came off in his hand. Suddenly, the pyramid spoke.

”. . . he lived in Africa, and he filled all Africa with his ‘satiable curiosities, and that means. . .is that you, Aura?”

“No, my name is Ghinn.” Ghinn lowered his voice. “Aura sent me.”

“I’d rather keep what I have to say between Aura and I. Is that all right with you?” the pyramid asked.

Ghinn looked around, not knowing what to say. “Yes, uh, that’s just fine.”

“Good.” the pyramid said. “Take this object to Aura. Tell her to keep it where no one will see it. Every so often, possibly hours or days apart, this light will flash. If she touches it then, this device will speak. No one must overhear it.”

“I’ll tell her.” Ghinn said.

“Thank you.” the pyramid said. “It’s such a pleasure to talk to a friend.”

The light went out. Ghinn felt oddly touched, as he took the pyramid and put it in his pocket.

32

Lewis sifted through the equipment. The Arborians wouldn’t give him back the pistol he’d given them, but they’d offered some survival supplies in trade.

“You can probably use this better than I can.” Lewis said as he handed the knife to Susan.

Susan turned it over. It was a straight knife with no hand guard. It was meant for a single jab into a major organ. It was a good weight and a fine grip. It seemed handmade by someone who had grim experience in its use. She returned it to the simple scabbard and strapped it on.

“How about rope? Flares?” Lewis asked.

Susan shook her head.

Lewis picked up a sturdy piece of wood about four and a half feet long. “Walking stick?”

“Please.” Susan said. When Lewis handed it to her, she spun it twice with blurring speed, stopping it slightly short of a woman’s face.

The woman was one of the Arborians. She had Barin’s almost black eyes and black hair. She instinctively dropped back into fighting stance when she saw the staff come at her, but she grinned when it was clear Susan wouldn’t strike.

“You’re good with a striker.” the Arborian said.

“Studied Aikijuitsu.” Susan explained as she leaned the staff against a tree.

“My name’s Kanessa.” the Arborian said. “I’m Barin’s sister. I wanted to apologize for our decision to drive you into the forest. Maybe you aren’t agents of the Republic, but we can’t take chances.”

“It’s a dark outlook.” Lewis said. “Are you a soldier?”

“All Arborians are fighters somehow. I’m not a warrior, though. I’m a linker.”

“Linker?” Susan asked.

“I analyze, maintain, scavenge and create electrical devices.” Kanessa said.

“We call that an ‘electrical engineer’ or ‘electrician’.” Lewis said.

“So do we,” Kanessa answered, “when we have the time. When Arborians need help in a crisis, they call for the office, the training and the number. So ‘linker master two’ would be calling for two master electrical engineers. It’s short, so that if you get shot, the right people still know to come.”

“How do you know which two master linkers are supposed to show up?” Lewis asked.

“We’re Arboreans.”

“If you’re Barin’s sister, does that make you a princess?” Lewis asked.

Kanessa shook her head. “Things aren’t that formal. We’ve got laws, which are formed and broken by general vote. Barin’s the most charismatic of the Arborians, and his wife, Viun, is the most practical. Together, they usually get their way.”

“Viun, the practical one, is the one who decided to banish us to the most dangerous part of the forest?” Lewis asked.

“We were voting whether or not to have you killed.” Kanessa reminded him. “Barin wanted to keep you alive, but he doesn’t think of consequences. My brother is a noble fellow and a brilliant tactician in a crisis, but he’s either thinking with his ideals or his rage. When he gets angry, it ruins his judgment.”

“Where’s J?” Susan asked suddenly.

“I wouldn’t worry.” Kanessa said. “This part of the woods is guarded from the dangers of the forest. I think I saw your friend talking. . .”

Kanessa was surprised to see that, far from being reassured, Lewis and Susan had run toward the center of the Arborian camp.

“I will kill him with my bare hands!” Barin yelled.

“It’s unseemly.” Viun said in a soft hiss. “You’ve passed sentence on him. If you kill him now, you lose face.”

“Did you hear what he said?” Barin demanded. “No human should tolerate that from anyone. I’ll see this ‘J’ dead.”

“We’ve got to do something.” Lewis said as he reached the scene.

“I am.” Susan said. “I’m empathizing.”

“He threatened to tell the Republic’s Navy where we were!” Barin yelled.

“We’re already planning for that possibility.” Viun said. “The people are almost finished packing. Leave him to his fate. He won’t survive.”

“My honor would be better served if I killed him here.” Barin growled.

“And we’d get J’s head.” said the thin Arborian with a scraggly beard. “That’d be an improvement.”

“Why do you want J’s head?” Lewis asked.

“That’s a compact simultaneous processor in that head.” the thin Arborian said. “We could make all sort of wonderful things with what’s in that skull.”

“How ironic.” Susan said.

“It’s dangerous even detached.” Viun said. “They might be able to track the processor. It’s not worth reversing a legal decision.”

“Look at them.” J said disgustedly. “They’re debating whether to kill me like a bunch of goddamn Quakers.”

“Don’t worry.” Lewis said. “Just don’t talk, and I’ll try to . . . I don’t think you mean Quakers.”

“I do.” J said. “They were just like this, debating for hours about someone else’s life.”

“Quakers don’t do that.” Lewis insisted.

“They do.” J said.

“They don’t.” Lewis repeated.

“They did.” Susan announced.

“What?” Lewis asked. “When?”

“Two years ago.” Susan said. “The local chapter.”

“They were talking about having someone killed. You’re confused. Who would Quakers kill?”

Susan indicated with a flick of her eyes.

“Oh.” Lewis said. “Well, I’m sure that was an unusual circumstance.”

“You’re telling me.” J said. “The bastards changed their meeting place without telling me where they went.”

“The moderates prevailed.” Susan summarized.

“Um, let’s just concentrate on the people who want to kill J currently.”

“We don’t have time to contest this.” Viun said. “Why don’t we have J swallow a Schroedinger seed? If it kills him, Koval can take J’s head, provided he splits off from the main party after we leave.”

Barin looked at J and clenched his jaw. “Fine.” he said at last.

The thin Arborian glanced covetously at the metal pins protruding from J’s head and nodded.

“What’s a Schroedinger seed?” J asked.

“It’s a seed from an Arborian tree.” Viun explained. “It’s fatal half the time.”

“Is that fatal half the time for healthy adults?” Lewis asked. “What if it makes him sick? He won’t be able to make the forced march you’re sending us on.”

“Whatever happens,” Viun said, “he won’t be suffering long. The Schroedinger seed has an amino acid. If the acid forms clockwise, it’s harmless, even nutritious. If it forms counter clockwise, it combines with other chemicals to form a potent neurotoxin. The same tree will produce hundreds of seeds. To the senses, they’re indistinguishable. Half are poison.”

“That sucks.” J said.

“I think it does, too.” Barin said. “There’s a fifty percent chance you’ll survive. If you won’t take the seed before the last of our group is packed up, then your life becomes an emergency decision.”

“Which means?” Lewis asked.

“It means that, as the highest-ranking Arborian here, I can override objections and simply kill J myself.”

“I’ll do it.” J said. “Who’s got the seeds?”

Viun had gone for a moment. She returned with a small bag. “There are a dozen or so here.” she said. “Take one.”

J reached his hand into the bag and pulled a seed out. It looked like a larger pumpkin seed. J stared at it for several seconds.

J clapped his hand to his mouth and chewed. He nodded thoughtfully for a second.

“Well,” J said. “It seems I was. . .”

J suddenly grabbed his stomach. His mouth went slack. His body froze. A line of drool ran from the corner of his mouth. J’s eyes opened wide. He looked up, pleadingly, at Viun and Barin.

J’s muscles twitched as he collapsed on the ground. He spasmed as he curled into fetal position. He made quiet choking noises as he tried to speak.

Barin looked down coldly. He walked to J’s side and knelt over him.

“I have seen men die by this seed before.” Barin said. “Should I tell you what symptoms you should be faking?”

“Aw man.” J said as he looked up. “I thought I had you. Actually, that thing tasted pretty good. Do you have any more?”

“Open your hands.” Barin demanded.

J looked up at him. Reluctantly, he opened both hands and showed them to Barin. Barin glanced at the bare hands and grabbed J’s jaw. He forced J’s mouth open and looked inside. Satisfied that J had swallowed the seed, Barin stood up.

“Fine.” Barin said. “In a couple more minutes, we’re all leaving. Three untrained strangers in the forests of Arboria have far less than a fifty percent chance of survival.”

33

Lewis counted off paces as he walked. J was tempted to mutter random numbers in Lewis’s ear. As Lewis was trying to decide the mark a safe distance from the bombs that were about to go off, J decided that might be going a little too far for a gag.

“Okay,” Lewis said. “If I’ve got my paces right, we’re about three quarters of a kilometer from the bombs. Kanessa said half a kilometer would be safe, so that’s a good safety margin.”

“Did the Arborian bimbo say what kind of bombs these were?” J asked.

“Kanessa,” Lewis began pointedly. “said the first bomb will be an electromagnetic pulse of some sort, designed to take out any vehicles or machines from the Republic that might be nearby.”

Lewis continued. “You shouldn’t talk about her like that. She found shoes for you.”

J looked down at his shoes. They were some alien kind of animal hide. A sock, J’s only remaining possession from Earth, slouched up from beneath one shoe.

“Will we hear the first bomb?”

“I don’t think so.” Lewis said. “Kanessa said we wouldn’t be able to tell when it went off.”

J suddenly fell face first onto the ground.

“Now we know.” Susan said.

Lewis grimaced. “I forgot about J’s brain. I don’t think the effect is permanent.”

Susan kicked the prone J in the ribs.

“Was that to see if J was conscious?” Lewis asked.

“Sure.” Susan said.

J got up with a start. “I hate that. I didn’t feel the passing of time at all. The ground just hits instantly. For a second I thought you two turned into a root system. Damn, I’ve got a pain in my side.”

“You fell hard.” Susan observed.

Another explosion was followed by the beating of dozens of wings.

J looked at the distant dots hovering above the trees. “Oh, those are squirrelons.”

“squirrelons?” Susan asked.

“Hey,” J said. “I didn’t name them. Who do you think named the Lion Men, Shark Men and Hawk Men.”

“Gloria Steinem?” Susan asked.

“Flash Gordon,” J said. “And he mostly just did it as simply as possible. So every species either has a suffix of ‘-on’ or ‘-men’.”

“Are squirrelons predators?” Susan asked.

Most of the small creatures had been flapping frantically to get altitude. A few had started glided gracefully down toward the Earthlings.

“Kind of.” J said. “They follow you until something else kills you and scavenge your corpse. To make you die faster, they have a poison that makes you go insane. It basically works on anything with a brain something like a human’s.”

“Cover our back.” Susan said. “You’ll be immune.”

“Ooh,” J said. “You got me. That’s a mortal cut. What sophisticated humor. You’re ready for the second grade lunchroom debate society.”

Lewis put a hand on J’s shoulder and looked at him directly. “You’re immune because your brain was removed and replaced with a computer.”

“Oh,” J said. “That.”

“So, if you run behind us and try to keep the squirrelons off, we won’t go insane, and everyone is more likely to live until tomorrow.”

J didn’t agree overtly, but he turned around as Lewis and Susan ran off.

The squirrelons swooped down, first just a couple and then more and more. J pulled a branch off a tree and slashed at the tiny creatures.

These looked nothing like squirrels, more like bats or sinister cousins of sugar gliders. They swarmed past the branch and snapped at J’s skin. The bite was a short pinch that drew a small trickle of blood. J felt more disgusted than injured. He dropped the branch and swatted at them with his bare hands.

For a few moments, J was afraid there’d be enough to devour him in small bites, but the cloud started to loose interest as J continued to fight. They stopped gliding and clutching and went back to flapping frantically, getting more altitude to glide back among the trees.

J stumbled after Lewis and Susan. Twice, a lone squirrelon swooped down and grabbed at J. Both times, he grabbed the small thing and flung it away.

Lewis and Susan’s footprints kept to where the trees were thickest. J saw occasional bodies of squirrelons he supposed were left by Susan’s staff or some bludgeon Lewis had found.

At last, he came upon a blanket wrapped around the hollow of a tree. J recognized it from the supplies the Arborians gave Lewis.

“They’re gone.” J said as he pulled the blanket back.

“We barely made it before the critters came in force.” Lewis said. “Thank you for holding them back.”

“You did well.” Susan said.

“Are you sure you weren’t bitten?” J asked.

“Maybe I was.” Susan said. “I saw angels.”

“Hearing a compliment from you makes me think . . . “

With surprising speed, a large creature bounded into view. It looked reptilian with a long, toothy snout. It crawled like a lizard, but it stood up when it approached, looming several feet above the Earthlings.

J turned to run. The creature closed the distance to him with a pair of lumbering upright steps. It leaned forward and a prehensile tongue leaped from the beast’s mouth and grabbed J’s leg. J felt the creature pull his leg from beneath him, and he grabbed a tree trunk to hold himself still.

Susan pulled out her knife and thrust it into the creature’s knee. The creature jerked its tongue back, pulling J’s shoe and his one remaining sock into its mouth but letting J go.

The creature turned toward Susan, who held up her staff to keep the thing at bay.

Lewis pulled J up and asked. “Are you okay?”

“The ursodile!” J yelled. “It got my sock!”

“Never mind that.”

“Do you know long I’ve had that sock?” J demanded.

The creature took one step forward and then collapsed. It’s lips drew back in a sickly grimace, revealing rows of sharp teeth with tiny bits of white cotton stuck between them. After a short rattle, the creature stopped breathing.

“I’m ready to hazard a guess.” Lewis answered at last.

“Good thing I ditched the seed.” J said.

“What?” asked Susan as she looked up from the corpse.

“The Schroedinger seed.” J said. “The one they didn’t know if it was poison or not. I hid it in my sock when I was faking my death, and it looks like a good thing too, because it must have been poison.”

Lewis nodded. “That makes sense. No offense, J, but your swallowing that seed seemed uncharacteristically courageous.”

“I won’t tell.”

All three Earthlings turned to see Kanessa leaning against a tree. She was carrying a pack and wearing a bulky helmet.

“Why did you come?” Lewis asked.

“I couldn’t shake the feeling that you’re on our side.” Kanessa said.

“In that case,” J said, “you should have gone to your brother and shaken his feeling that we were spies.”

Lewis waved his hand as if he could shoo J’s recriminations away. “Never mind, Kanessa. I’m glad you joined us. With four of us, we’ll have a much better time. What’s the most important thing you’ve learned about surviving here?”

Kanessa grimaced. “Honestly, it’s ‘Never travel in a group smaller than eight.’”

34

The three Earthlings followed Kanessa in single file.

“Nice helmet.” commented Susan, who was next in line.

Kanessa self-consciously reached a hand up to touch the bulky sides. “Thanks.” she said. “It’s a scuttle helmet.”

“What’s it for?” Susan asked.

Kanessa turned halfway back and looked perplexed, as if it was not a question she’d been asked. At last she said, “If I’m captured, it’s to prevent people from the Republic reading my mind.”

“What?” J demanded. “How the hell could they read your mind?”

Kanessa glanced back nervously. “You know.” she said. “They take off the skull and analyze the brain on a cellular level, like they did with you.”

J touched the shaved sides of his skull and lowered his hand quickly. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah.”

“I’m afraid to ask.” Lewis said from the rear. “But how does your helmet keep them from analyzing your brain?”

“Shaped charges.” Kanessa said, touching the side of her head. “There’s one over each temple. They punch through the skull with enough heat and force to render the central nervous system impossible to analyze, even with the Republic’s technology.”

“Intense.” Susan commented, and they walked on in silence.

Dr. Soma began a breathing meditation as she turned the page. Every moment, she was aware that the security computer could steal any word she thought. This story meant many things to her that she didn’t want discovered.

She opened her eyes and sought the words before her own thoughts could start. She started reading:

The Elephant’s Child In the High and Far-Off Time the Elephant, O Best Beloved, had no trunk. . . .

Dr. Soma felt a wave of warmth pass up her arm. The sensation was a hallucination produced by a device she had built and hidden in her brain decades before. That device was sending an untraceable signal from her mind into N-space.

Somewhere, far away, a small device had started blinking. Dr. Soma had no way of knowing yet if anyone was there to see it. She kept reading.

. . . He had only a blackish, bulgy nose, as big as a boot, that he could wriggle about from side to side; but he couldn’t pick up things with it. . . .

“Hello. Is someone there? Can you hear me?”

The voice was distorted – low and hollow – so that Dr. Soma could know that it was not a sound she was hearing with her own ears. Still, she could recognize Aura, who was talking to the remote device.

Dr. Soma didn’t make a sound. She just imagined saying the words. The device sent the words to its counterpart in Aura’s hands. Aura would hear Soma speak.

It’s me, child. If anyone can see you, hide the device now.

Even though she’d stopped reading, Dr. Soma could hear her voice continuing:

. . .But there was one Elephant –a new Elephant – an Elephant’s Child – who was full of ‘satiable curtiosity, and that means he asked ever so many questions. . .

“Dr. Soma!” Aura’s voice said. “No one can see me, but you mustn’t talk! They’re monitoring your thoughts. They know if you even think words.”

Believe me, I know. I made this device years ago, before I first faced an Inquisition. This mechanism will hide my thoughts. While we’re speaking, little spy probe will see nothing but Rudyard Kipling.

Faintly, Dr. Soma could feel the smokescreen words in the back of her mind:

. . .And he lived in Africa, and he filled all Africa with his ‘satiable curtiosities. He asked his tall aunt, the Ostrich, why her tail-feathers grew just so, and his tall aunt the Ostrich spanked him with her hard, hard claw. . .

“When I first saw you, I felt like you recognized me,” Aura said, “but you’ve been asleep my whole life.”

Do you know how your family came to power?

“Everyone knows. My ancestor, Flash Gordon, fought with Ming, the last of the emporers. Ming died, and the Gordons have ruled ever since.”

Ming died, but his family didn't. Ming's daughter
had children, and they had children.

Many lived peacefully in the Republic, but Ming's
family had ruled for thousands of years. Many
people in Mongo are still secretly loyal to that
old family.

It was a tough problem. In my time, there was a
man called Jalin, who was a descendant of Ming's.
He was smart. He was charasmatic. I told your
grandfather he had to stop the threat.

. . .He asked his tall uncle, the Giraffe, what made his skin spotty, and his tall uncle, the Giraffe, spanked him with his hard, hard hoof. And still he was full of ‘satiable curtiosity!. . .

“He killed Jalin?” Aura asked.

Too dangerous. The last president to have a member of
Ming's family executed was shot by one of his own
generals.

No, I told your grandfather Hans that there needed
to be a lasting alliance. A couple years later, he
had me put to sleep. I didn't know if he heeded my
advice until I saw you.

You see, your father then, was just a boy. Jalin's
daughter was even younger.

“What?” Aura asked.

You have Jalin's eyes. You're his grand-daughter.

Everything was silent except for the story.

He asked his broad aunt, the Hippopotamus, why her eyes were red, and his broad aunt, the Hippopotamus, spanked him with her broad, broad hoof; and he asked his hairy uncle, the Baboon, why melons tasted just so, and his hairy uncle, the Baboon, spanked him with his hairy, hairy paw.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Just listen, because there's more. I've been reading
reports on what happened with the Earthlings. From
what I've seen, I've concluded that you brought Captain
Bold back to life.

He doesn't have proof, but I'm pretty sure Dr. Torre
knows it, too.

You'll have to be ready before he is.

“What’s that noise?” J asked.

Lewis turned his head quickly. “A tigron, I think. No, two.”

Kanessa closed her eyes and listened. “You’re right,” she said. “You’ve got good ears. We should speed up, but keep your breath steady. If they hear us start breathing faster, they’ll pounce.”

The group kept going at a swift march. In front, Kanessa broke through some vines and raised her hand. The Earthlings gathered up behind her.

There was a clearing. In it were a series of large plant pods. They grew in enormous clusters spiraling out from a network of vines.

“Legumes.” Kanessa said.

“Bullshit.” J yelled. Kanessa, Lewis and Susan all looked at him.

“No fucking way are those fucking legumes. Those things are bigger than I am.”

“And better company.” Susan added.

“The legumes of Arboria beggar the imagination.” Lewis said.

“We’ve got a problem.” Kanessa said.

“With legumes?” J asked. “What, are you allergic?”

“I know.” Lewis said, as though J hadn’t spoken. “But this could be the break we need. You three stay down and stay quiet. I’m going to run into that clearing and climb that tree.”

“Tigrons climb trees.” Susan said. “Remember J?”

“I know.” Lewis said, “But I’ll bet the tsak doesn’t. It’s too big.”

Lewis walked back until he could barely make out the tigron’s growl. Then he yelled and ran for the clearing as hard as he could.

Two shapes sprang after Lewis. With the stripes and the feral grace, you could almost see why Flash Gordon named them tigrons when they looked more like the offspring of a rhinoceros beetle and a bear.

Lewis ran quickly. It wasn’t the tigrons that made him feel dizzy and cold. It was the thought of what probably lived in this field. Lewis jumped and grabbed the low branches of a tree, climbing as quickly as he could.

In the tall grass of the clearing, there sounded a softer and deadlier growl than the tigrons.

The tigrons are large, vicious predators. Lewis had counted himself lucky to kill one with a pistol and J and Susan’s help. But, when he heard the tsak, Lewis pitied the creatures.

The tigrons stood side-by-side. They growled threats at the larger, vaguely reptilian beast that rose from the grass. One lifted a giant paw in warning.

An instant later, the tigron collapsed forward, it’s throat torn out before it had a chance to react. The other tigron reached out to strike, but the tsak sprang. The surviving tigron tried to flee, but it only managed two steps. Lewis climbed further up the tree.

“Old guy learns fast.” Kanessa commented.

“What now?” Susan asked.

“I’m not sure.” Kanessa said. “It can wait for days for Lewis to come down. It needs no food except for those legumes.”

Susan caught some movement and turned around. “Angels.” she said.

Kanessa turned around. “Oh no, Hawk Men” she said. She pointed to the left. “Run that way. I’ll be right behind you.”

Kanessa pulled a barbed stake from her pack. Holding it in both hands, she drove the stake into a tree. She then threw a pair of small, metal grapnels over nearby branches. Strong but thin wires hung between the stake and the grapnels.

With the strands of wire blocking the path behind her, Kanessa ran after J and Susan. “Go where the trees are most dense!” Kanessa yelled.

Susan saw a cluster of trees ahead and ran faster. J tried to keep up. Kanessa sprinted after them with frenzied speed.

“Stay low!” Kanessa yelled. “They don’t like to stay in one spot. We should be okay unless they have a. . .”

A hungry, mechanical sound pursued them through the forest. J looked over his shoulder, though he felt he’d regret it. A winged man was holding onto something that looked like a giant arrowhead made of light. Somewhere inside the glare was something metal with handles that the Hawk Man was gripping.

This device sped forward, dragging the Hawk Man forward with breakneck speed. If something was in his way, the glowing rocket battered it aside. The flier went through the cables Kanessa had strung up, and they snapped before him. Three other Hawk Men dived after him.

”. . .shark.” Kanessa finally finished. Hope had washed out of her voice.

Kanessa bowed her head in the moment. She saw only one chance of avoiding capture now. She raised her hands to the controls on top of her helmet.

J tackled her from behind. Kanessa struggled to get free, but J grabbed her wrists. Kanessa kicked him repeatedly to make him stop. J fell on his back, gasping. Kanessa started to reach up again when the capture ropes struck her.

J barely looked up when he felt the long cord wrap itself around him like some hungry creature. The cord pulled him into the air after the Hawk Men.

Susan was the last to be caught. She ducked under the trees. The lead Hawk Man spun around gripping the strange vehicle Kanessa had called a shark. One by one, he rammed the tree trunks around Susan, and they splintered. Finally, Susan ran for other cover. The other Hawk Men came from behind, lashing their ropes. The ropes seemed to seek Susan out, and they tangled around her as soon as they touched her. As the Hawk Men climbed, Susan saw the ground spin away.

For a moment, Susan saw the jaws of the Tsak, and she was afraid that the Hawk Men had taken her to her death, but then she saw the creature’s neck tilting brokenly. Looking up, she noticed that Lewis had been taken, too, and he was trailing behind on their tenacious ropes.

35

They moved through the sky in a line. The first one held onto the handles of the shark. The shark, though small, generated enough force to pull all of them through the air. The three Hawk Men glided like kites. The bound humans and dead creature trailed behind like ballast.

The Hawk Men had to stay low enough for their captives to breathe. That kept them in clear sight as they sped above Arboria. They relied on Arboria’s constant canopy of leaves and their own speed to hide them. It wasn’t enough.

Gido fiddled with the focus on the binoculars. He’d built them and used them daily, but the adjustments had to be perfect when the distance was this long. Once he identified the face, he dove through the branches, not letting himself pause for shock.

Gido called for the other members of his scouting party, and they all ran towards the main camp. It was a half hour’s run.

The perimeter guards stopped him.

“I need to speak to Viun.” Gido said. “I’ve spotted the Hawk Men. They look like they’ve taken Kanessa and the Earthlings hostage.”

“They took her alive?” the guard asked.

Gido nodded.

“Viun’s on the far side of the camp.” the guard said. “Barin is here. You can tell him.”

Gido stiffened. He trusted and loved Barin, but he hated giving him news like this. Even when he was perfectly quiet, Barin’s rage seemed to radiate from his skin. Gido didn’t want to see how he’d react to hearing his sister had been stolen.

When the guard led him to Barin, Gido knelt. It wasn’t really necessary to kneel when you gave news to Barin, particularly for Gido, but it seemed appropriate with the solemnity of the news. Barin knew Gido’s gesture for the ill omen it was, and he clenched his teeth as he waited for the words.

“Father, the Hawk Men have captured Aunt Kanessa, and the Earthlings are with them. They are headed toward Sky City.”

Lewis was distracted, hanging in the air while moving several hundred miles an hour, but the Hawk Men looked strange to him.

The most unexpected thing was the two ridges that went from their shoulders to the bottom of their ribs. Lewis suspected the ridges were mostly bone with some muscle, and they had to be there to anchor the wings.

The Hawk Men had a wingspan about triple their height. It was very odd to see their captors look back with a human-looking faces when, with their wings spread, they took up so much space.

Other than the wings, they all looked slight and androgynous. Lewis was pretty sure one of them was a woman. They spoke as they flew, but Lewis couldn’t make out the words.

More than anything he’d seen, the city in the sky made Lewis wonder if the last few days had been a dream. The city hovered several hundred feet above the ground, poised on a ray of light that came from the bottom of the city and hit the ground below.

Looking down, Lewis could see a dry and blasted terrain beneath the city, but the city itself was a clear marvel. Sky City was several structures bound to each other and to a central structure held up by the ray of light. There were walkways in every direction. As they came closer, Lewis could see that the walkways tended to be narrow and had no rails.

The Hawk Men put them down. They fiddled with one end of the ropes they held, and the ropes released the four humans easily. The humans, particularly Lewis, walked away from the corpse of the dead beast the Hawk Men had also taken.

J looked uneasily off the edge of the platform he stood on to the ground far below. One of the Hawk Men set down and secured the small vehicle that had pulled them through the air.

“What’s that thing with the handles?” Lewis asked, pointing at the vehicle.

“Kanessa called it a ‘shark’.” J said. “When a Hawk Man holds those handles, it becomes a fast airborne battering ram.”

“How does it work?” Lewis asked.

“It creates a turbine out of pure energy fields, propelling the shark forward and protecting the driver.”

Lewis looked at J.

“What?” J asked.

“You could just say, ‘I don’t know.’”

J shrugged and said, “Old guy learns fast.”

J looked away to see Kanessa glowering at him. The Hawk Men had taken her helmet with its suicide mechanism. Her jet black hair was wild from the flight.

“What?” J asked.

“You prevented me from doing what I had to do.” Kanessa snapped.

“Killing yourself?”

“Yes.” Kanessa said. “The Hawk Men are going to hand us over to President Gordon. His doctors will take apart my brain, and my knowledge will be used against everything I’ve ever cared about.”

“What about me?” J asked.

“You?” Kanessa asked.

“I’d have been forced to look at you as you blew your head open. That’s gross.”

Kanessa stood there a moment in shock. “How self-centered – how arrogant – how selfish can one human being be?”

J smiled. “I wake up every morning and ask myself that same question.”

Kanessa gave up on her outrage. She had no precedent for dealing with someone as unapologetically uncaring as J was. Her anger felt unsatisfying.

“We’re in Sky City.” Kanessa said. “It’s the home of the Hawk Men.”

“Do they all live here?” Lewis asked.

“They’re rarely away from here for long. They’re not happy if they can’t fly.”

“Can’t they fly everywhere?” Lewis asked.

“No. Look at them. They don’t flap their wings like birds. They don’t have lift. Sky City has lots of open spaces they can glide through, and there’s machines that create rising air columns they can climb.”

Their captors laughed. One of them repeated, “rising air columns” in a mocking, simian tone.

“I didn’t know you spoke English.” Lewis said. “What’s funny?”

“English,” the female Hawk Man said, “has been the common tongue since Flash Gordon. It’s a crawler language, and we use it when we talk of things of the ground. It’s funny to hear you try describing things of air. When you talk of your ‘pitch’ or ‘roll’, your ‘drafts’ or your ‘currents’, it sounds to us like attempting to describe dimensional topology with nursery rhymes.”

“So you’re like Eskimos?” J asked. “You’ve got a thousand words for turbulence.”

“Crawlers have a word, ‘turbulence’ that means nothing, and we have several thousand words for things you’re unable to understand.”

“Nultar’s going to be impatient see the crawlers.” another Hawk Man said.

“Is he your leader? Your commander?” Lewis asked.

The Hawk Men turned their backs on him and curtly gestured for their captives to follow.

“What was wrong with that?” Lewis asked.

“Hawk Men don’t use titles and rank like other people do.” Kanessa said. “Their loyalties shift, and they’re dictated by contracts, currency and exchange of favors.”

“Earth is like that.” Lewis said.

“Is it?” Kanessa asked flatly.

Susan had been silent and watching until now. She walked close to Kanessa and gestured with her chin at one of the Hawk Men, who was swinging his arms and wings to help shift his weight as he struggled up a ramp.

“Weak legs.” Susan said softly to Kanessa.

“Yes.” Kanessa whispered back. “They can’t kick. Watch the wings, though. The leading edge is bone, and they’re stronger than our legs.”

Susan nodded. They came up to a platform. Someone was waiting for them in a kind of backwards chair that let him lean forward and left his wings free. An assistant flew down and landed on the platform nearby as the captives arrived. The seated Hawk Man looked up.

“You got the Earthlings,” the Hawk Man said. “and you picked up someone else, an Arborian?”

Kanessa kept silent. One of their captors nodded.

“I am Nultar.” the Hawk Man said.

Lewis held a hand up, preemptively motioning J to silence. “Who are you?”

“I just told you.” Nultar said. “I’m Nultar. I own seven percent of the living space in Sky City. I’ve served as ambassador. Most recently, I hired some people to capture you.”

“Why did you capture us?” Lewis asked.

“Because they’re servants of President Gordon.” Kanessa said.

Suddenly, Nultar pushed out of his chair, and his wings erupted to eclipse the sky behind him. He leaned forward and yelled, “We are Hawk Men! We are nobody’s servants! Each of us is bound by no law that we do not personally choose to accept! More than our wings, this is what makes us Hawk Men and makes you crawlers!”

Nultar suddenly became calm. Slowly, his wings folded against his back again. He added, in a reasonable tone. “There was a treaty that we signed with the Republic of Mongo, yes. When we come of age, each of us must sign obedience to this treaty or leave Sky City. We all sign.

“We may have negotiated for a treaty that would leave us more freedom and flexibility if there were not two dreadnoughts right outside Sky City during the negotiations. Perhaps our representative would have argued some of the fine legal points more fiercely if he had not seen the two previous representatives shot. The past is the past.”

“Did this treaty force you to capture us?” Lewis asked.

Nultar smiled. “On the subject of escaped refugees abducted from other planets, the treaty is oddly vague. It doesn’t say that we have to turn you in. That lets us negotiate. I saw you in Mingo City. I know how dangerous you are.”

“I never meant to endanger anyone.” Lewis said.

“I did.” Susan said.

“For me,” J said, “it’s not about of intent. It’s just something I do.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want.” Nultar said. “Back in Mingo City, things have gone mad. Sabotage and acts of rebellion grow more frequent. A quarter of the Republic’s naval power got eaten by Tiamat because of you. The president is so frightened of rebellion that he’s training a second army to defend him if his army rebels. All the while, the legend of Captain Bold and his friends from Earth is growing.”

“Call me Lewis. . .” Lewis started.

“He’s retired.” Susan and J said in unison before glaring at each other.

“Nultar, sir,” Lewis said, “if you need me for some negotiation, I’ll cooperate if you let my two companions and the Arborian go.”

“Always so noble.” Nultar said, sounding more perplexed than impressed.

“I’m only doing what I have to.” Lewis said.

“I don’t understand. In Mingo City, you put your life in danger to save someone who tried to kill you. What were you thinking?”

“Back on Earth, my choices didn’t make sense. There was no right and wrong. I grew up. I went to a military academy. I joined the Air Force. I usually didn’t know right or wrong. I did the most obvious thing. In the end, I didn’t know if any of it was the right thing to do.”

“So sacrificing yourself just seems convenient?” Nultar asked.

“No.” Lewis said. “It seems necessary. Here, everything feels so simple and direct. I don’t know if it’s because it’s the way this place is, or maybe things are clearer when you’re not in your own place. That time I was in the arena, I saw the right choice, and it drove me. Do you understand?”

“No.” Nultar said.

“If there’s one thing, and it’s the one thing in your whole life that you know is right, you can’t turn away.”

“I’ll think about it.” Nultar said. “In the mean time, no, I’m not letting anyone go. Captain Bold, you are every bit as good a bargaining chip if you’re willing as if you’re struggling or comatose. Your young friends diminish your value if I let them go, and they’re valuable on their own. As for this Arborian, our treaty is very specific about Arborian refugees we find. We’re sending her to President Gordon.”

Nultar stopped and looked at Kanessa directly. “That is, unless you’re important enough to your own people for a trade. Are you somebody, Arborian? Will someone come looking for you?”

“No.” Kanessa said. “I’m nobody. No one cares that I’m gone.”

“She’s my sister!”

The councilman flinched from Barin’s scream. He’d argued with Barin before. He’d seen the rages before, and he thought he was used to them. This time, though, he couldn’t lift his eyes to look at that glare again. “Barin, she is one. We are many. We know the principles. We cannot. . .”

Barin’s arm flew. The knife sent a swirling breeze past the councilman’s face as it passed. Four inches of it went into the tree by his ear. The councilman wondered whether he preferred that Barin had intended the throw to miss that closely or that he hadn’t.

Viun stepped forward. Often, Viun’s was the immovable argument that brought down her husband’s enraged impulse. Not this time.

“In addition to being Barin’s sister, Kanessa is in the inner circle. She was taken alive. With the Republic’s techniques, they will know what she knows. They’ll know we were in this region to bargain with Tiamat. They’ll know what she gave us.”

The councilman opened his mouth again. Viun raised a finger. It was a tiny gesture, but somehow, it was as powerful as Barin’s knife.

“Furthermore,” she said, “that raid was too bold to ignore. When the Republic told the Hawk Men to scout this region, they flew high above and ignored whatever they saw, because they know we will take revenge if they provide real help. The Hawk Men have lost their fear of us. We must resupply them.”

“How many of us should go?” asked the councilman, not sure if he was convinced or just too scared to argue further.

Viun didn’t answer, knowing her husband would.

“Everyone.”

36

“I think it’s impractical.” Olmi said.

“How can a kitchen and dining room be impractical?” Nadriw asked.

“They can be in a tank.”

Nadriw ran his claws across his whiskers. He nodded, favoring Olmi with the gaze of a scientist watching a particularly odd test subject. “You know,” Nadriw said, “we are in the tank. The tank has been traveling through territory that may contain enemies but not decent restaurants.”

“But the kitchen is inefficient.”

“Inefficient how?” Nadriw asked, showing long canines with his incredulity. “Last night, we were using all six burners and the broiler.”

“During our stint away, we could just eat dry, preprocessed food at our stations.”

“It’s a bold experiment.” Nadriw said, pointing a claw at Olmi. “I’m the control group.”

Beneath the floor, Iraca scampered along on all four paws. The maintenance level was dark and not high enough to stand up. It was murder on humans, who were never supposed to be down there, but it was just fine for the People.

Iraca launched herself through an access hatch, popping into the dining room like a jack-in-the-box. Her tail twitched behind her in agitation.

“Boss,” Nadriw said. “Olmi said I can have his fish. He’s just eating dry rations for the rest of the tour.”

“Guys. . .” Iraca started.

“I never said that.” Olmi said.

“You knew that saying it directly would cheapen the gesture.” Nadriw said. “I so respect that.”

“Guys, I need a sensor profile.”

“It’s smoky outside.” Olmi said.

“I know.” Iraca replied.

“There was a forest fire.”

“I know.”

“We’re near Arboria.”

“I know, Olmi.” Iraca snapped. “But the forest fire in Arboria ten miles away doesn’t account for the volume of smoke outside, not by a factor of seventeen.”

“Hey, boss.” Olmi said. “If your father’s the king, does that make you a princess?”

Olmi spent much of his childhood around humans, and he originally had some of their fawning adoration of authority. Nadriw was stripping him of that and teaching him disrespect, like calling Iraca ‘boss’ instead of ‘sergeant’. Nadriw probably helped put him up to this jab, too.

“No.” Iraca said patiently. “The People don’t inherit titles, so, among the People, there is no ‘princess’.”

“So, if you’re a princess,” Olmi went on, “do you have a pea under your mattress while you sleep.”

“No,” Iraca began sweetly, “but I will have a nice, satisfying pee on your mattresses while you sleep if someone doesn’t give me a sensor profile this very instant.”

Nadriw drew his lips back and bared rows of pointed teeth. If you didn’t know Nadriw, you might think this was a violent gesture, but he was just trying not to laugh. Olmi pushed his plate forward and activated a console. As much as someone might say that only the People would put a dining room on board a long distance battle tank, someone might say that only the People would make it possible to operate a long distance battle tank from a dining room table.

A holographic image popped up on the table, showing shapes. Olmi conjured analytical tools with waves of his paws. Descriptive text showed up.

“There’s creatures in the smoke.” Olmi said. “Quadrupeds, I think. I’m registering pairs of legs. It’s a scattered herd.”

Olmi leaned forward and nudged the radar report aside with his nose as his hands set up parameters for sound analysis.

Olmi’s eyes went wide. “No,” he said. “It’s humans. The heart rate is 60-85 beats per second, and there’s one heart per pair of legs.”

“Stinking Republic soldiers.” Nadriw sneered. “I hate them.”

“The Republic doesn’t use smoke to conceal troop movements.” Iraca did. “Those are Arborians.”

“Stinking Arborians.” Nadriw sneered. “I hate them.”

“Can we beat them?” Olmi asked.

Iraca shook her head as she looked at the hovering map in front of Olmi. “No, they’re all around us. We’re on the outer edge of their search spiral. The ones around us will have things that don’t show up on radar, heat explosives made of ceramic. That’ll keep us busy until they bring something bigger to bear.”

“I lost us time.” Olmi said miserably “I shouldn’t have joked–”

Iraca snapped two claws against each other with a noise like a gunshot, and Olmi stopped and looked at each other. “Olmi, if I needed your immediate attention, I would have gotten it.”

“What happens now?” Nadriw asked.

“They may take this tank.” Iraca said, mostly to herself.

“Never!” Olmi swore.

“Nadriw, could you deactivate the internal recording equipment?”

“Do you mean the failsafe, tamper proof recording equipment that has to run constantly, day and night, to prove the loyalty of everyone in this military craft to our parent Republic?” Nadriw asked.

“Yes.” Iraca said. “Do you have a problem disabling it?”

“No.” Nadriw said, grinning. “I was just wondering which recording equipment you meant.”

Nadriw ripped off a panel and pulled the main control box free. “Go ahead.” he said.

“Look,” Iraca said. “If there’s this many Arborians outside Arboria, it means they’re going to perform a major raid. From where they are, they’re either attacking an outlying Republic outpost or the Hawk Men.”

“I hate Hawk Men.” Nadriw said.

“You hate everybody.” Olmi replied.

“But it doesn’t mean that I hate each one less.” Nadriw said. “Just as the great goddess of Mongo has a heart with infinite love for each of us, so does my colon. . .”

“Please.” Iraca interrupted. “The point is that the People are surrounded by countries we distrust, who may try to hurt each other. They’ll do it that much better if the weakest and most cunning faction, the Arborians, manages to intimidate us out of a major piece of military hardware like a Chimera class long range strategic battle tank.”

“I get it.” Olmi said.

“Nadriw, reconnect the recording system. Remember to splice some footage into the archives so that no one can tell the equipment was off.”

“Natch.” Nadriw said.

“I’m going out to see what they want.”

“Here’s the crown, father.” Gido said, holding up the ring of silver.

Barin and his son had been paired up, walking together and sharing a rebreather in the smoke. Gently, Barin pushed the crown away. “They don’t care about royalty anymore than we do.”

“But the Lion Men have a king.” Gido protested.

“They don’t care about him. They just use him to fool people, like I do when I wear the crown.”

A loud growl began inside the tank. Barin felt a breeze against his face as the smoke blew back. Within seconds, there was a pocket of clear within the obscuring smog. Barin thought this was a demonstration of power. He hoped so. He didn’t like to think they’d set their engines to shifting several thousand cubic feet of air just because they didn’t want to wear masks.

A female of the People dropped out of a hatch in the front of the tank. The size and the shape of the neck marked her as female. Like all adults of the people, she had a mane. She wore no clothing except a vest, and fur covered her entire body. She strode forward and announced, “I am Sergeant Iraca, daughter of King Thun. On behalf of the Lion Men, I demand to know what you’re doing here.”

Viun’s mind raced as she caught up to Barin. Whenever Lion Men called themselves ‘Lion Men’ and not ‘the People’, they were performing, not talking. What was the point of this performance? Why announce herself as a good hostage and walk, unarmed, into a group of possible enemies?

“We are traveling.” Barin said. “We did not expect to see the People this far out. I would have you continue as if you never saw us.”

“I know Arborians!” Iraca spat. “You’d never trust foreigners near such a large company.”

Barin frowned. Now that she mentioned it, she had a point. Four companies were marching with Barin, including his wife and son. Over half the Arborian population was moving together. He couldn’t risk being spotted, much less attacked by a tank.

“We do not mean to cause grief to the People.” Barin said. “Perhaps you could stay here as a gesture of good faith until we get some distance from your vehicle. I can promise you’d be treated well.”

Viun grabbed Barin’s head, pulled it to her, and whispered something in Barin’s ear. Barin winced when he finally understood. He hesitantly approached Iraca more closely.

“Uh, Sergeant. We’re being monitored, right?”

Yes, Iraca mouthed, facing away from the tank.

Whispering now, Barin said, “Could we maybe rerecord and start the whole thing over?”

“Sure.” Iraca said casually. She turned back to the tank. “Nadriw!” she yelled, “turn off the external recording equipment and edit out the last few seconds.”

From the tank’s speakers, a voice called out, “Do you mean the failsafe. . .”

“Yes.” Iraca yelled.

“We don’t want to be on their cameras when they start again.” Viun said to Gido. The woman and her adolescent son walked away. She called out the names of some trustworthy but rather large and frightening-looking Arborians and gestured for them to stand by Barin.

“We’ll start the sensors when I come out again.” Iraca said.

“I’m ready.” Barin said. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch on. Social misdirection isn’t my specialty.”

Iraca walked inside the tank. A couple minutes later, the hatch opened and she walked out again.

“What do you want?” Iraca asked.

Barin grabbed Iraca’s mane and pulled out a knife. “I want your tank!” he snarled. He jerked Iraca around to face the tank and yelled, “And if you don’t give it to me, I’ll kill your woman!”

Inside the tank, Nadriw was looking at the monitor. He bared his teeth. If you didn’t know him, you might think he was angry.

37

The creature tasted the air with a forked tongue. Its front feet – maybe they were hands – gripped the bars as it went back and forth, looking at the humans in the room curiously.

Fewer and fewer people believed that the creatures that scavenged out their lives in the wild were the servant race, feared by the people and trusted by Ming.

Flash Gordon’s name for them had been, predictably, ‘Lizard Men’. Just as Flash was traveling and teaching people English, these creatures fled to the wilderness and fell from civilization. Most people used Hans Zarkov’s word for them, ‘dracula’ meaning ‘little dragon’.

A man who could have been a baron and a man who could have been a knight walked a circuit around the cage as the dracula circled and looked back. Their families had lost their meaning with the death of Ming over a century before. In the light of day, this baron might prepare food and the knight might be a lieutenant, but in the clandestine meetings, the baron was lord.

The dracula was always just an animal.

“Will it work?” the knight asked.

“If this creature sees her as anything but a snack,” the baron said, “I’ll believe that she’s Ming’s blood.”

“Yes,” the knight said in a whisper so as not to be heard by the rest of the conspirators, “but with all due respect, what’s to say this creature will recognize her even if she is royalty.”

“Look at it this way.” the baron said. “If she runs in terror from this beast, then she’s more use as the president’s daughter and a hostage than as Ming’s descendant and a leader.”

“Here you go.” the dracula said brightly.

The knight gaped at the creature, and the baron laughed. “He doesn’t know the meaning of the sounds he’s making. He imitates whatever he hears before he gets food. In the wild, they often make bird calls. This one is mimicking the man who feeds him.”

The door to the utility closet opened, and the damp man in a blue jumpsuit stumbled out. He looked at the faces of the Mingists around him and wished he were anywhere else.

“It’s good to see you again, Powerman.” the knight said.

“And you, sir.” Powerman Ghinn said absently. “We just came through. Aura, the, um, princess, is inside. She brought a change of clothes, and she’s changing now.”

The baron smiled. He couldn’t really imagine handing over this conspiracy he led to a girl who had just been snuck out through some plumbing. Aura was naive and sheltered by all reports.

“She’ll be out very soon.” Ghinn said in the silence, immediately wishing he hadn’t.

On the other side of the closed door, Aura shook as she put on clothes. All her life, she’d been horribly aware that there were those who would kill her if they could. She might have hated the guards, advisers and servants that worked for her father, but they’d kept her safe. With Ghinn’s help, Aura had a few minutes of freedom, but it meant that she had a few minutes unprotected.

She’d vomited from worry just before she crawled through the pipe that took her here. Before that, she’d cried for hours. Now, she couldn’t do that. If she was going to have these people’s help, she’d have to prove not only that she was Ming’s descendant, but that she was strong.

She kept her breathing slow and opened the door.

There were a couple dozen people in the room. The all faced her as she walked through the door. The reflexes from a life in the first family took over. She walked into the room slowly and gracefully. Next to her ornate gown, the people in the room looked poor and dingy.

The baron’s eyes flicked down to his shirt, which had some barely visible stains. Perhaps he was aware how little he looked like a baron and how much Aura looked like an empress. He sounded suddenly angry when he said, “Aura, it’s time to see if you are whom you say you are.”

Aura felt grateful for the reflex that kept her smiling to the crowd. She’d hoped someone was here who knew the grandfather Aura herself had never met. Dr. Soma had told Aura the resemblence was remarkable. If no one knew her face, what possible test could they have?

The group parted, and Aura saw the creature. She’d never been to an isolated forest, a swamp, a landfill or any place a dracula might inhabit. She knew the creature from description. Her family stories were full of tales of the ferocity and strange cunning these servants of Ming had once possessed.

For a moment, Aura thought these people expected her to fight the beast. Then she remembered. In legend, these creatures knew Ming’s family by scent. Their loyalty was a matter of pure instinct.

Aura kept walking to the cage. There was no going back. If she didn’t have these people, she had no one. The advisers that had kept her safe all her life would soon discover her crimes and kill her. She had as little choice as the beast in front of her.

The dracula crept to the front of the cage. It pressed its snout to the bars and sent its tongue flickering through the air. Aura walked closer.

Even if the stories are true, these things haven’t known us for generations. It must be difficult to catch the scent. Aura removed a pin from her hair. As her hair fell, she put it into her hand quickly, before she lost her nerve. She held the cut hand in front of her.

“Stop Aura, stop!” Powerman Ghinn yelled. He’d always taken orders, but he’d never given one until now. Aura couldn’t afford to listen to him. She kept going forward, seeing nothing but the still eyes and seeking tongue of the creature.

Then the dracula reached its forelegs through the bars. It could only get the fingers and some of the hand through before they were too thick to get past. Aura lowered her hand to it.

The beast wrapped its fingers around her hand. Ghinn took a pair of panicked steps toward Aura. Then the dracula relaxed its grip and stroked her hand slowly. Its touch was very dry and extremely gentle.

“Inside.” the baron snapped. “She must go inside the cage.”

The dracula’s keeper, another whose family had once been knights, picked up his prod and took out his keys. He unlocked the door to the cage and held up his prod threateningly.

“We should let it out.” Aura said.

The dracula took a step forward, and the keeper gestured it back with his prod. Then, quicker than the keeper had ever seen his pet move, the dracula reached up one foreleg and snatched the prod away. It twirled the prod in its fingers and pointed it back at the keeper. It reared back and stood up on its hind legs.

The dracula – they would start calling it a ‘lizard man’ now – stepped forward. It was nearly as tall as its former keeper, who stumbled back. It stood beside Aura as she turned back to see the entire group fall to their knees.

“I have always been loyal.” the baron said as he faced the ground. “All this time, I have waited for your return.”

The baron was motionless as he heard the laugh, his own laugh, come from the reptilian mouth. The creature said in the baron’s voice, “He doesn’t know the meaning of those sounds he’s making.”

38

“So are you masturbating or something?”

Kanessa couldn’t hear J. No one could. A few hours after his imprisonment, J was talking constantly in a kind of hostile, aimless babble. That much was normal for J. The odd thing was that, when someone finally visited his cell, J said the strangest things to him, like ‘hello’.

J had even asked the name of the Hawk Man who brought him his food. Worse, he remembered it. It was Tivold.

Kanessa was sitting cross-legged a good distance away. She was on a suspended platform like J’s. The platforms were ten paces across with no walls. They hung like Christmas tree ornaments from Sky City. The pole that their cells hung from was too slick to climb.

It seemed like an odd way to trap someone, but it was obvious to the Hawk Men. Humans couldn’t fly, so you can keep them by not giving them anything to step on.

J couldn’t see either of the other Earthlings, but he could see Kanessa. J didn’t really think she was masturbating. She was holding her hands in front of her and making a bunch of quick gestures.

J sat on the edge of his cell, letting his legs dangle. His fear of heights had almost disappeared after the first two hours in the cell. Kanessa was chained to her pole. She’d walked off the edge of her cell the moment their jailers left. A pair of Hawk Men had dived after her like meteors and carried her back to her cell. Now Kanessa was attached by a long chain.

But she was making strange hand gestures. She kept her elbows out, so no one but J could see her hands. J followed the gestures. She would either make a fist, hold her palm out or make an ‘L’ – as though she were miming a gun pointing straight up.

“Some sign language. You’ve only got nine possible gestures.”

There was still no one to hear J. He kept watching.

After each combination, Kanessa drew her hands back. It was impossible for J not to try to follow the combination. J nodded.

“Okay, I get it. You’re counting. Fist is zero, palm is one, gun is two. You go in groups of two. That gives you eighty one possibilities. So you can do base three numbers. Good Arborian. Have a banana.

“Let’s see. Sixty-nine. That’s fifty four, nine and six.”

J flashed an gun-palm followed by a quick gun-fist.

J smiled as he waited for Kanessa to catch it, but she just looked baffled. J sighed. Either Arborians are sexually unimaginative or that particular slang had never made it to Mongo.

Kanessa kept showing a fist and a palm followed by two fists.

“Nine? Ninth letter? ‘I’?”

J pointed at Kanessa. And spread his hands to indicate a question.

Kanessa shook her head and pointed back at J.

“Oh yeah, it starts at zero, J, you inbred fuckwit. Nine means ‘J’. This makes smoke signals look like fiber optic cable. ‘Okay’. ‘O’ is. . .fourteen, ‘K’ is ten.”

J made the gestures and waited for Kanessa. It was tough to tell at that distance, but she may have actually smiled as she nodded. It was the first time she’d smiled at J since he thwarted her first suicide attempt the day before.

Kanessa stood up suddenly, and J felt a rush of air behind him. It was Tivold, carrying a large box at the end of a rope.

“It’s time for lunch.” the Hawk Man said.

J looked in. The box had bottles of water and several dozen spheres of some kind of bread.

J looked up suspiciously. “And dinner and tomorrow’s meals, it looks like.”

“No.” Tivold said, taking out a platter and setting the food on it. “Half of this is for the Arborian. We fed the other two Earthlings just now. One of them. . .”

“One of them what?” J asked.

“The Earth woman said I should talk to you.”

“Did you do something to piss her off?” J said. “Usually, she’d just maim you herself and not farm out the dealing of misery to me.”

“It’s not that.” Tivold said. It was the first time he’d seen a Hawk Man look awkward, and J realized Tivold was younger than J was. “I told her I couldn’t trust her, and she told me to talk to you. She said you’d convince me.”

“What?” J asked. “I should convince you to trust Susan?”

Tivold shrugged. “She wanted something. I said we didn’t trust her enough to give it to her, and she said to talk to you.”

“She’s lost her mind” J said. “Here’s my take. Susan wants to be honest. She isn’t because she thinks everyone’s her enemy, and you can only be so honest to your enemies. Also, she gets carried away often.”

“That doesn’t help her case.”

“No shit.” J said. “What did she want?”

“She wants to use an ore carrier.” Tivold said.

“Is that a weapon?” J asked.

“No. It’s a vehicle. It’s got several legs and mechanical arms for gripping. It takes months of training to use them properly.”

J looked down.

“What?” the Hawk Man asked.

“It’s probably a good idea to let her use this thing.” J said.

“But you said she can’t be trusted.” Tivold said.

“She’s not trustworthy, but she’s predictable. If you give her something challenging, she’s not going to think of anything else until she’s mastered it.”

“I was thinking she’d use it to get revenge on us.”

“If she wanted revenge, she’d have broken your nose when you gave her food. I’ll bet she’s got a plan of escape. If you let her use this thing, you’ll delay the attempt.”

“Are you telling me this to help me or her?” Tivold asked.

“I don’t know why I said it.” J said. “I hate you because you put me here, and I hate Susan for reasons too numerous to name.”

“If you hate her, why were you traveling together?”

“God hates me.”

“So, was I right about J?” Dr. Soma asked.

Dr. Torre and Dr. Zachgo were still getting their seats. Dr. Torre held a set of papers covered with writing a machine had transcribed. Dr. Torre hadn’t read from paper in years. Many people in Mingo City never had, but it was the safest way they’d found to give Dr. Soma information while she was imprisoned.

“Yes.” Dr. Torre said, putting a set of pages down on the table. Dr. Soma got up from her cot and looked at the pages. She leaned forward and started to read.

“You were suspiciously precise.” Dr. Zachgo snapped.

“Would you prefer I didn’t give you helpful information?” Dr. Soma asked without looking up from the papers.

“I would like to know how you knew what changes J Bosca made to our computers when you haven’t contacted J or had access to those computers for three decades.”

“We’re worried that you’ve had contact with our enemies or the Mongovian central computer.” Dr. Torre said.

Dr. Soma smiled as she looked up. “I assure you, gentlemen, I’ve been in this cell the whole time. Check your cameras if you don’t believe me. I said J would modify the identification system because it was the easiest, most obvious target.”

“The most obvious target for J?” Dr. Torre asked.

“It’s the most obvious target for anyone.” Dr. Soma said. “If you want to create a secret entrance to the core network, the identification system is the most direct way. We know that, so a subtle infiltrator would make his changes somewhere else.”

“J is not subtle.” Dr. Torre said.

“He’s intelligent, but he likes to be underestimated.”

“Why?” Dr. Torre asked.

“‘Why’ isn’t my business.” Dr. Soma replied. “I see a pattern. He’s shown some signs of being intelligent, but he consistently talks and acts like an arrogant dolt. So, when he broke into the system, he made a change he thought would be easily found. He wants us to know he got in.”

“Why didn’t J do something we’d discover right away?” Dr. Zachgo asked.

“Since my incarceration thirty-two years ago, the philosophy has been to keep our system secure by outlawing the knowledge of security, even from ourselves. I suspect this strategy had never occurred to J.”

“Are we safe now?” Dr. Torre asked.

Dr. Soma shook her head. “My reading about J said that he’d make an obvious change, but he knew his survival might depend on getting through our security. What you found was vandalism. The actual breach – there’s probably more than one – is somewhere else.”

“What do you suggest we do?”

“Let me in.” Dr. Soma said. “Security was my chief duty before my arrest. I am the best qualified person to get access.”

“That’s insanity.” Dr. Zachgo said.

“I’m afraid so.” Dr. Torre agreed. “You might be a greater threat than J if we let you into those computers.”

Dr. Soma shrugged. “I could argue. I’ll just tell you this. If J comes within two kilometers of the central computer, he can turn off any light in Mingo City. He can see through any camera. He can deactivate any weapon.”

“I know.” Dr. Torre said. “You once wrote a report about a full breach. If it comes to that, we’ll come back here and ask your advice then.”

“If it comes to that,” Dr. Soma said, “be sure to bring a crowbar. My cell has an automatic door.”

39

Nultar looked below him. He was near the highest point in Sky City. From here, he could see almost to Arboria, over a hundred miles distant. The air was cold and thin.

He stepped off the platform.

The wind whipped past him as he picked up speed. He felt it struggle against his spreading wings. For a moment, he kept falling, his wings only to guide his drop. He started to grip the air, and his plunge became a swift glide.

The platforms, pillars and walkways of Sky City went past him with dizzying speed. Without his familiarity with the layout and his racial instinct for flight, he never could have gone this fast without hitting something. Some people, employees or tenants mostly, recognized Nultar as he passed. They didn’t have time to call before he was well away.

He heard someone else fall in behind him. Nultar glanced back to see Vultan’s assistant flying in his wake. Nultar plunged past his office, noticing that Vultan himself was waiting nearby.

Nultar drew his legs forward and pressed his wings against the wind. He swung upwards, climbing back above the level of his office as he bled off his speed. He lost momentum and dropped neatly into his chair as he withdrew his wings into his back.

“You’re an arrogant little bastard, aren’t you?” Vultan said.

“It’s good to see you, too, sir.” Nultar said.

“Four prisoners.” Vultan said. “One is Arborian, three are foreigners. Do you remember them?”

“I do. They were captured by my expedition. They aren’t citizens of a recognized country, so they are legitimate acquisitions.”

Vultan’s assistant landed just behind Nultar. Vultan waved to the assistant, who announced, “You have breached civic contract on two counts.

“One: Vultan is executor of the treaty with Mingo City. All actions related to policy with the Republic of Mongo must be approved by him.

“Two: Vultan is owner of the pillar of light. All actions that could potentially endanger the safety of Sky City as a whole must be approved by him.”

“I’m not endangering anyone or changing policy.” Nultar said. “I’m only capturing people the Republic of Mongo announced were enemies of the state.”

“Then why are the prisoners hanging beneath the nursery, where you imagined I wouldn’t notice them?” Vultan asked. “Why didn’t you deliver them to President Gordon?”

“Our treaty with Mongo doesn’t say we have to give them the Earthlings. We can negotiate. . .”

“We can’t negotiate!” Vultan roared. “Damn what the treaty says. Do you ever think of what we look like to the Republic’s navy? A whole civilization, a whole species all living in one city hanging in the air? If we look inconvenient in the least, they’ll exterminate us in an afternoon.”

“So you’d give our prisoners to the Republic?”

Vultan held up three fingers. “Just the three Earthlings. I think the Arborian is about to escape.”

“What?” Nultar said. “You talk about the danger of the Republic, and you’d let an Arborian, a known enemy, go?”

Vultan waved an arm. Nultar scowled as he saw Kivya land. Kivya was one of his fliers. She’d helped capture the prisoners.

“What does the Arborian look like?” Vultan asked.

“You’ve signed a confidentiality agreement.” Nultar reminded Kivya.

“We purchased the contract.” Vultan’s assistant said. “You can talk to our lawyers at your convenience.”

“She’s medium height.” Kivya said nervously. “She has jet black hair and very dark blue eyes.”

“So?” Nultar asked.

Vultan lifted a talker from his belt and spoke into it. “Could you tell us what the significance of dark hair and midnight blue eyes is?”

No face showed on the small communication device, but a strange mechanical voice came out. “Barin, the most charismatic of the Arborian leaders, has coloration like that. It’s not common, even among Arborians. This prisoner is probably his family, especially if she had a suicide helmet.”

It was long suspected that Vultan had employees who communicated with Arborians. The connection was treason and a breach of the contract between Sky City and Mingo City, which is why Vultan’s friend only spoke over a talking using a voice scrambler.

“Once I’m sure the way is safe, we’ll send the Earthlings back to President Gordon, and we’ll arrange for the Arborian to escape.”

“We’d better be careful about the Arborian.” Tivold said. “She probably feels a kinship with her fellow captives.”

“Turn around, you stupid bitch!” J yelled. The words were lost in the thin, open air.

J had just started to feel like himself again after hours of loneliness, and the Arborian primate had to turn away from him. J never realized how glad he was that people couldn’t just decide not to hear him.

J tried using the hand signals Kanessa taught him to see if she’d be curious what he was saying, but she probably didn’t even know he was gesturing at all.

“What are you doing?”

J felt guilty as he turned around, but Tivold looked more curious than suspicious. Of course, he and Kanessa were both prisoners, dangling on isolated platforms several hundred feet above the ground. Why would the Hawk Men care even if they found out J and Kanessa had found a way to talk?

“I was just trying to get Kanessa’s attention.” J said.

“It’s odd.” Tivold said. “Susan and Lewis face each other almost constantly. I thought it was a thing you crawlers did. Kanessa is the first one I’ve seen to keep facing away from another prisoner in her line of sight.”

“You capture a lot of us ‘crawlers’?” J asked.

“Oh no.” Tivold said. “I was a hunter of animals, which is good for impressing people, but it didn’t get me jobs. I was really glad to get the job to grab you guys. It got me out of the nursery.”

“I imagine your children can’t be much fun.”

Tivold frowned. “It’s okay work. It’s just very low status for us. We all start in the nursery. You get out when you get work. If that never happens, you work in the nursery.”

“What about your parents?”

“That’s a crawler thing.” Tivold said. “We come from the nursery.”

“There’s no sex?” J asked.

“Of course there’s sex. That’s how we’re conceived. It’s just that, once the woman knows she’s pregnant, she ikowa.”

“What’s ‘ikowa’?”

“It’s when you remove a the cells of a child from the mother shortly after conception. Is there a crawler word for that?”

“‘Family planning.’” J offered.

“Well, after she ikowa, the child develops in an incubator until it’s ready to live unassisted. Then they’re all raised in the nursery.”

“Until they’re hired?”

“Kind of. Usually, we’re apprenticed shortly after launch. I was too busy hunting and trick flying. I never got picked for apprenticeship.”

“What’s launch?” J asked.

“After about six years, they take a group of children the same age, and they all leave the city to fly.”

“I hope you all know how to fly by then.”

“Almost all of us can.” Tivold said.

“Almost?” J asked. “What happens to the rest?”

“What do you think? It’s a long way down.”

“You kill your own children?” J demanded. J had inspired many shocked expressions in his time. This time, he created his own.

“They’re not our children.” Tivold said, baffled. “If they can’t fly, they’re crawlers. Besides, we don’t kill them. They just don’t make it through the launch.”

“Where’s Susan?” J asked with sudden urgency.

“She’s fine. We decided to let her use an ore carrier. She’s spent every waking moment trying to drive it around an empty loading dock. We’ve never seen anyone that good with it.”

“Whatever.” J said. “Just don’t tell her about the launch.”

Tivold grinned. “Is this more advice you’re giving me for unknown reasons?”

“No. This is advice I’m giving you so that I don’t get killed when Susan goes batshit. She’s insanely protective of children. If she finds out you kill them, you’re a dead man.”

“She can’t threaten us. She’s our prisoner.” Tivold protested.

“Imagine saying that while you’re trying to pull your femur out of your neck. Does it sound reassuring or bitterly ironic?”

“I won’t tell her about the launch.”

“Good boy.”

40

President Gordon had looked for Dr. Torre in the doctor’s temporary offices. Checking with the network, Gordon found Torre was in the staff offices two floors down.

As he approached the offices, the president noticed the smell of raw meat, mostly fish. Then he saw the mass of boxes. They were a kind of colorful cardboard the Lion Men favored. There were perhaps two dozen of the boxes strewn around the floor.

Inside each box were tiny compartments with small portions of raw meat. There was a staff of people examining the meat with such intensity the president was afraid they were disarming a bomb.

The shining glint of Dr. Torre’s cybernetic implants caught Gordon’s eye. Torre was standing perfectly still, apparently consulting his internal computer.

“Dr. Torre, may I ask what you’re doing?”

Dr. Torre turned to face the president as if he’d known he was there all along. All Mongo’s doctors could suppress their emotions, but Dr. Torre seemed genuinely unphased. “Hello, Mr. President. We are cataloging and rearranging raw meat.”

“Has the crisis passed?” Gordon asked.

“No, Mr. President. Our forensics teams in Arboria are picking up signs that the Earthlings may be alive and at large. Dr. Soma tells us that the city is in grave danger if the rogue doctor, J, comes near it. The civil unrest is still quite severe.”

“Why, then, are you worrying with meat?”

“It’s a gift for King Thun. The Lion Men are opportunists by nature. They take advantage of any disturbance and further it with sabotage of their own. The Lion Men sent their king over fifty kilograms of meat, arranged in small pieces in several trays. The timing and the outrageous quantity make me think it’s a message.”

“A message?”

“Yes, Mr. President.” Dr. Torre said. “We checked for any patterns within the pieces themselves. We can’t find anything consistent. There may be a message in the arrangement of the meat within the boxes. We’re recording the arrangement so we can decipher it if they use the same system again, and we’re rearranging to meat to garble the message.”

“Why not just confiscate it?” President Gordon asked.

“That would just make them switch to another medium. With luck, King Thun might just think the message was missent. He’ll waste time asking for them to send it again. That gives us another chance to find out what code might be here.”

Sergeant Donnel, one of Dr. Torre’s staff, came up and reported, “We’ve finished the rearrangement, doctor.”

“I came up with an arrangement that bears no consistent similarity to how the meat was sent” Dr. Torre said “You may pack it up and take it to King Thun.”

“As you say, sir, though I’d as soon the uppity beast starved.”

King Thun paced rapidly across the gym floor. He watched the muzzle of the machine swing back and forth. The muzzle popped softly, and a yellow blur darted across the room. Thun leaped and slapped a paw against the ground.

“Twelve meters.” Thun declared as he lifted the ball he’d pinned down.

At the sidelines, Sortia’s tail flicked with impatience. “You should move closer to the launcher. You’re playing it too safe.”

“If I get within ten meters, the ball’s past me before I know it’s launched.”

The doors to the gym opened, and two soldiers guided in a hover platform loaded with boxes.

“Can that be my food?” Thun asked. “Sergeant Donnel, are you absolutely sure that my box meat isn’t armed or somehow seditious?”

Donnel ignored him. “The scanners said you were here playing your silly alien games.”

“Don’t humans play catch?” Sortia asked from where she sat.

“Only children, and they don’t keep score.” Sergeant Donnel growled.

“Golf is like that for us.” Thun said. “We don’t keep score and it’s only played by the mentally deficient.”

“You think you’re funny?”

“Sorry, Sergeant. It’s just childish whimsy on my part. The truth is that we euthanize them long before they sink to golfing.”

“You should ease up, Thun.” Sortia warned.

“I’m sure the monkeys are house trained.”

Sergeant Donnel unstrapped his shock baton. “Private.” he said to the other soldier. “Why don’t you take a walk for a few minutes?”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” the private asked.

Donnel nodded, and stepped forward ominously. The private left as Thun started to back away.

Donnel lashed out. Thun raised an arm to block the baton, but it sparked on contact. Thun cradled his arm, and Donnel brought the baton down on his head. Thun screamed and held his head.

“Was that really necessary?” Thun asked.

“You know it was.” Sortia said, finally getting up.

Donnel switched off the baton. “If you didn’t have a mark on you, the private will wonder what I was doing when I was supposed to be beating you.”

“You could have used a pain flare. They don’t leave traces.”

“They do if you look close enough, and we’re wasting time.” Sortia said. “What’s the message?”

“Thun’s daughter the tank driver ran into an army of Arborians headed for Sky City. They surrendered their tank to the Arborians. Bugs they left behind on the tank relayed some Arborians talking about the Earthlings. Apparently, all three Earthlings are still alive and captives in Sky City.”

“My daughter?” Thun asked. “Iraca? Is she okay?”

“They’d say if she wasn’t.” Sortia said. “Does the butcher – I mean Dr. Torre – know about this?”

“If the doctor knew, I’d be near hunting Earthlings instead of bringing your food.” the sergeant said.

“So the Earthlings are in Sky City. The Arborians are preparing to attack, and they’ve got one of our big tanks?” Sortia asked.

“That’s it.”

Sortia nodded. “Is there anything else?”

“Why did they send Thun so much meat?” Donnel asked.

“Why ever not?” Thun asked.

“They had to do something suspicious or they wouldn’t send you to us.” Sortia said. “Also, it’s probably to make Thun less grouchy about the beating. By the way, I hear your partner coming. You’d better. . .”

Thun turned to look at Sortia. “He’d better what? Ow!”

Sergeant Donnel had reactivated his shock baton and hit Thun again. Thun was reflexively reaching to hit back when the door opened, and the private walked in. The private pulled out his baton and Thun took a step back, running a paw over the burns on his face.

“Stinking beast.” Sergeant Donnel said as he led his fellow out.

“How’d we ever turn him?” Thun asked after the two left.

“We didn’t.” Sortia said. “I think he hates us. He just hates the butcher more.”

“You sound moody. Why? No one’s come up with a communication protocol that involves you getting electrocuted.”

“Once I can get a message back home, I’m going to suggest that we accidentally let Dr. Torre know where the Earthlings are.”

“Why?”

“If the butcher hears the Hawk Men are keeping the Earthlings in Sky City without telling anyone, what will he do?”

“Blow Sky City to confetti.”

Sortia nodded. “He’ll need half the navy to do it. The butcher will probably be safe and take the whole navy.”

“So?”

“So, with no Hawk Men and no Republic navy, our home will be completely without aerial surveillance. Most of the occupying army has already been recalled to Mingo City. We’ll be free.”

“For how long?”

Sortia shrugged. “It could be a long time. We won’t say anything about the Arborians or the stolen tank until it’s too late. The navy will be flying into an ambush.”

“So we’ll sacrifice the Earthlings and the Hawk Men for a little breathing room?” Thun asked.

“It’s not my decision.” Sortia said. “But I think it’s worth it. The Hawk Men helped bring us to heel in the first place. They’ll never be anything but slaves to the Republic. The Earthlings seem noble enough, but so did Flash Gordon.”

41

The Truth hung in the air, casting its shadow over a dozen dwellings. When the giant craft first arrived, the People reacted with an steely nonchalance that covered a deep dread. The Truth had destroyed entire towns in minutes. This sector had been unruly since Dr. Torre had left the area, and the dreadnought had come as a silent threat.

Frantic and bleeding, one of the People climbed from a window to the roof of the tallest building below. Still far beneath the Truth, he waved his arms and shouted. Others of the People yelled and tossed rocks at him.

The sight caught the attention of the weapons officer, who’d been idly watching the sensors. He alerted the captain, who’d sent out a craft to catch the climber.

The People look wretched when they’re injured. This one had cuts in several places. Blood matted the bristles of his mane. The guards had stripped the prisoner and searched the fur for concealed weapons.

The security officer talked to the intruder and then sent him on to the captain. The captain talked to him for several minutes and then sent a message to the communications officer.

“Get Dr. Torre now. This is top priority. Whatever he’s doing, interrupt him.”

“I have surprising news, Mr. President.” Dr. Torre said as he walked into the reception chamber. “The Earthlings appear to be alive and guests of the Hawk Men.”

“Are you sure?” President Gordon asked.

“Yes. One of the Lion Men leaked the lead. He said that if we found out what they knew and didn’t tell us, we’d make an example of them.”

“It sounds like they’re learning.”

“Perhaps.” Dr. Torre agreed. “I didn’t know whether to trust the information, so I sent a spy scout. It picked up chemical traces of the Earthlings from the matches the samples we have. The Earthlings are in Sky City.”

“The Hawk Men need to be punished.” the president said.

“I think punishment isn’t enough.” Dr. Torre said. “The affair with the Earthlings did a dangerous thing. It embarrassed us. Twice today, civilians in Mingo City threw bricks at our soldiers. Right now, we need to inspire terror. I suggest we destroy Sky City.”

“Do it.” the president said. “I formally authorize you to take whatever you need to make them pay.”

It was a dull process. Admiral March took report after report as maintenance robots went over the Justice and compared its current condition to the what its original specifications. The Justice was a dreadnought, and it hadn’t flown in over a century. The reports included things from pieces of metal having shifted just under a millimeter to entire rooms that had crumbled from neglect.

With the Liberty destroyed and the Truth on permanent patrol and domination duty in the land of the Lion Men, the Admiral needed the Justice to fly again or he had no flagship. Justice had made several test flights successfully, but March went through the reports and directed workers to fix anomalies. He didn’t want to lose face in front of that bastard Dr. Torre.

“Do you think she’s ready for active duty?”

Admiral March turned with a start. Dr. Torre was again soundless as he stood behind him. Being a doctor, Torre could bring the full reports directly into his brain. He knew more about the condition of the Justice than Admiral March did.

“She seems to be sky and spaceworthy, doctor.”

“Good.” Dr. Torre said. “I’ve been given temporary authority over the navy.”

“I’ve been working on this ship day and night, and you mean to take it from me?” Admiral March regretted the outburst the moment it was out of his mouth.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Dr. Torre said cheerfully.

Admiral March stood motionless, waiting.

“The Truth is coming. I will assume command of that ship, and you will take the Justice.”

The Raymond had landed. Small robots and groups of soldiers warily examined the settlement. The collection of makeshift houses and factories looked abandoned, but Arborians always abandoned their buildings when the destroyers came.

The Raymond was not the terror of technology that the dreadnoughts were, but attacking a destroyer was a dangerous and difficult quest for any Arborian group. The soldiers weren’t frightened until they left the ship.

As they inspected the buildings, the soldiers left mines. They had all manner of devices. Some stayed inside walls and exploded when they sensed a human heartbeat. Some lurked under ground and erupted when they smelled human pheromones.

Things went wrong all the time. The sensors said the area was clear, but Arborians were devilishly clever at avoiding sensors. The Arborians sometimes would leave an abandoned settlement after they’d trapped it themselves. The Republic soldiers who came to lay mines in the camp were blown to pieces before they could appreciate the irony.

The captain jumped as he heard a chime from his talker. He picked it up.

“Raymond, this is the Keefe. We’re being recalled from Arboria for a mass action elsewhere. We are to meet the main group as it passes from Mingo City.”

“This is the Raymond.” the captain answered into his talker. “Send us the coordinates for the rendez-vous and we’ll be there. It’s all quiet here. It’s like the Arborians have all left and gone somewhere else. Still, it will be good to get away. Those bastards are always hiding somewhere.”

After generations of being hunted, the Arborians had turned hiding and entrenching themselves into both an instinct and an art. They had reached the vicinity of Sky City three days before. By day, they hid. By night, they tunneled in further.

It helped that the Chimera class battle tank they’d captured could slowly burrow. Its tunneling was a feature that had surprised the Arborians almost as much as the full kitchen and dining room.

The Arborians had dismantled the kitchen and moved the dining tables out to make more room. Koval had set up the area as his workspace, giving him access to the tank’s considerable and eclectic resources. No one visited him there.

Koval was a compulsive problem solver. Being an Arborian, the main problem Koval had to solve was that thousands of Republic soldiers were trying to kill him and everyone he knew.

Koval had considered many solutions. You could make the enemy unable to do harm (there were numerous ways to sabotage weapons). You could make the enemy unable to move (damage footgear in an area dense with bore worms – the legs were frequently devoured from within before they could get medical attention). You could make the enemy unable to think (prolonged exposure to carbon monoxide gas).

Killing, however, was the most direct, immediate solution. Koval would discuss the most dangerous, cruel methods calmly. He wasn’t driven by a need for revenge or even a hope for freedom. He just saw a destination and felt compelled to explain the path.

Viun was one of the few who considered Koval a friend. Viun helped soothe the people whom Koval frightened, and she interpreted his less coherent explanations. They helped each other become leaders among the Arborians.

“You said you needed to speak to me.” Viun said.

Koval barely reacted, even though he didn’t know Viun had been there. “I received a message.”

“What kind of message?”

Koval nearly glowed with excitement. “An N-space message!”

“You said you couldn’t use the N-space receiver.”

“I couldn’t.”

“You said you were like an ape trying to fix a radio.”

“I was.”

Viun nodded. “So what happened?”

“I’ve been looking through the references on the tank. They’ve got several petabytes of material. Some of it explains N-space mechanics.”

“That makes no sense.”

“N-space mechanics? They’re counter-intuitive, but. . .”

“No.” Viun said. “It doesn’t make sense they’d risk putting an N-space reference on a tank. The Republic outlawed N-space studies among all the subject races.”

“All they had to do was change the vocabulary. There’s only a couple hundred doctors. None of them or any military inspector is obsessive enough to scan billions of pages of material looking for a reference to N-space.”

“Speaking of which,” Viun said, “when did you last sleep?”

Koval’s laugh was too loud and a strange pitch. “I honestly don’t know. When I sleep, I dream of N-space mechanics. Um, some of my research may have been imaginary.”

“I’d better look at this message for myself.” Viun said.

“It’s auditory.” Koval said. He moved a couple levers and a voice came from the machinery.

“Vessels Truth, Justice, Northfield, Raymond, Briggs, Jacobs. . .”

“Those are all spacecraft.” Viun said. “The Truth and Justice are dreadnoughts. I think the others are destroyers. That sounds like every capital ship in the fleet. They’re not all going to the same place, are they?”

“That’s what I called you here to say.” Koval said. “It’s later in the message. They’re all coming here.”

42

“You’ll have to be the one who tells them.” Viun said.

“I know.” Barin replied.

The chamber was barely lit. This set of caverns was the first, the largest and the best protected of the areas the Arborian soldiers and engineers had carved into the mountains surrounding Sky City. They called subterrainian base “the spring” because it was a crucial piece of a trap.

The couple barely noticed Koval, who’d been sitting off to a side and muttering to himself trying to puzzle through something he couldn’t explain.

The other members of the strategic council showed up quickly. The summons was urgent, and their companies were set up in easy distance of the spring.

“The Republic is coming in force.” Barin announced as the last one arrived. “We have received a message calling two dreadnoughts and eight destroyers to this location.”

“Could the message be a fake?” one general asked.

“It was sent through N-space.” Viun said. “We haven’t been able to receive N-space messages until last night, and the Republic can’t possibly know we can receive them.”

“Unless I’m a traitor.” Koval suggested helpfully.

“You wouldn’t suggest that if you were a traitor.” Baron said.

“I might.” Koval said. “I don’t think that much about what I say. If I were a traitor, though, I think I’d do something else instead, put a virus with a long incubation period into the water filters. . . .”

“You need to stop talking.” Viun said.

“Right.”

“They know we’re here.” a councillor said. It wasn’t clear if it was a question.

“It seems not.” Barin said. “There are no transports and no drop ships, and they’re flying within the atmosphere. It’s a stupid way to approach ground resistence, and the mission commander isn’t stupid.”

“Who’s the mission commander?” the councillor asked.

“Doctor Torre. You might remember him from the years before his conversion as Captain Torre.”

Everyone in the room was silent as they watched for each other’s reactions. Most were old enough to remember Torre’s time in Arboria. Those who weren’t heard the stories.

Barin spoke again. “They’ll be here in less than an hour, so I don’t have time to debate strategy. I am taking emergency command. We’ve all taken oaths. You don’t have to agree with these orders, but you must obey them to the death.

“I mean to do a full attack against the Republic fleet. We can’t hurt the dreadnoughts. We’ll target the destroyers. We’ll wait under high cover until three weapons bear on one destroyer. Then we attack. No one capable of attacking aerial weapons or assisting others is to leave combat until four destroyers have fallen.”

“Why four?” another councillor asked.

Viun answered. “We estimate that if the entire army fled five or more surviving destoryers and two dreadnoughts, there would probably be no survivors.”

No one spoke.

“This may be the most punishing battle in our history.” Barin said. He smiled with that perfect, infectious, terrifying faith. “Or theirs. Those ships are the legs of the Republic. We will cripple it. For centuries, our families have survived and continued so that today we could strike.”

“Are you nervous, Lieutenant Fayer.” Dr. Torre asked.

“Perhaps, sir.” Lieutenant Fayer said. “I appreciate the promotion very much. I have not been in the service long, and I’ve never flown on a dreadnought, sir. I don’t want to let you down.”

“I don’t require perfection. You know many people who’ve made mistakes while working for me. I require attention, obedience and honesty. Do you know the people who’ve denied me that?”

“Not personally, sir.”

“I think missed the chance.” Dr. Torre said. “My point is that I’m prone to personnel decisions which, while inspirational and wonderfully irrevocable, require I have people with the adaptability to fill roles left suddenly vacant. I judge you to be such a person.”

Barin tried to count seconds and meditate at the same time. He and five others were wrapped inside an envelope of Frigian heatcloth. A transparent bodywrap of the material a millimeter thick could keep someone alive in forty below weather.

The Arborians used heatcloth with an air supply and a heat sink and without outside ventilation. Almost no heat left the envelope, so to the infared scanners above, the Arborians were invisible. The envelope and its six guests were buried under a thin layer of sand, so they weren’t clear to the naked eye, either.

They had thirty minutes – perhaps forty if the meditation slowed their metabolism enough – and then they’d start to boil from their own body heat.

The transmission chamber was one of the few official chambers in Sky City with walls and a ceiling. Vultan was here alone, though other Hawk Men waited just outside.

The hologram activated, and the black uniformed figure sprouted into being just in front of Vultan.

Not Dr. Torre. Vultan thought. He’d heard rumors about him. If he led this navy, they were in mortal danger. The hologram looked him in the eye, but didn’t talk.

“We have prisoners for you.” Vultan said. “We will transfer them as soon as you dock.”

“Prisoners?” Dr. Torre asked. “When did you acquire them?”

“A few days ago, doctor. We did not send them to you earlier or send a transmission because I’m afraid there may be Arborian spies nearby. I’ve sent out a few scouting parties that haven’t returned, but because you’re here in such force. . .”

“You were unable to keep order within the domain granted to you?” Dr. Torre asked.

Vultan tried not to wince as he recognized the wording from the Sky City treaty. If the subject people of this treaty are unable to keep order within the domain granted to them, their territories are forfeit and subject to the martial law of the Republic.

On the bridge of the Truth, the communications officer’s hologram replaced Vultan’s.

“Dr. Torre.” the officer said. “there’s a signal for you from Mingo City. They say it’s urgent.”

Dr. Zachgo, who’d joined the bridge for the negotiation said, “Not now. This can wait until after we’ve received their surrender.”

But Dr. Torre waved at Lieutenant Fayer and said, “Get the message. If we need to know now, summarize it.”

Fayer ran through the access corridor and hurried down the ladderlike stairs to the communications center. He nodded to the communications officer and picked up a headphone. He started talking to the officer in Mingo City.

“Hello, sir, this is Lieutenant Fayer. I’m here to receive the message for Dr. Torre. He told me to find out what you’re supposed to tell him.

“I’m Lieutenant Fayer, junior grade. Yes, sir, just promoted. What, sir? I know, sir, but I’m under orders from Dr. Torre himself, sir. I’m speaking on his behalf. Perhaps that could constitute an exception. This is Dr. Torre. Have you talked to him, perhaps or heard rumors?

“Yes, sir, I understand regulations are regulations. Orders are orders. I have my own, and, right now, I feel especially thankful that, when I follow my orders to the letter, it won’t cause me and my entire family to be executed.

“What’s that, sir?

“I’ve got it, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Fayer took off the headphones and turned to the communications officer. “Could you open the direct channel to Dr. Torre?”

“How direct?” the communications officer asked.

“The one that goes directly into his brain.”

The communications officer entered the code. The answering message for the neurological channel was Dr. Torre’s voice saying, “I hope this is important.”

Lieutenant Fayer read his message. “The Lion Men have just discovered that Arborians hijacked one of their strategic battle tanks three days ago. The tank was a day’s drive from Sky City.”

Vultan took a deep breath. If I surrender, they’ll kill me. If I don’t, I’ll lose my home, my people and my legacy.

And they’ll kill me.

“I offer my own surrender.” Vultan said. “You can take the Earthlings and me with you.”

“Under the present circumstances,” Dr. Torre said. “It may be too late for that.”

“Dr. Torre. . .” Vultan started.

Dr. Torre started as though he’d just heard something, though he didn’t turn to look at anyone.

“Excuse me,” Dr. Torre said, and his hologram disappeared.

Nultar, who was just outside, came in. “Vultan, I’ve heard reports. There is an attack on the Republic fleet.”

“The fools!” Vultan said. “We can’t attack them now.”

“We’re not.” Nultar said. “The attack comes from below Sky City.”

43

By the hundreds, Hawk Men were abandoning Sky City. Swarms like living fog glided together, trying to find a safe place far away.

An arm of the city – a giant branching maze of platforms, supports and walkways – sagged under its own weight after a particle cannon struck near the base. It groaned mournfully as the thousands of tons of metal slowly swung down and dangled beneath the city.

“I need the Ascendant.” Tivold yelled to be heard over the screams and explosions.

“I’m you’re employer, and the Ascendant is my property.” Nultar said. “Your needs are not at issue.”

“You can take it. Just take the children with you. They can’t fly yet, not in these conditions, and the nursery is the most dangerous level. How could you live with it if they were left there?”

“Look around you.” Nultar said. “Everything you see is my doing. Do not presume to tell me what I can live with. You’re fired, Tivold. Go away.”

“Captain Bold, come with me!” Kivya yelled.

Lewis wanted to remind her again that he hadn’t been a captain for several years. He also wanted to ask what they called the large, hovering platform that Kivya was piloting. As the city seemed to be falling apart around him, Lewis jumped onto Kivya’s craft before saying a word.

“If I surrender,” Lewis yelled, “will they stop this attack?”

Kivya grimaced. “I don’t think so. And I’m not here to hand you over. Vultan sent me to take you into hiding.”

Kivya picked up a chain and looked at Lewis apologetically. They’d become friends of a sort during Lewis’s imprisonment. Lewis stayed still as Kivya chained him to the railing of the flying barge.

“Are we getting Susan?” Lewis asked.

“Don’t worry.” Kivya said. “Tivold’s coming for her now.”

Susan wrapped both her arms around the main support for her platform to keep from being shaken off. The falling arm of Sky City was nearby, and its instability was causing everything to shake.

So many Hawk Men were abandoning Sky City that she didn’t notice Tivold swooping toward her until he was a few feet away.

“I need your help.” Tivold said.

It was almost the last thing Susan expected to hear. “What for?”

“On the level just above us, some people are trapped. You’ve gotten pretty good with the ore carrier. I thought you could use it to break through to them and get them out.”

“We’re not leaving?” Susan asked.

“Just as soon as we get them out of the lower levels. If Sky City falls, the lower levels will collapse or even explode. They’ll die.”

“I don’t care. Why should I?” Susan asked. “You imprisoned me.”

“J said. . .” Tivold started.

”. . .something highly inaccurate.” Susan finished.

“They’re children.” Tivold said.

Susan closed her eyes. This time, she thought I’m going to kill J. We get captured and he had to tell these bastards how to get to me.

“Let’s go.” Susan said.

Dr. Torre looked at the hologram of the sensor officer. “Do you have a better idea where the Arborians are?”

“We tracked the positions that attacked us. . .” the officer started.

“And we’ve attacked. When I asked, I wasn’t asking about the ones who’ve already attacked us. They’re dead. I’m asking about the living ones waiting to attack.”

“We’re not getting a recongizable heat signature. After we started hitting the ground with particle cannons, there’s too much random heat for infrared to work well. We’re not seeing anything useful. They’re camouflaged and dug in.”

“What about radar?” Dr. Torre asked. “Are we picking up metal below?”

“Tons of it. The ground down there has been a junkyard for Sky City for centuries.”

Dr. Torre worked to keep his frustration back. The officer was distracted by fear of punishment. It was a drawback of Torre’s reputation. “It’s a tough spot. Keep looking.”

Torre turned to the weapons officer. “I want all weapons on Sky City. We’ll let the others worry about the ground. I want the city destroyed beyond repair.”

Lieutenant Fayer looked at him. It was a the slightest of glances. Dr. Torre was tempted to ignore it, but Fayer was new and promising.

“‘Why are we attacking Sky City when it’s the Arborians down below who are attacking us?’” Dr. Torre asked in a surprisingly good impression of Fayer’s voice.

“I didn’t question you, sir.” Fayer said.

“It’s the image, you see.” Torre said as if Fayer hadn’t spoken. “Fear of this fleet is the stronger part of the Republic’s strength. If we leave without doing something memorable, the fleet is still here but the fear of it will be gone. We need a victory before we leave, and destroying Sky City will serve.”

“Sir!” the imagine of the communications officer said. “The Ross got hit again. It’s falling.”

“And I dearly want to get out of here.” Dr. Torre finished.

Lewis was distant enough that he could see the battle now. One of the Republic ships was spitting smoke and falling to the ground. The other ships traced burning lines in the ground with weapons Lewis could barely imagine. Occasionally, a previously quiet spot on the ground would spit fire up at the ships above.

In the middle of it, one of the two giant ships was tearing at Sky City with its beams. The city was starting to list to one side. The damaged arm had already dropped to the ground, and more branches of the city were starting to crumble.

Kivya had her talker in her hand, trying to find news to stop Lewis’s constant questions.

“The Arborian and your young Earthling friend were set down.”

“Susan?” Lewis asked.

“Um, no, I’m still trying to reach Tivold.”

Lewis kept watching the battle anxiously.

“What?” Kivya demanded. Lewis turned and saw that she was yelling into the talker.

“You can’t.” Kivya kept yelling. “Sky City is falling!”

“What’s going on?” Lewis asked.

Kivya handed him the talker. “Try to talk some sense into them. I’ve got to find a safe place to land.”

Lewis held the strange box. It had a screen that showed Nultar’s face.

“What’s going on?” Lewis asked.

“They’ve sealed off all the sections around the pillar of light – that’s the thing that holds Sky City up – it’s a precaution in case the pillar explodes. We’ve got to break in.”

“Is Susan there?” Lewis asked.

The perspective on the screen shifted, and Lewis was looking at Susan, who was strapped into some strange kind of electronic gloves and leggings.

“It’s a nursery.” Susan explained. “There’s hundreds. They’ll die. We’re going in.”

Lewis saw a couple more flashes from the ship attacking Sky City, accompanied by bursts of static from the talker.

“I know this is hard to hear.” Lewis said. “But I don’t think you have enough time.”

Susan nodded. “Probably not.”

“Please,” Lewis said. “please get out and save yourself.”

“If there’s one. . .” Susan started. Another attack started and static filled the screen.

With just three words, Lewis recognized his own speech in Susan’s mouth, ‘If there’s just one thing in your whole life that you know is right, you can’t turn away.’

Lewis looked to the barge. One one end, he saw the loop and handles of a shark. Lewis had only seen the personal vehicle used once while trailing after it, but he had to try something.

The railing Lewis was chained to extended almost to the shark. Lewis lifted his chained foot to the top of the railing and hopped to the back of the barge on his free foot. Lewis arranged his hands in the straps of the shark and gripped the handles.

Kivya looked back and shouted, “You can’t fly that!”

Lewis hit a switch, and the shark pulled him away, off the end of the barge. The shark and the chain on Lewis’s foot played tug-of-war with his body. Lewis held on as he twisted in place, hoping the chain would break before he did.

“You can’t fly the shark!” Kivya yelled again.

Suddenly, the chain snapped, and Lewis was off. He’d never felt such amazing speed with so little contact. The small vehicle in Lewis’s hands felt like it was constantly on the edge of pulling his arms out of his sockets. Lewis never felt anything so liberating. He tried to feel afraid and failed.

As the fiery battle grew before him and the trees became a green smear below, Lewis caught Kivya’s last words, screamed at the top of her lungs.

“You can’t steer a shark without wings!”

44

Hawk Men were great at designing things that flew, but when they needed something large to carry fuel through hallways to a generator, they re-used an ancient design that they’d created before they had wings.

Tivold had explained that, in the generations before Hawk Men flew, their predecessors were basically human with a strong urge to become something else. Whoever designed the ore carrier wanted to be a beetle the size of a house.

The carrier’s two powerful loading arms copied the movements of the pilot’s arms faithfully. They took a little getting used to because the proportions were slightly different from a human arm, but it was manageable.

The six legs of the ore carrier copied the rider’s legs in any of 576 possible configurations. The specific configuration was set by a series of neck motions. Most drivers would become frustrated with the configuration and start waving their arms, causing the giant steel arms of the ore carrier itself to wave about in a parody of the driver’s frustration.

Piloting the ore carrier was a job filled by only one person at a time. Finding that one person was difficult and involved a lot of money. The Hawk Men were surprised when the captive Susan saw the machine and screamed, “Toy!”

She spent days trying to persuade anyone who’d listen to just give her a chance to pilot the machine.

After they agreed, Susan learned quickly and obsessively. Susan promised to stay in a small area and damage nothing. Now that all of Sky City was falling apart, Susan wasn’t even bound by those promises. It’d be a moment of complete joy if she wasn’t in mortal danger.

Susan watched several screens showing the outside world from several angles. She moved the ore carrier to the main interior vestibule. The platform shook and the entire city was beginning to tilt. The ore carrier half walked and half climbed through the massive doorway.

Suddenly, the ground was gone. The ore carrier flew into the air as the entire city fell from under it.

Tivold’s legs and wings went out instinctively to stop him from hitting the ceiling. Susan was strapped in place. On the displays, Susan saw the ground disappear beneath the carrier.

Abruptly, the floor stopped dropping, and the ore carrier seemed to suddenly fall. The giant vehicle was about to fall on its side. The ore carrier weighed many tons, and the short fall could damage it beyond repair.

Susan reached out a hand, and the massive hand of the carrier copied her movement, slapping the ground. Her other hand and her legs followed immediately, reaching out and balancing the massive vehicle’s impact. The vehicle shook and rang a long deep note as it hit ground. The floor sagged beneath it, but the carrier was intact.

“What was that?” Susan asked.

“The city is dropping to the ground.” Tivold said, shocked. “I’ve heard that if there’s a problem with the pillar of light, it reduces power so the city comes to the ground gently.”

“Gently?”

“The city is probably still dropping, only slower than at first. It’s a thousand-year-old system we never thought we’d use. It’s surprising it works this well.”

Susan nodded. She arched her neck and moved her legs as she set the carrier walking again.

“How did you stop the ore carrier’s fall without getting damaged?”

“Old tricks.” Susan answered. “From Master Kim.”

“Did this Master Kim use an ore carrier?”

Susan shook her head. “Aikido.”

Hawk Men were great at designing things that flew, and no one else could have built the Ascendant. It was the largest known vehicle to fly aerodynamically.

The hulking dreadnoughts Truth and Justice were larger, but they constantly pushed themselves up with indefinite drives, while the Ascendant coaxed the air into supporting its hundreds of tons.

In the command room of the Truth, Torre recorded his message, “Civilian craft Ascendant: Surrender and land your craft immediately.”

Torre sent a signal to end the message and turned to his communications officer. “I want that broadcast on every channel the Hawk Men use.”

The hologram of the sensor officer looked up. “Doctor, I see a lot of reactive fuel on the Ascendant. It’s in the fuel tank, the cargo compartment, the passenger area. That’s almost all it’s carrying besides the pilot.”

“Shoot it down.” Torre yelled at the weapons officer.

“It’s very near the Jacobs.” the officer warned as he readied the attack.

“In another two minutes, it’ll be very near to us. Fire.”

Screens all around the command room showed the Ascendant erupt. It was a cacophony of sound, light, heat and radio waves.

“The Keefe says it was caught in the blast.” the communications officer said. “Their shields are nearly gone.”

“Tell them to climb to eight kilometers until the generators restore shields.” Dr. Torre answered. “What does the Jacobs report?”

The communications officer averted his eyes. “The Jacobs isn’t there any more.”

Susan looked at the door. The doorway was thick enough for a parade to march through, but the door was very thick and very closed. Small, clear viewing ports dotted its broad surface.

“How’s it open?” Susan asked.

Tivold’s face was a mask of anxiety. “It doesn’t.”

“Explain.”

“In a power emergency, this door closes in case the pillar’s main engine, which is on the other side of the nursery, explodes.”

“Trapping the nursery.” Susan said.

“It’s a case of how many die in the nursery versus how many the doors save in an explosion.” Tivold said. “Or something like that. I didn’t design it.”

“Okay.” Susan raised a reassuring hand, and outside, the ore carrier’s massive arm copied the gesture. “Is there anything? An emergency override?”

“Not from here.” Tivold said. “There’s a maintenance room on the other side. There’s a button there to open it. There’s a shaft somewhere that runs to the maintenance room. Maybe if I could find it, we could. . .”

“Where’s the button?” Susan asked.

“On the other side.”

“Where?”

Tivold closed his eyes to remember. “From where we’re facing, it’s on the left. It’s about. . .” Tivold held his hand just above waist high to indicate where the button is.

Susan nodded. She started moving her legs, and the Ore Carrier turned slightly to the left. She reached out with the arms and ripped a long piece of metal tubing from the wall. She bent it a few feet from the tip.

After navigating the ore carrier to the door, Susan broke one of the windows with a swing of the carrier’s giant claw. With surprising delicacy, she guided the bent metal tubing through the broken window.

“I don’t think . . .” Tivold started. Susan silenced him with a glance.

Susan moved the tube back and forth again and again, hearing the small clanking sound as the tubing hit the wall. Then the tubing hit the button on the far side of the door. The door flew open so fast it snapped the metal tubing in half.

“Where did you learn that?” Tivold asked.

“From my father.” Susan answered. “My biological one.”

“What did he do?”

“Got drunk. Locked himself out.”

As Lewis held onto the handles of the shark, he checked every switch he could find. Nothing made the vehicle turn. The shark was pulling Lewis through the air toward a giant shower of falling debris that had been the Ascendant and the Jacobs.

No rudder, no flaps, no nothing. Lewis thought. I guess the pilot steers the damn thing with wings.

There was one thing left for Lewis to do. He turned the shark off. Instead of being pulled forward, Lewis started to fall and spin.

Tree, ground, rubble, hill, horizon, sky, round ship fleeing skyward – Lewis saw everything fly around him as he spun. He picked a moment and turned the shark back on. It pulled him in a new direction, speeding toward the destroyer Keefe with insane acceleration. He’d never felt anything like it.

I’m in grave danger. Lewis told himself. My friends may be dead. I’m surrounded by people sent to kill me. I’ve taken a wild risk, and I’m probably going to die.

Stop laughing, Lewis. Stop right this minute.

45

Sky City fell slowly, as though it were falling through a thick fluid and not air. The spires and walkways burned as it dropped. When it hit the ground, many parts of the structure collapsed from the impact. The city was a marvel of engineering, but it was never meant to land.

“It’s down.” the observer said. The earth cannon had two people, an observer, to check distances, and a gunner, to make sure the cannon went off when it should.

The “cannon” was just a reinforced hole in the ground with a high explosive mine at the bottom with a lot of propellant beneath the mine to launch the mine into the air. It was a very crude way to attack spacecraft, but it was relatively easy to make, and they sometimes worked.

The two people crewing the cannon actually hid in the same hole as the mine and the explosive. If they had time, the observer would give a time that the cannon should go off, the gunner would set a timer and both of them would run as fast as they could. If need be, the gunner could give the signal to fire the cannon with the crew inside.

No enemies were in range now. The observer was poking his hand-held periscope over the top because he’d spent several minutes with nothing to see while feeling ominous vibrations through the rock.

“The city’s fallen.” the observer said again.

“Is that what’s making the ground shake?” the gunner asked from the dark below.

“No. It’s the Republic armada pounding the bath into a molten ruin. It’s a likely thing whoever we stationed out there is dead now.”

The observer turned his periscope back to “the bath” (the Arborians had given nicknames to various regions when they were setting up camp). The air above the geologic basin shimmered with heat. Occasionally, a bolt of lightning would fly as a pocket of energy grounded itself. The bath was half a kilometer away, but the observer could smell vaporized rock and steel and ionized air.

“We continue.” the gunner said in brief eulogy.

“We continue.” the observer repeated automatically. “They got their shots in. I think two destroyers are down.”

The observer took a longer look at the scorched air of the bath, and thought he saw someone walking. He dismissed the vision as idle hope, but the figure kept coming, becoming larger and more clearly defined.

It was a man bundled in heatcloth running out of the burning hell. The heatcloth was meant to keep heat in, but it could keep it out, except high temperatures could melt the heatcloth onto the skin. The observer noticed dark patches on the legs and one arm where the cloth was dark and molded to the body beneath.

“Someone is coming out of the bath.” the observer said.

“Who?” asked the gunner.

The man pulled the heatcloth back from his face and gasped convulsively. Some of his hair was burned off, but there was no mistaking the deep black of his remaining hair or his stance.

“I’ll give you one guess.” the observer said.

The observer didn’t have to look down into the darkness of the cannon to know the gunner was grinning. “Barin is indestructible.” the gunner said. “If the bastards ever do kill him, I’m making a suit out of his hide, if I can find a needle or scissors that can pierce it.”

Barin covered his head again and ran straight toward the earth cannon. He ducked under the top flap and dropped almost on top of the observer.

“Cannon seven is still manned and ready.” Barin said, as if he were in the middle of a casual conversation.

Only the commanding group knew exactly where all the cannons were, but the observer knew seven was one of the three cannons in the bath.

“What about the other two cannons down there? Do you know if they’ve been hit?” the observer asked.

Baron nodded sadly. “We continue.”

“We continue.” the observer echoed.

Baron said, “I estimated the movements of a destroyer on the way here. I think it will be nearly overhead in just over two minutes, twenty seconds.”

Barin checked his watch to confirm he’d given the right time.

“Launch!” the observer yelled down to the gunner. “Two minutes twenty!”

“Roger, two and twenty.” the gunner repeated below.

“Godspeed.” Barin said. “I’m going West.”

The observer nodded. The three would flee the earth cannon in different directions. “An honor serving with you.” the observer said.

“The honor is mine.” Barin said as the observer climbed out of the hole.

The gunner clambered up after his third check of the timer settings. As he passed Barin, he wordlessly offered two green sealed envelopes. Barin knew them for what they were, the final wishes and will of both the gunner and observer. He carried four other envelopes just like them. Barin silently prayed he would not have to read all six.

Barin’s notorious sense of time told him that 26 seconds had passed since he gave the order to fire. Barin leaped out of the cannon and ran as fast as he could. A minute and 52 seconds later, the shadow of a destoryer passed over him. Two seconds later, he heard the cannon erupt.

“The Raboy has been hit.” the tactical officer reported. “One of those damn ground cannons. It’s down to almost a third shields.”

“Tell it to climb fast.” Dr. Torre said. “What’s the status of the Keefe?”

“Someone has struck the Keefe. Their engine room has sustained damage. It’s running on reserve power.”

“Why did they say someone and not something?” Dr. Torre asked.

This time, it was the communications officer who answered, “They say whoever struck the ship was laughing.”

Lewis finally managed to stop his hysterical giggles. Lewis thought the device he clutched weighed less than he did, but it could pull him insanely quickly and shield him as it dragged him through the steel hull of a destroyer (Lewis saw the word “destroyer” painted on the side of the spacecraft just before he impacted between “y” and “e”).

Lewis saw a flash of light and smelled a strange, burnt stench. He turned and saw another destroyer passing by, firing weapons at him. The shots came near, but missed.

It seems that I’m moving too fast for them to hit. Lewis thought, And they can’t tell where I’m going, which makes sense because – and here the giggles started again – I sure can’t.

“How hard can it be to blast one Hawk Man out of the air?” Dr. Torre demanded.

The Raboy’s captain looked anxious as his hologram looked at Dr. Torre. “I don’t think he is a Hawk Man. He doesn’t move like one.”

“He’s operating a shark.” Dr. Torre said.

“I know, but I’ve looked at the visual, and I’m sure now there’s no wings.”

Dr. Torre’s jaw clenched slightly. “So how is he steering a shark?”

“Unpredictably.” the captain answered. “Our guns are running on a profile of how a Hawk Man operates a shark. The profile is useless for this one. He’s weaving all over the place.”

Suddenly, Dr. Torre’s eyes widened. “The human using a shark – do a short range scan and see if he has trackers in his bloodstream.”

“If he has trackers, they should have shown up on a long range scan.”

“Not if he lost four and a half liters of blood and had them replaced with new blood without trackers.”

The captain looked confused. “How would that happen?”

“I’m still working on theories for that.” Dr. Torre said. “Get me that scan.”

The captain’s eyes looked at something Dr. Torre couldn’t see. In a moment, he said, “Yes, he has trackers. I’m checking whom they belong to.”

“Don’t bother.” Dr. Torre said. “That’s Captain Bold. We’ve got him.”

46

“Gido, overcharge the gun.” Koval called out. “We’re coming up.”

“Finally.” the gunner grumbled.

Gido scrambled across the crawlway on the lower level of the tank. The Chimera class battle tank was built according to laws imposed by the Republic of Mongo. The tank was not to have the range or the power to do serious damage to a Republic ship.

But, down in the crawlways, where only Lion Men and children could easily move, there were modifications that could be made to increase the tank’s firing power to far beyond its legal limits. Koval had been quick to discover the tank’s hidden capabilities and spent every spare moment training Gido to run through the crawlways and make adjustments.

“We’re surfacing.” Koval said to the gunner. “Do you see the target?”

“Destroyer, north-northeast. Damaged engine.” the gunner said.

“Confirmed.” Koval said. “Check and fire.”

The weapons system could have fired the shot being told nothing more than the intended target. The Lion Men who’d built the tank had automated almost everything. The Arborians who now drove the tank believed strongly in human intuition. The gunner checked the intended pattern of the guns and made his own corrections.

“Guns overcharged.” Gido called from below.

“Firing.” the gunner said.

The hologram displays flickered and the tank shook as it fired. Koval looked at the displays as they reformed.

“Destroyer falling.” Koval said. His voice was flat, but the gunner and Gido below both cheered. “I need power transferred to drive now.”

“I see another shot.” the gunner said.

Koval shook his head. “Our job now is to be a target. Let’s try to be a difficult one.”

“The Keefe is down.” the tactical officer said. “It’s the tank the Lion Men just warned us about. The Arborians must have improved it’s weapons.”

Torre didn’t respond. He sat listless in his chair, his arms and legs twitching. For a moment, the tactical officer was afraid the bad news had set off some kind of seizure.

Lieutenant Fayer stepped in front of Dr. Torre. “Dr. Torre’s attentions are with his proxy right now. Is the tank within range of our weapons or those of the Justice?”

The tactical officer shook his head. “No. We would have to move. . .”

“Moving would divert us from our bombardment pattern.” Lieutenant Fayer interrupted. “Send the nearest destroyer.”

“That’s the Briggs.” the tactical officer said. He hesitated.

“When Dr. Torre is otherwise occupied, I have his authority. You may check the orders later. Right now, you must do as I say” Fayer said, hoping he didn’t sound nervous.

Even destroyed, the city had an elegance about it. Pillars and discs rose from the ground in angles of swooping elegance, now rendered chaotic and jumbled from the crash to the ground. J stood in its shadow. It looked like every sculptor in the world had assembled to make some grisly monument.

The figures of Hawk Men, so like angels, were impaled and crushed within the giant structure made it that much more hellish. It was as natural as it was tragic that some would be too stubborn or crazy to desert the city when it fell from the sky. It was still grisly to see. J tried to think of words to describe it.

“Attractive nuisance.”

“Was that addressed to me?” Kanessa asked.

J thought of three insulting replies and, much to his later worry, didn’t use any of them. “It’s an Earth term for something dangerous that looks interesting.”

“There’s got to be something here we could use as a weapon.”

“What about the main engine that held Sky City up?” J asked. “‘Pillar of Light’, I think they pretentiously call it. It’s a reaction propulsion unit, so it should be able to propel something dangerous.”

Kanessa nodded. “The pillar of light is a large indefinite drive. If the safety mechanisms are disabled, it would stop sending out indefinite matter and become the largest particle cannon ever made.”

“Are you taking my word for it? ‘Cause I just made that shit up.”

“I’m insulted.” Kanessa said. “First, because you think that, after a lifetime of study, I need you to describe Mongovian engineering to me and second because you think that, after days with no one but you to talk to, I’d still believe anything you say.”

“I was just making sure.”

Lewis saw the robot too late. It dove down from above him. The proxy was small, so Lewis barely noticed it. Arms extended from the metal sphere and grappled with Lewis. He fought, but the robot was inhumanly strong. He watched helplessly as it tore his hands away from the shark.

Without a rider, the shark plunged far to the ground. Lewis wondered if he was about to follow its drop, but the robot kept its iron grip on Lewis’s arms and carried him through the air.

“Are you Doctor Tory?” Lewis asked.

“It’s pronounced Torre.” said a voice from the robot. “And I’m flattered you remember me. This is a standard model robotic proxy, so it is not me, exactly, but I spend a fifth of my life in this form, which is why I had the agility to catch you when the others could not.”

“Your actual body is somewhere else?”

“You will meet me soon.” the proxy said. Lewis saw one of the giant dreadnoughts looming closer. Lewis’s had seen larger and more fierce things since coming to Mongo, but he still felt an instinctive terror as the robot guided him inside.

Lewis was dragged helplessly inside the giant craft and through corridors. Eventually the robot forced Lewis through a chute. He fell to a hard steel floor.

When Lewis stood up, he saw he was in a cube with clear walls that went from floor to ceiling. The cube gave him room to walk about three paces. Outside, there was a room a few paces larger than the cube itself with several machines and a single door.

The door opened and two men walked in. Both were bald with metal extensions coming from their skulls, which meant they were both Mongovian doctors. One had a distinctive angular brow and large, sad eyes. The other, Lewis recognized.

“Dr. Zachgo.” Lewis said. “And you, I take it, are Dr. Torre.”

Dr. Torre nodded. “I am indeed. I’ve been looking for you, Mr. Bold.”

“Just Lewis,” Lewis said, “I’m. . . . Are you going to kill me now?”

“Not until some questions are answered.” Dr. Torre said. He turned to Dr. Zachgo. “I’ve never seen him in person. Is that Lewis Bold?”

“Yes.” Dr. Zachgo said, glaring at Lewis.

“Are you absolutely positive?” Dr. Torre asked.

“Without a doubt.” Dr. Zachgo said.

“Wonderful.” Dr. Torre said. “I’ll start the incinerator.”

Lewis felt the vibrations of machinery moving under his feet.

“What were the questions?” Lewis asked.

“I just asked them.” Dr. Torre said. “Goodbye, Lewis.”

47

Lewis pounded his fists on the walls. They were completely clear, but they felt like steel when he hit them. Lewis thought he could feel the room getting hotter, but he suspected the incinerator was as powerful as much of the other technology on Mongo, and he’d be gone before he felt the heat.

“Wait.” Dr. Zachgo said.

Both Lewis and Dr. Torre turned to look at Zachgo.

“I hope this is important?” Dr. Torre said, making the statement a question.

“If you do this, there will be no going back.” Dr. Zachgo said.

“Yes.” Dr. Torre said. “If cremation had a motto, that would be it. If there’s nothing else. . .”

“If he’s cremated, how will we prove that he’s dead?” Dr. Zachgo asked.

“There’s cameras.” Dr. Torre said, indicating some of the machines outside Lewis’s cell. “It’s an absolute, verifiable death. I’ve done this before.”

“After his insolence, he should answer to the President personally.” Dr. Zachgo said.

“He can do it as ashes.” Dr. Torre said. “I’ve got a box that would be perfect for it. It’s polished wood, hand crafted. It’ll fit on his mantle.

“This has been an ordeal for us, and I’m eager to have it done. If you’ll just leave me to it, I’ll take responsibility later.”

Dr. Zachgo stood silent, and, as Dr. Torre waited for a reply, President Gordon seemed to suddenly appear in the room. It was a hologram, but Dr. Torre knew the room was rigged so that the president could see through the room’s cameras.

“Have you come to witness the execution?” Dr. Torre asked. He knew Dr. Zachgo had mentally alerted the president while they’d been talking. He avoided darting his eyes in Zachgo’s direction.

“There will not be an execution yet.” the president said. “Bring him to me.”

Dr. Torre lowered his voice. “Mr. President. After all the unlikely events of the last week, I think we should pick the certainty of an immediate execution over the possible advantages of. . .”

“He has defied me, and I will make him pay personally.” the president said.

“The fate of the Republic is at stake.” Dr. Torre said. “That is more important than your pride.”

The president gestured on a mechanism that Dr. Torre couldn’t see, and Dr. Torre fell into hell.

Dr. Torre had twice used neural torture on fellow doctors. He’d never experienced it himself. Dr. Torre’s brain existed only as a model inside a computer in his skull. He was immune to stroke and some forms of insanity, but it was very easy to change and disable parts of his mind.

Command was lost to him. Since he was young, he’d given orders, and now his body and his thoughts were outside his control. The room shifted and turned. Dr. Torre almost formed the realization that he was falling, but there was not enough of his mind to finish the thought.

Everything he’d ever worked to become was lost in that instant. He was a mess of severed thoughts and plans, with just enough of him left inside to understand that he’d lost everything.

The torture lasted seconds, but it was impossible to take comfort in that. The notion that things started and stopped happening at measurable intervals was lost with everything else.

Then, in the darkness of indecipherable noise and light, a realization came to Dr. Torre. As he lay on the floor, he clung to this one idea he was at a loss to express or understand. He knew something, something new. It was something that he wouldn’t have seen when he was intact.

Then his brain came back. The parts of his brain that had been taken were reassembled, and the memory of the torture was shuffled back into his mind so he’d know what could happen to him. Dr. Torre clung to his wordless realization like the memory of a dream and managed to hold it while the thinking parts of his mind returned.

“Soma.” Dr. Torre whispered. His lips were pressed to the floor and no one heard him.

“You will not lecture me on what’s important.” the president said. “You will return to Mingo City with Captain Bold immediately.”

“It’s just Lewis.” Lewis said, but the hologram was already gone.

Lieutenant Fayer kept his face still. The other officers on the Truth outranked Fayer. If he let himself show fear, they’d find a reason to disobey him, and he’d disappoint Dr. Torre.

“What do you mean when you say the Briggs is gone?” Fayer asked. “You’re saying it’s already been shot down?”

“Yes,” said the tactical officer. “Something took it out before it had a chance to report.”

Fayer turned to the hologram of the sensor officer. “What attacked the Briggs?”

“The sensors say the shot came from a dreadnought’s main battery.”

“You’re saying the Justice attacked our own destroyer?”

The sensor officer shook his head. “No, the shot came from the ground.”

Fayer closed his eyes and thought. There were only two dreadnoughts, the Truth and the Justice. There had been a third, the Liberty. Fayer had heard the first reports when the Liberty was eaten by the Tiamat, that monstrous sea creature.

It was the only explanation that made sense. Either Tiamat had traded parts of the devoured starship with the Arborians or the Arborians had salvaged the parts from her some other way.

“Give the coordinates of that ground location to tactical.” Fayer told the communications officer. Then he told the weapons officer, “I want us to hit that spot and the surrounding area with everything we’ve got.”

“If that’s a grounded dreadnought, then we’ll need help from the destroyers.” the tactical officer said.

“It’s not a dreadnought, just salvaged parts.” Fayer replied. “Tell the destroyers to return to Mingo City.”

The tactical officer glared at Fayer. “I don’t care what orders are, but I’m not going to let some jumped up Ensign order a retreat. . .”

Fayer tried to mimic an expression he’d seen on Dr. Torre. It was a look of indignation mixed with amusement with just a hint that maybe he was about to have someone killed.

“We are not retreating, officer. Our objective was to bring down Sky City and fetch Captain Bold. We have succeeded.”

“I. . .”

“You will send the order.” Fayer said.

The tactical officer bit his lip and nodded.

48

“Just a couple more.” Kanessa said. She picked up the two-handled cutting torch she’d found. It was an emergency device that weighed half as much as she did. A white-hot flame spat from the torch and melted another strut of metal.

Part of J’s mind tried to think what she looked like. Perhaps she was like an industrial lumberjack in a forest of metal. It was J’s job to yell ‘timber’ if anything started to shake.

J felt an ominous tremor under his hand before he heard the first soft ‘ping’ of metal bending.

“It’s going.” J yelled.

Kanessa nodded and walked out of the ruin of Sky City with maddening slowness as the struts started to groan, then bend and then fall. As she climbed out from under the maze of damaged metal, it collapsed, crushing the spot she’d been under several tons of metal.

“You seem pretty sure of yourself.” J said.

“I’ve cut my way through a lot of wreckage. I’m not a stinker, but. . .”

“Stinker?” J asked.

“Yes.” Kanessa said. “It’s slang for structural engineer. I suppose you don’t call them that on Earth.”

“Only during grad school.” J said.

Kivya, a woman of the Hawk Men, swooped out of the air. Even though he wasn’t very familiar with their body language, J could see despair in every movement.

“Hello.” Kanessa said. Kivya had been one of Kanessa’s jailers until a few hours earlier, but they talked amiably.

“Captain Bold has been captured.” Kivya said. “He was my responsibility, but he escaped, and now the Republic has him. The other Earthling, Susan, is dead.”

“How?” J asked.

“She’s under that.” Kivya pointed at the wreckage of Sky City. “She was in the nursery when the city fell. That’s in the lower levels.”

“We continue.” Kanessa said.

“It looks like Susan won’t be doing much continuing.” J said.

Kanessa grabbed J by the arm. “How can you be so cold about the death of the only friend you have left?”

“She’s not exactly a friend.” J said. “And, frankly, I think you’re a little quick on the obituary in this place. I was supposedly dead and so was Lewis. Maybe Susan’s just trying to fit in.”

Kanessa turned back to Kivya. “Listen, we’re trying to cut the pillar of light free of Sky City so we can aim it like a gun. I know this was your home, but we have to salvage what we can.”

Kivya shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. The children died. The nursery was destroyed. The Hawk Men are dead.”

“See, if you’re this premature about Susan. . .” was as far as J got before Kanessa elbowed him in the stomach.

In a hollowed chamber under a hill was the temporary command center the Arborians had set up for the attack. In the first minutes of the battle, they had several ways of sending messages. They had cables buried just under the ground that relayed messages. They had volunteers, mostly young boys, hiding above and sending signals with mirrors and lasers.

Most of the cables had been torn up in the surface bombardment. The signalers, over four dozen of them, had been killed by the Republic’s antipersonnel cannons. The command center had become little more than an infirmary. The people who dragged the wounded in became the main source of information.

“Four destroyers down.” the wounded man gasped. “The remaining destroyers retreating.”

Viun mentally weighed whether to believe this report. This was the second time she’d heard about the four destroyers down. This Arborian had been a scout for twenty years. Viun had to bet a strategy on his word.

“Use the remote radio.” Viun yelled out. “Order a dispersal. Keep broadcasting as long as you can. I want everyone out of here except the medics.”

The woman who handled communications prepared the signal. A radio message was easily pinpointed and attacked by the ships above. This message was sent from the command center through a fiber optic radio to a radio two hills away. This one radio signal would be the only one the command center sent for the entire battle.

“The signal’s going.” she said. After a few seconds, she said, “We’re resending the message.”

Viun hid her relief like she’d hidden her unease. A few minutes earlier, anyone unlucky or careless enough to appear on enemy scanners was dead in a couple seconds. If the transmitter lived this long, the enemy must be leaving.

“Barin. . .” said a whisper from the ground.

Viun looked down. An injured man looked up at her. He couldn’t walk and might be delirious.

Viun knelt by the man and asked, “What did you say?”

“Barin. . .I saw him.”

Viun had forced herself not to think about her husband. His courage inspired others, so he chose to be stationed with the first people to attack and thus the first people to die. A part of Viun realized that Barin probably died at the start of the battle. That part was under strict quarantine.

“When?” Viun whispered.

“Ten minutes ago. . .maybe less.”

Viun glanced around quickly. She leaned forward and softly kissed the man’s brow.

Viun was standing again and looking around. “Move, move, move!” she yelled. “If you can walk and you don’t know first aid, I want you out of my sight!”

Dr. Torre returned to the bridge.

“The destroyers have been ordered to retreat.” the tactical officer said.

Dr. Torre turned to Lieutenant Fayer and placed a hand on the Lieutenant’s shoulder. “Your order?” Torre asked.

“Yes.” Fayer said, feeling as if his heart had stopped.

“Good work.” Torre said removing the hand. “We are returning to Mingo City, too. I want the Justice to remain behind. Its orders are to stay high and attack anything that is fast and large enough to evacuate people.”

“I ask permission to speak freely, Dr. Torre.” the tactical officer said.

“Granted.” Torre said.

“There must be thousands of the enemy down there. Are we going to let them all live?”

“No.” said Dr. Torre. “In a few minutes, nothing remotely close to Sky City will be left alive.

“I believe we still have a hellbomb on board. Prepare it for launch.”

49

Koval checked the sensors again. “Everyone’s leaving.” he said. “All enemy craft except for one of the dreadnoughts. I think it’s the Justice.”

“They’re running.” the gunner said.

“Most of them are.” Koval said. “The Justice is coming for us. It’s slow to accelerate, but once it gets a line of fire, its main battery will take us out instantly. That’s not the interesting thing.”

“I think it’s pretty darn interesting.” the gunner said.

“The interesting thing,” Koval went on, unheeding, “is that someone is trying to extract the main drive of Sky City. I’ve been watching it, and it looks like Kanessa’s methodology.”

“Yeah, right.” the gunner grumbled under his breath.

Gido was on the lower level, under the gunner’s feet. He looked up through a small hole in the floor. “Is something wrong?”

The gunner leaned down and whispered. “I’ve been living in this box with that crazy bastard for days. He doesn’t know my name. Does he expect me to believe he can recognize how Kanessa takes a building apart from two kilometers away?”

“I believe him.” Gido says “My mom says he’s like a fish.”

“What on Mongo does that mean?” the gunner hissed.

“When you’re not in the water, a fish doesn’t think you exist. When you step in the pond, the fish just thinks you’re a pair of feet. To Koval, you’re just someone who occaisionally uses the targeting array. He’s my godfather, but he wouldn’t remember who I was unless I ran errands for him. So I’m just a pair of hands that doesn’t always do what he wants.”

“So what does he know about Kanessa?”

“Koval trained Kanessa. When it comes to engineering, he knows her better than a hen knows its baby chicks.”

The soft sound of a flapping wings made J turn. He screamed briefly. Something dropped out of the air. For a second, J’s first thought was that it was an enormous bird. His second thought was that it was a Hawk Man. His third thought was that it was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen.

The thing touched the ground on all fours. Its body was so small compared to its wings that it looked like a butterfly. The body itself looked like an emaciated, hunchbacked boy. The stick-like limbs seemed completely out of place compared to the muscles on its back that moved its wings, which were fully as large the wings of an adult Hawk Man.

“A child.” Kivya said. “One survived.”

“Did you all used to be that ugly?” J asked.

“Nothing is ugly as a crawler.” the winged child replied.

“What’s it doing here?” asked another winged child J hadn’t seen, poking its head over some rubble.

“Maybe he’s what brought down the city.” asked another.

Scrambling into view came several more of the strange children. A few flew like the first had. More made long jumps, flapping their wings to hold them up for a second or two. Others just ran, hunched and wheezing under the weight of the wings.

“Have you seen someone named Susan?”

The assembly of children all spoke at once, creating a sound like, “Who-what-Susan-don’t-question-should-crawler-this-know.”

“Susan is a human like me. She’s a little shorter and very short tempered.”

“No-crawler-you-only-what-don’t-answer-never-saw-before-what-this.” came the garbled answer of children trying to shout over each other.

“I don’t speak ‘Ritalin deprived throng of freaks’.” J said to Kivya, “but I think that means they haven’t seen any humans.”

Dragging her immense cutting torch, Kanessa wandered out of the path she’d been carving through the rubble. The children started shouting all over again.

“There’s a problem.” Kanessa said.

“Aside from being under siege by ugly, hyperactive cherubs?” J asked.

“I can’t figure out how to lift the gun.” Kanessa said.

“It’s not a gun.” Kivya yelled to be heard over the children. “It’s the pillar of light. It has been the center of our city for generations.”

“I’ve cut it free and disabled the safety measures.” Kanessa yelled back. “If I can point it at something, it will have become a gun.”

“I wish everyone would stop yelling.” J said. “I think I hear something big moving.”

“Of course you can’t lift it!” Kivya yelled. “The pillar of light weighs twenty tons. Why didn’t you think of that sooner?”

“I was hoping something would come up.” Kanessa shouted. In her frustration, she raised her voice far louder than the yelling children.

“Something has.” said Susan’s amplified voice.

The immense, insectoid ore carrier picked its way over the ruined city. It’s side was dented, and one of its six legs was missing, but it picked its way smoothly through the rubble as it came. It’s immense metal hands seemed to twitch in anticipation.

Barin looked through the wreckage of the small outpost. It was just a small hole in the ground half concealed by a melted mass of heatcloth. He mumbled, “We continue” as he pushed a body aside and found what he was looking for.

He felt a twisting in his stomach when he touched the radio’s controls. When he was eight, Barin had started to fiddle with a radio. His father, who’d already taught him how to make bombs and fire a gun, slapped Barin away and explained that he had to be very, very careful about when he used a radio. The shortest message could be detected, bringing death on everyone nearby.

Right now, there was no one else nearby. Barin gingerly touched the burned side of his face. There was no time to think about the pain. He switched on the radio and set the channel to the one the Republic of Mongo used for open messages. He didn’t want to risk being overlooked.

”. . .I repeat, this is Barin of Arboria. For the last seven years, I have been rated the Republic of Mongo’s number one enemy. Here I am.”

In the last few minutes, Admiral March had seen more space ships shot down than the Republic of Mongo had lost in the decade before, but somehow, this apparent surrender scared him more.

He felt more uneasy when Dr. Torre’s hologram appeared right over his shoulder.

“We’re further away, but we can hear him, too” Dr. Torre said without preamble.

“It can’t be Barin.” Admiral March said.

“I think it is. I heard Barin before, many years ago.”

“If it was years ago, are you sure you remember what he sounds like?”

Dr. Torre nodded. “If you hear a man scream, ‘Shoot the captain,’ and you’re the captain, you don’t forget the man’s voice.”

“Since you might not believe who I am,” Barin’s voice went on, “I’m going to recite the missions I was on. I’m a little sketchy on the details. If you have any questions, just ask.”

“What were you doing when you heard the message?” Dr. Torre asked.

“We were moving to intercept a tank. It’s very fast and large enough to evacuate a small fighting force.”

“That’s why Barin is yelling at us.” Dr. Torre said. “Maybe the tank is important somehow. Maybe he has family on it. Ignore him and stay on the tank, and Admiral. . .”

“Yes?” Admiral March asked.

Dr. Torre smiled. “When you attack the tank, broadcast the order on an open channel.”

50

The ore carrier looked like a beetle dragging a twig as it hauled the immense engine. Gravity was kinder to small insects than it was to the dozens of tons pulling itself out of the ruins of Sky City. One of the last carrier’s steps went slightly astray, and another of its legs snapped from the weight. The giant machine stumbled on under its burden.

Kanessa walked in and out of the path of the metal machines, doing her best to see that her handiwork wasn’t crushed.

“Good!” Kanessa yelled as she held up her hand. “I think we’ve got a pretty good choice of targets from here.”

“Seems that way.” Susan’s voice blared, calm but highly amplified, from the ore carrier’s speakers.

“One last thing,” Kanessa said to the ore carrier, “this was an indefinite drive. Now it’s a particle cannon. They don’t make particle cannons this big because they’re too dangerous. It’s only safe to push that much indefinite matter that fast, because indefinite matter exists for less than a millionth of a second.”

“Meaning?” Susan asked over the speakers.

“Meaning that you’ve got one shot. The Pillar of Light will be shooting its fuel, and it’s not designed to do that. It’ll rip itself apart. It might kill you, too.”

The ore carrier shifted, for all the world as if the machine itself were considering this statement. Kanessa noticed the small shape that was the distant dreadnought Justice was becoming larger.

“Good to know.” it said in Susan’s voice.

Inside the carrier’s cabin, Tivold felt his wings start to cramp from the narrow space. “You go,” he said. “I’ll stay and aim the cannon.”

Susan switched off the external speakers. “I understand this.” she said, gesturing with her chin at the ore carrier’s controls. “You don’t. Get out.”

Tivold crossed his arms. “Then we both stay. I’ve seen crawlers. . .humans try to hit things that move in the air. You’re terrible. If you can’t fly, you just don’t ‘get’ the third dimension. We’ve got one shot. I’d better help aim.”

“I’m only human. . .” Susan started.

“My point exactly.” Tivold concluded.

The ore carrier’s displays let Susan and Tivold see the outside world in all directions. Above them, Kanessa was climbing on the Pillar of Light and prodding it with tools Susan had never seen.

“I’m starting the weapon.” Kanessa yelled, her voice sounding tinny over the inside speakers.

“What now?” Susan asked.

“In a minute or so, it’ll fire.” Kanessa said as she climbed down. “Keep it pointed at the dreadnought.”

Susan nodded. She adjusted her arms and her legs. Outside, the ore carrier followed her movements. shifted and lifted the shaft on its back.

“You’re too high.” Tivold said.

Susan was starting to suspect the same thing. She gingerly shifted her grip and pointed the pillar slightly lower.

The dreadnought was growing larger on the ore carrier’s screens, looking like the roughly T-shaped dreadnought Susan had once seen much closer. All her attention focused on that growing shape a few kilometers away.

“You need to lift.” Tivold said.

“But it’s dropping.” Susan said.

“Now it is, but, it, uh, kuneh ayu vugh.”

“I need English.” Susan said.

“Just trust me. The destroyer’s about to go up.”

Susan grit her teeth and shifted her weight. The movement was slight, but the metal groaned as the ore carrier heaved the makeshift weapon.

“You’re good.” Tivold said. “It’s good.”

“Fire.” Susan urged the Pillar of Light above her. “Fire. Fire. Fi–”

“I think it’s working!” Kanessa yelled. “Everyone get behind the wall and get down.”

“I want to see.” J said.

“You idiot.” Kanessa yelled as she ran toward him. “Get down.”

“You’re being. . .” J started as Kanessa tackled him, pushing him behind a wall of debris.

“I didn’t know you cared.” J said.

“Maybe,” Kanessa answered, “I find you so disgusting that the thought of having to walk through your blood makes me–”

“Hey,” Koval said, “I can hear your father on the radio.”

Gido felt cold. His father had always impressed the need for radio silence at almost all times. “What’s he saying?”

“He’s talking about things he’s done.” Koval said. “I think he’s trying to distract the Justice by offering himself as bait.”

“No!” Gido wailed.

“Please be calm.” Koval said. “It’s not working. They’re still moving toward us. The Justice will have line of sight in seven seconds, and then we’re gone.”

“What?” the gunner said.

“Or maybe not.” Koval said. “There’s this energy surge up ahead that might be–”

“It’s my son!” Barin yelled at the radio. He’d been giving his history, doing his best to prove who he was. The dreadnought Justice kept flying further away, following what Barin was certain was the tank with his Gido inside.

Barin shouted louder. “I’m not protecting a military target! It’s my son! If you kill him, it’ll be one less Arborian boy, but I’ll find you – all of you – and you will hurt.”

Hurt was a simple word, but the way Barin yelled it, it was clear it meant something the listener did not realize existed.

“We have line of sight.” a voice on the radio said. It was an officer on the Justice, but he was not talking to Barin.

“Fire all weapons on the tank.” Admiral March’s voice answered. “I want a clear kill.”

“Admiral,” another officer said. “There’s a–”

The ground shook. The sky wailed. Several sentences were left unfinished.

Barin had looked down in puzzlement at the last words he’d heard over the radio. A blinding flash came from the direction of the dreadnought. He dropped into the foxhole and stayed down as the winds came.

The lights turned red inside the tank where Koval looked at the holographic screens. Gido and the gunner screamed, demanding to know what was going on. Koval seemed not to hear them as he watched his displays, giggling to himself.

Particles of the ruined city flew like knives and spears. The wall Kanessa had chosen for cover shook like a leaf in a storm, but it held. J and Kanessa, acting on pure instinct, grabbed the only thing within either of their reach.

The shock tore Susan free of the controls and sent her crashing against Tivold, who was leaping and spreading his wings. The Pillar of Light had forced itself back with incredible force, ripping the arms and the roof off of the ore carrier.

The air was too hot for either Susan or Tivold to open their eyes. Tivold held Susan and started to fly on pure instinct. The air hit them like a thing enraged. Susan started to understand what it meant to be born to fly as Tivold extended his wings in winds that could have torn them off. His wings dodged the air then held it, negotiating for their lives with the outraged currents.

Far away, a man demanded again and again, “Where is it? What happened to the Justice?”

51

Koval leaped out of his chair and ran toward the forward hatch. The tank stopped moving as Koval walked into the sunlight.

As he hoped, he saw his old friend, Kanessa, and the Earthling, J. Other Hawk Men, some of them children, stood and looked at the tank fearfully.

Kanessa recognized Koval and relaxed. “Koval!” she said. “You’re the last person I expected to come out of that tank. It’s a Chimera class, isn’t it?”

“Yes!” Koval said. “That’s a good guess! We’re going to die very soon.”

Kanessa had spent her childhood getting used to Koval’s subject changes. “I need that last sentence explained.”

“There’s a hellbomb coming.” Koval said. “It’s going to detonate right over us.”

“What’s a hellbomb?” J asked.

“It’s a flying robot with a very powerful bomb inside it.” Kanessa replied.

“Does it use plutonium?”

“No.” Kanessa said. “It uses hydrogen. A collapsing N-space field makes the hydrogen come together and become helium. The resulting blast. . .”

“I can guess about the resulting blast.” J said. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“We don’t have time.” Koval said. He looked at J’s head. “With that computer in your skull. . .”

“You’re not taking off my head, you sick fuck.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest it.” Koval said.

“You did before.” J accused. “When we were in Arboria. . .”

“I still want to remove your head for research. Right now, however, your brain is the best way to stop the hellbomb, and the only person who knows how to use it on such a short notice is you.”

Kanessa walked between the two. “Let’s assume J will do what it takes to avoid being vaporized with the rest of us and move on.”

“Fine,” J said, “but it’s not like I’m a radio station. Unless I’m in a broadcast zone, like Mingo City or the inside of one of those ships, I can’t send a message without an N-space station. You don’t have one, so we’re screwed.”

“How do you think I know the hellbomb is coming?” Koval asked.

“Tiamat gave us the N-space station from the Liberty.” Kanessa explained. “We got it just before we found you guys.”

J rolled his eyes. “You’re the only person I had to talk to for a week, and you didn’t think to mention this before?”

“It’s a secret I was ready to die to protect.” Kanessa said. “And you’re weak-willed, cowardly and lack any sense of personal loyalty.”

“Touché.”

“Follow me.” Koval said, stepping back through the hatch.

“Where did you get a tank?” Kanessa asked as she followed.

“Hostages.” Koval answered.

“You took hostages?” Kanessa asked.

“The Lion Men kind of gave us hostages.” Koval said. “Then we gave them back and they gave us the tank. It was one of those social interactions I didn’t exactly understand.”

“One. Of. Many.” J muttered, biting off each word.

“You. Should. Talk.” Kanessa replied.

“Here’s the connection I rigged up.” Koval said, holding up a cable.

“What do I do with that?” J asked. “Shove it up my ass?”

Koval considered this. “There could be a change in the design, but it would seem more sanitary to. . .”

“J doesn’t know what you mean.” Kanessa explained. “He’s covering his insecurity with vulgarity.”

“Oh.” Koval said. “You connect this to the metal thing over your right ear, I think.”

J picked up the cable. “I prefer not to think about these things on the outside of my skull.”

“I noticed.” Kanessa said, guiding the cable the rest of the way. “Do you think you can get into the hellbomb? J?”

Koval looked at the console on the N-space station. “It looks like he’s in.”

“Why,” Dr. Torre asked, drawing the word out ominously, “is the hellbomb not detonating?”

The tactical officer closed his eyes before answering. “I don’t know, sir.”

Dr. Torre connected himself and spoke to the hellbomb.

This is Dr. Torre.

Hello, doctor.

Why have you not detonated?

I have not yet reached the assigned location.

Our sensors show you have.

Checking position by magnetic field. Done. Checking position by star position. Error found. Rechecking. Error fixed. Done. I have confirmed my position. I am not at target. Please correct your instruments.

What was the error you reported?

My records show no positioning errors since launch.

You just said there was an error as you checked by star position.

I am afraid you are mistaken. I have a transcript of our conversation. Would you like to see it?

Dr. Torre disconnected himself. As soon as he was disconnected, he yelled, “Communications officer, connect me to Dr. Soma in Mingo City.”

In a few seconds, the communication officer’s hologram came up. “I’ve got Dr. Soma’s jailer. He said that she is not to let her talk to anyone outside under any circumstances. He said it’s your orders.”

“Let me talk to him.” Dr. Torre said.

The jailer’s hologram appeared in place of the communication’s officer. The jailer opened his mouth to speak, but Dr. Torre cut him off.

“I’ll summarize.” Dr. Torre said. “Let me speak to Soma. Without hesitation. Or I execute your extended family. Including you. I’m serious.”

Three expressions crossed the jailer’s face very quickly, and then the jailer disappeared and Dr. Soma appeared. To Dr. Torre’s relief, she didn’t try to open the conversation.

“It looks like J has managed to compromise a hellbomb.” Dr. Torre said. “I need advice.”

“There’s a hardwired safety.” Dr. Soma said. “Send a signal to register

1. I think that’s it. If I misremember, check back in Mingo City’s archives. I hope it’s not too classified for doctors these days.”

Dr. Torre sent the signal.

Safety engaged. was all the hellbomb said.

“It’s done.” Dr. Torre said. “Did it detonate?”

“I would not call something that detonated a nuclear warhead a safety.” Dr. Soma said. “It just dispersed its payload. It’s disarmed.”

“It was right above their heads.” Dr. Torre protested.

“I’d confirm that.” Dr. Soma said.

“The hellbomb is on its way here.” the sensor officer said. “I just double checked the bad coordinates it gave us.”

“Now order the central computer to shut down all N-space communication into Mingo City.” Dr. Soma said.

“Are you giving orders?”

“Helpful suggestions.” Dr. Soma corrected. “If J got into the hellbomb, he has the communication gear necessary to reach Mingo City central. Unless you want him controlling Mingo City central, which can control the vessel you’re currently inside, you’d better shut down incoming traffic now.”

52

Lewis sat cross-legged with his back to the transparent wall of his cell. He looked over but didn’t rise when the door opened and Dr. Torre returned with several soldiers.

“You look tired, doctor.” Lewis said. “I’ve been hearing people running in the hall outside. They sounded scared.”

“It’s been a difficult day.” Dr. Torre conceded. “I count my blessings: I haven’t been taken prisoner. No one’s going to execute me.”

The walls of Lewis’ cell retreated into the ceiling. Lewis stood and stretched.

“Are you taking me to see the president?” Lewis asked.

“You’re going to a holding cell in Mingo City.” Dr. Torre said. “You’ll see the president tomorrow in a grand ceremony.”

“I already did that once.” Lewis said.

“That was my thinking.” Dr. Torre said.

“However, it is better than you having me cremated.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one.” Dr. Torre said. Torre held out his hand, beckoning Lewis to the corridor outside.

Lewis walked out. More guards waited in the corridor. With eight guards before him and eight behind, Lewis marched through the halls of the Truth.

“Since you’re alive,” Dr. Torre started casually, “I was wondering if you could tell me how you survived the Tsak. There are witnesses who saw you nearly torn in half.”

“I’m afraid I can’t talk about that.”

“Fair enough.” Dr. Torre continued. “How was your stay as a prisoner of the Hawk Men?”

“Better than this.” Lewis said. “The worst they ever threatened to do was to give us to you.”

“Did they actually give you a razor? Hawk Men remove unwanted hair chemically.”

“They didn’t give me anything but food.” Lewis said.

“That’s useful.”

They came to a ramp descending from the hull of the Truth. Lewis and his guards marched out of the giant vessel. Lewis looked around and recognized the space port he’d passed during his escape several very long days before. He grimaced at bad memories and kept walking.

“How is it useful?” Lewis asked at last.

“You’ve gone a week without shaving, and you have no more than slight stubble. That’s a symptom of cellular regeneration. Your beard will grow normally in a month or so. I noticed your eyesight is better, too. Who operated the machinery? What was his name?”

“It seems ungrateful to say.” Lewis said.

“How odd.”

“It seems like normal ethics to me.” Lewis said. “Let me know if you want me to describe them in more detail.”

“It’s not that. Something in your voice makes me think it’s a woman. So what was her name? It wouldn’t be Dr. Sein. You killed her yourself.”

Lewis stayed silent.

They came to a building Lewis had never noticed. The guards stopped at a broad metal door with no knob or keypad. Dr. Torre seemed to open the door by looking at it. The entire group marched inside.

The inside of the building was one large, dimly lit room. Several large, perfectly circular holes took up most of the floor. The holes were smooth-sided with a ladder going down the side. The door shut as the last soldier followed Lewis and the doctor in.

“I built this place back during my time in the Arborian campaign. I haven’t had much call to use it lately. Mr. Bold, I ask you to please climb down into one of these holes.”

“What if I refuse?”

“We throw you in.” Dr. Torre said. “You might get a concussion and be dead when we come to get you tomorrow, and it’d be an accident. Nothing personal, but that would come as a relief to me personally.”

Lewis climbed down the ladder. After he reached the bottom, the ladder retreated into the wall. Lewis looked up.

“You designed this? It looks a little primitive.”

Dr. Torre leaned down over the edge of the pit and looked down at Lewis. “That, Mr. Bold, is because I haven’t filled it in.”

A brown substance slightly thicker than oatmeal came out of pipes and started to fill the hole. Lewis took a running jump and tried to grab the edge of the hole. He fell short and fell on his back into the warm, soupy fluid.

“It’s called ‘capture sand’.” Torre went on. “It’s a colony organism. It lives in Arboria. I think it was engineered. I can’t find any record of it, but it’s just too damn convenient to have evolved naturally.”

With the substance halfway up his knees, Lewis took another frenzied jump. His fingers caught the edge of the pit. He started to lift himself, trying to swing a leg over.

Dr. Torre walked a over and, with one foot, forcefully shoved one of Lewis’s hands off the edge. Lewis swung, and the sudden weight was too much for his one-handed grip. He fell back down. He landed on his back and started to sink into the capture sand.

Lewis struggled to stand up. The thick stuff went over his knees.

“It’s symbiotic, at least at first.” Dr. Torre continued. “It feeds you air. It eats your dead skin, your sweat and, basically, everything that leaves your body. It even has medical applications, I hear. But once it surrounds you, you won’t be able to move.”

Lewis tried to jump again, but with the added weight and the goo clinging to his legs, he couldn’t make it halfway to the edge. When he fell, Lewis had to flail to get his feet far enough through the muck to touch ground. The capture sand was up to his chest and climbing.

Torre looked down still. His expression was sad and reflective. “I’ve used it a lot, over the years, and only one person has died in it. I think that was psychological. It’s very disorienting, not being able to move, or hear. That’s one of the reasons I’m putting you in. I don’t want you to be to eloquent when you see our president tomorrow.”

Lewis couldn’t think of anything to say. The substance rose up his neck. He held his arms above his head, so that, after the rising tide of living sand blinded him, he could still wave his arms. Then he felt the warm thickness rise until even his upraised hands were trapped.

Lewis opened his mouth to scream, and the ooze flowed in. He struggled to avoid choking. Once he fought his gag reflex, he found that air still came. Trapped in darkness, he waited.

“May I ask something?” Ensign Fayer asked Dr. Torre after Lewis was covered.

“Yes.”

“Could you really tell Captain Bold was saved by a woman from the tone of his voice?”

“No.” Dr. Torre said. “I can’t. I’ve known who rescued him from the beginning. It helps me interrogate if people think I’m prying information from them no matter what.”

“If you know, why do you need to ask at all?”

“If you accuse someone highly-ranked of a crime, it is certain someone is going to die. If you don’t have enough proof, that someone is you.”

53

The afternoon sun swamped J, Viun and Kanessa as they walked.

“Why didn’t we take the tank?” J asked.

Viun turned her head as she walked and regarded J with one eye, like a bird. After a silence, she said, “Koval took the tank to find Barin and get him away from here, in case they send another bomb to this spot.”

“If they sent another bomb,” J said, “shouldn’t we have the taken the station out so I can talk it out of killing us?”

“We removed the N-space station and gave it a portable power supply. Our people are carrying it after us.”

“Why not put the station and me in the tank and send us off together?”

“The tank is going to get Barin. If you two are in one place without me, you will provoke him, and he will kill you.”

J raised his lip as he started an objection, then nodded. “Why don’t you and me and the station all go in the tank and get Barin together?”

“Because the Republic might send another bomb to the tank. If you can’t stop it, they’ll have killed two leaders with one bomb. Now, we’re kilometers apart, so they’ll at least need two hellbombs to kill us both.”

“You just have all the answers.” J grumbled.

“On the narrow subject of why it is necessary for you to do without climate control for the moment,” Viun admitted, “my knowledge is nearly perfect.”

For an instant, the three were in shade. They felt a cool wind looked up to see two Hawk Men carrying Susan between them. The three dropped right in front of J.

“There’s a problem.” Susan said. “Who’s in charge?”

“I am.” Viun said before J could talk. “What’s the problem?”

“The nursery’s destroyed.”

“All of Sky City is destroyed.” Viun said. “I understand the nursery suffered worse than most.”

Kivya, a female of the Hawk Men, said, “I’m pregnant. Many of us are.”

Viun shook her head. “You can’t give birth without a nursery?”

Tivold, the male on the other side of Susan said, “Without the nursery, we can’t ikowa.”

Kanessa leaned toward Viun and explained, “Shortly after Hawk Men conceive, they have the blastocyst removed where it reaches infancy in the nursery.”

“The nursery tanks are hundreds of years old.” Tivold said. “We can’t rebuild them soon enough.”

“Then you will have to have children as we do.” Viun said.

“We can’t.” Tivold protested.

“What?” J demanded. “Then what did you do in the wild?”

“In the wild, we were crawlers like you.” Tivold said. “‘Hawk Men’ are an artificial race. We were never designed to give birth. I’ve heard some females who were imprisoned and denied medical care. . . they died.”

“How long can your women carry for?” Viun asked.

“I’ve seen six or seven months sometimes. When there’s a problem and ikowa has to be delayed.”

Viun nodded. “It’ll be okay.”

“How?” Tivold asked.

“We’ve got matrix pods. They’re mostly for harvesting organs, but they can take a fetus at five months and grow it to adulthood.”

“Have you ever done it?” Kivya asked.

“We may be warring nomads living in a poisonous rainforest, but we have our talents. Yes, we have. I believe you heard of Barin, my husband. He started to come at five months, feet first.”

“Always impatient.” Kanessa added like a litany. “Always stubborn.”

Viun continued, “They took him out and he spent the next four months being nourished by symbiotic organisms in a matrix pod. He’s survived two score years, despite the Republic’s best efforts.”

“Did he live?” Kivya asked.

“I’m his younger sister.” Kanessa said. “What do you think?”

“We have about fifty pods.” Viun said. “How many of you are pregnant?”

“What’s three percent of 50,000?” Tivold asked.

“Three percent of your women are pregnant?” Viun asked.

“Three percent of everyone.” Tivold said. “On average.”

“But you usually are only pregnant for a month at most and then you ‘ikowa’.”

“Yeah.”

“So that’s 1,500 new Hawk Men a month.”

“Is it?” Tivold asked.

“That’s 18,000 more a year. Why don’t you cover all Mongo?”

“Most of the pregnancies don’t grow past embryos.” Tivold said. “A lot of them are marked as kwunae and discarded.”

“What’s kwunae?” Viun asked.

Tivold turned to Kivya. “What’s the crawler word for kwunae?”

Kivya closed her eyes. After a second, she remembered, “Incestuous.”

“What the fuck?” J demanded.

“Hawk Men don’t have family.” Kivya reminded J. “We all come from the nursery. We don’t do all the record keeping crawlers use to avoid kwunae, so they screen it out in the nursery.”

“All the record keeping. . .” J began.

With no more emotion than one would show turning off a radio, Viun reached out and pinched J’s windpipe. She addressed Kivya, “If you could spread the word to your people to try to screen for kwunae and other prenatal problems, we’ll start getting ready to handle your children as they mature.”

Kivya nodded and flew off to obey as if Viun were her commander.

“How do you know so much about the nursery?” Viun asked Tivold.

Tivold looked down. “I’ve worked in the nursery all my life. I spent all my free time hunting, so I never got out. For us, that’s basically trash.”

“Find me some more trash then.” Viun said. “As far as I’m concerned, you have the most useful skills of your species.”

Tivold left and Viun removed her hand from J’s throat.

“What was that?” J asked.

“Weren’t you listening?” Viun asked. “We just got air superiority over the Republic of Mongo.”

54

The increasing stacks of paper were the best way to measure time in the cell. The more recent papers covered the cot and the table. The older ones were in stacks along the floor.

The door opened. Dr. Soma didn’t look up. Two of Dr. Torre’s familiar footsteps sounded before the door closed behind him.

“I didn’t expect you yet.” Dr. Soma said when Torre didn’t speak.

“You aren’t a traitor, are you?” Dr. Torre asked.

“I believe the law formally defines a traitor as one convicted of treason. I assume you still have the legal records to answer your question.”

“I’m talking about your motives.”

Soma looked up from her papers and then back down. “Don’t bother discussing them with me. If there’s one advantage of being a convicted traitor, it’s that my motives are no longer anybody’s business.”

“I’m loyal.” Dr. Torre said, taking a step forward. “I’ve always been loyal, but I could burn as a traitor. The president doesn’t trust me. Dr. Zachgo is maneuvering against me.”

Dr. Soma had never heard Torre so nervous. She had a feeling no one had.

“You know what the hardest thing is about coming back after thirty two years?” Dr. Soma asked. “It’s not losing my friends. I’d lost most of them before they put me down. It’s how little has changed. The doctors were scheming, nervous little things like poor Zachgo. The Republic was held together with the same isolation and fear. The president is exactly the same.”

“President Gordon is nothing like his father was.” Dr. Torre said.

Dr. Soma smiled sadly. “I don’t mean Francis is like Hans was. I mean Francis himself is much the same.”

“But when you were frozen, President Gordon was. . .”

“Eight.”

Torre laughed one short bark.

“You said you’re loyal.” Dr. Soma said. “Whom did you give your loyalty to?”

Torre sat down. He looked at Dr. Soma across the table. “It was Hans Gordon.” he said. “When I was young, I wasn’t loyal to anyone. Being a soldier was my job. When I got high enough to meet the president, I was in awe of him. He was so dedicated. He was so subtle. I think, in my heart, I still fight for him.”

“I’m glad.”

Soma’s words made Torre pause. He realized that she was showing pride in a pupil. This woman, Dr. Torre’s prisoner, was the one who taught Torre’s mentor and hero.

“He died thirteen years ago.” Dr. Torre said. “There was an explosion. There were hints that it was the Lion Men. There’s no hard evidence. They’re too tricky for that, but I’ve made those beasts pay. ‘The butcher’ is what they call me.”

Soma didn’t speak.

“What about you?” Dr. Torre demanded. “Whom do you serve?”

“I serve Mongo.”

“If you serve the Republic, then why–”

“I did not say I served the Republic.” Soma interrupted. “I serve Mongo. The central computer in Mingo City has records going back millennia. That alone is a greater prize than any of our lives. When Flash Gordon took over, he wiped out over four hundred years of records and started decades of political executions. If I were alive in the time of Ming, I would have Ming stop the Republic in its infancy.”

“Now there could be another revolution with more chaos and more death. Will you fight to stop that?”

“Perhaps.” Dr. Soma said. “But might there be a worse enemy to the Republic than the Earthlings?”

“What? The Arborians? The Hawk Men?”

“The president.” Dr. Soma said.

“He is the Republic. To attack him is treason.”

“Even if it’s treason, might it not be true to say the the Republic might be safer if someone other than Francis Gordon were its leader?”

Dr. Torre ground his teeth. At last, he shook his head. “I’ve served the Gordon family too long. I’ve done too much in their name to change my loyalty.”

“The Gordon family does not end with Francis the sixth.”

“You mean his daughter? Do you have some plan for Aura Gordon?” Torre demanded.

“I’m a prisoner. I’ve only seen her once.”

“If you tell me what you plan for her, I’ll tell you what I know about her.”

“You suspect she helped Captain Bold.” Soma said. “Now that you have him, you’ll have a chance to confirm those suspicions. I’m a prisoner, and I have nothing to read but reports you approve for me to see. Surely you can bargain with information I can’t guess on my own.”

“Did you tell Aura that I’m onto her?” Dr. Torre said.

“I’ve been here under close watch. How could I tell her anything?”

“Yes, how?” Dr. Torre demanded. “If you won’t answer my questions, answer your own. My spies say her routine has changed drastically since she spoke to you.”

“My routine is unchanged.” Dr. Soma said. “I’ve been in a cell.”

“What about J?” Dr. Torre asked.

“I haven’t been in touch with J.”

“I know that. I’ve been feeling particularly worried since J took over the bomb.”

“If you’d told me your plans,” Dr. Soma said, “I’d have warned you not to use a hellbomb. They’re particularly vulnerable to doctors.”

“I need a plan.” Dr. Torre said. “I need to be ready in case the worst happens and J gets back into the central computer.”

“You want me to tell you how to keep control of the systems that run Mingo City? Should I help you control the door to my cell so you could make sure I never got out? I’m feeling particularly uninspired.”

“I might give you some freedom of movement. You’d have guards with you. They would have orders to shoot you if I gave the signal.”

“Do you think the president would agree to this plan?”

“Your first job would be to convince him of the danger.”

Dr. Soma nodded. “Very well. It’s a workable partnership, if ironic.”

“How is it ironic?” Dr. Torre asked.

“Warning people of coming danger is what put me in prison cells to begin with.”

55

Susan had taught before, and she had a good nose for problem students. She’d taught kids who fought for keeps, grabbing and biting when they were supposed to be practicing.

These winged children reminded Susan of private school kids she’d taught two years before. Whatever she asked the students to do, they immediately found out who was best and who was worst. The best students tried to gloat. The others wanted to quit.

The children who could fly were almost the worst. To the Hawk Men, if you could fly, you weren’t a child anymore. The young ones were still small enough to take off without assistance. They were the pride of the species. They felt no need to prove themselves or meet any standard.

The worst were the ones who would never fly. Some had wings that hadn’t grown at puberty or were struck by disease. They rarely ate and sat like catatonics. They never spoke in front of their fellows. Susan had started to suspect that, in normal Hawk Men society, these would be killed. They hadn’t realized that the fall of the Hawk Men’s city had spared them that fate.

Susan walked past the children, all standing in a loose formation as she’d taught them. In back, there was one sitting. He looked like he was maybe fourteen. Most of the ones his age were cocky fliers. This one watched numbly.

The child’s wings had lost all feathers and some of the flesh. He was left with nothing but two pink, muscular stumps protruding from a hump behind his shoulders. Where further wing structure was on a healthy Hawk Man, there extended a few stricken limbs looking like a baby’s fingers.

“What’s your name?” Susan asked.

The child looked up, but said nothing.

“Stand up.” Susan said. “State your name.”

The child stood up. He looked up at Susan. After a deliberately long pause, he said, “Kooba.”

“Were you listening?” Susan asked.

The child nodded once.

“Strike at me.” Susan said. “Use your kaava.”

Susan had a few challenges in her time, but she’d never before taught students with limbs she didn’t have. She had made Tivold demonstrate the different ways the wing moved and had him experiment with striking with different parts of the wing. Tivold was bruised and exhausted before Susan learned the basics of how the wing moved.

The kaava was the Hawk Men’s word for a bone in the ‘elbow’ of their wings. It was considered coarse and unsporting to use the kaava in whatever sparring Hawk Men did with each other. Susan suspected that if she could teach one of them to use it right, it would be lethal strike.

Susan held up one palm as a target. Kooba looked down. Susan could feel the eyes of the other students from behind her. She knew what she was asking. Kooba had to move his shameful, blighted limbs in front of everyone else.

Susan leaned forward and spoke too softly for the other students to hear. “I need you.”

Kooba looked up and muttered, “How could you possibly need me?”

“You succeed,” Susan said, “and they must.”

“If you teach me how to fight,” Kooba said, “you think everyone’s going to learn how to fight, because otherwise they’re worse than a freak like me.”

“You’re no freak.”

“You’re using me to shame them.”

Susan was about to object. She thought better of it and nodded.

“Okay.” Kooba said. “I’m in.”

Susan took a step back and held up her palm again. She yelled, “Strike!”

Kooba knelt forward like Susan had taught them to do and one clubbed wing slammed into her hand.

“Twist before impact.” Susan said. She didn’t have the muscles to demonstrate, but she flipped one fist from knuckles up to wrist up to indicate. “Strike again.”

Kooba knelt and struck again. This time, she felt the nasty edge of the kaava land on her palm.

“Susan?”

It was an adult voice. Susan turned to see one of Vultan’s aides standing behind her.

“Vultan asked to see you.” the aide said.

“I’ll be there.” Susan said. “Just a minute.”

“You’re not going to keep Vultan waiting for this.” the aide said, gesturing at Kooba.

“I am.” Susan said.

“Don’t bother. If there’s one thing lower than crawlers, it’s the crawler freaks born of . . .”

The aide doubled over. Susan barely notice the flick of Kooba’s wing stump before it had struck the aide in the solar plexus.

“What went wrong?” Susan asked.

Kooba recovered from his rage and looked pleadingly at Susan. “I don’t know. I lost control.”

“You did.” Susan said. “Twist before impact.”

The aide and Kooba looked at Susan with identical expressions of disbelief.

“Now try again.” Susan ordered.

He drew blood. Susan thought as she saw the aide fall back. How about that?

Vultan had made camp a few miles away from the city. The Hawk Men had set up tents. In most ways, they seemed to be lost without the technology they’d lost, but they still had a facility with cloth.

“Vultan?” Susan said as she entered the tent. She’d never met the leader face to face. She imagined an even more arrogant version of the Hawk Men leaders she’d seen before.

“Come in.” Vultan said. His expression was solemn.

Susan walked in. Vultan seemed to be preparing to say something, so Susan waited for him.

“I don’t think anyone’s thanked you.” Vultan said. “Thank you for saving those children. We’ve lost enough without losing another generation.”

Susan nodded.

“I’ve heard you’re training them to fight.” Vultan said.

“Yes.”

“And they take orders from you? I heard they didn’t realize you were a crawler when you rescued them. I’m surprised the shame didn’t inspire them to attack you.”

“One did.” Susan said.

“And?” Vultan prompted.

“They need training.”

“You know,” Vultan said, “if they just gave me a chance, I would have handed you to those bastards from the Republic. You’d be dead, and my city would be safe. Does that seem selfish to you?”

“No.” Susan said. “You have responsibilities.”

“Do you know why I’m helping you?” Vultan asked.

“The Arborians.” Susan said. “The matrix jars.”

“No. It must seem sad to you crawlers – not being able to give birth from what our mother gave us. The Arborians were generous to offer us the clever mechanical wombs they’ve been hoarding. The Republic of Mongo has the technology. So do the Lion Men. We could go on hands and knees, and they’d give us another generation.”

“Are you sure?” Susan asked.

“I’m sure. Some of us wanted to do just that, go crawling to President Gordon. I said that we’d never be free again if we did that. It’s a slave that apologizes when you strike it. Our ancestors didn’t give us wings to be Gordon’s slaves.”

“So it’s pride?”

Vultan shook his head. “Pride is what I used to persuade the reluctant. Can you keep a secret?”

“Yes.”

“I’m attacking because of Nultar.”

Susan only knew Nultar as the one who held her prisoner. “Where is he?”

“He’s dead.” Vultan said. “He took our largest, best aircraft. He loaded it with explosives and flew it into a Republic destroyer.”

“A friend?”

“A menace. He was rash and dishonest. We fought on everything. He was intelligent. He could be charming. Everything he did had consequences for someone else to clean up, even his death.”

Vultan stopped talking.

“That’s the secret?” Susan asked.

“No. The secret is that we’re just crawlers with wings.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We don’t start with alliances like you do.” Vultan said. “You crawlers come into the world, and you’ve got parents and siblings. There’s other relations. I don’t know all the names. You crawl out of your mother’s genitals, and the world is all planned for you.

“Not us. The children are gone as soon as they’re conceived. They come out of the nursery. The children you’re teaching could be any one of ours, and we wouldn’t know.”

“It seems odd.” Susan commented.

“To you, it must. It’s our way. But, if you’re powerful and vain, you can discover what you were never meant to know.”

“Nultar.”

“He died trying to save us. He died trying to stop the bastards.” Vultan spat out the last words like a rotten fruit, “My son.”

Part Three

56

At this moment, Lewis saw his life divided into two parts. One lasted 42 years and included the typical triumphs and tragedies. The second part of Lewis’s life began when he’d been entombed. The second was nothing but continual nightmares of suffocation with short periods approaching rational thought.

Lewis realized that this second part of his life was probably shorter than the first, but it seemed so long, and, at times, Lewis could barely remember his past life, when he could move and see.

Lewis had been entombed for eleven hours.

Sound conducted through the capture sand like soft, guilty thunder. Lewis couldn’t make out the words, but his heart raced at the new sensation.

The living sand in which Lewis was embedded began to shudder. It shook. The colonies of organisms swam in currents. Lewis felt like a giant’s hand was slowly squeezing him.

The capture sand had eaten all the dead skin and some of nails from Lewis’ hands, so they felt cold and vulnerable when they were exposed to the air again. The fingers spasmed uncontrollably, and the left hand nearly folded itself with cramping.

Lewis’s arms were half free when Lewis finally saw light again. He covered his eyes with his hands, his first voluntary action. He coughed and spat the living sand from its mouth.

Lewis noticed that a cold liquid was raining down on him. He didn’t know it was an enzyme that the capture sand fled, or that the sand crawled away through a pipe. He just knew it was going, and he could move again.

“You see. He’s fine. He’s bound to be disoriented, but that will probably be for the best.”

Lewis moved his hands to let in a small hole of light. Through the gap in his fingers, Lewis could see a bald man with a horrifying grin. Dr. Torre, Lewis remembered. He’d been the last person Lewis had seen or heard before he’d been buried so long before.

“Can he walk? We want to march him to the president. He looks too sympathetic if we carry him.”

Lewis moved his hands until he could see another face through his fingers. Dr. Zachgo was younger and less ugly than Torre, but he also looked at Lewis like a piece of ragged furniture.

“He’ll walk.” Torre said. “He probably can’t talk. Sometimes, someone has trouble using complete sentences for days after being in capture sand. I hear it’s traumatic.”

“That’s fine.” Dr. Zachgo replied. He leaned down and spoke to Lewis. “Can you hear me? Captain Bold? Your clothes are gone. The sand ate them. Put this on.”

Dr. Zachgo threw a loose gray coverall down. Lewis watched, unmoving, as it landed on him.

Two lines of brightly uniformed soldiers marched with Lewis manacled between them. They entered the auditorium in stately rhythm. The last time Lewis had been in this room, everyone was running for cover. He could make out a slight discoloration in places that had been damaged then.

Dr. Torre walked ahead of the guards. In his mind, he heard a voice: “Do you have a moment?”

Dr. Soma was talking into a speaker in her cell far away, sending the words directly into Torre’s head. Soma also had a monitor that showed her the auditorium’s security cameras. These were small tastes of freedom Torre had offered.

“Yes.” Torre mentally answered. “What do you see?”

“There’s sensor equipment strung all over the auditorium. It looks like infrared and sonar. What’s it for?”

“I see it, too.” Torre replied. “I don’t know about it. Maybe it’s something Dr. Zachgo requested.”

“I’m guessing they’re checking biometric response. If I were you, I’d set my heart rate and breathing on a regular timer.”

Dr. Torre checked through the manual override for involuntary muscles and made the switches Dr. Soma recommended.

“Done.” Torre said. “Anything else?”

“It’s just a hunch, but I think Captain Bold is more alert than you expected.”

Captain Vallin leaned over to whisper in Aura’s ear, “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you, my lady.”

“I’m sorry.” Aura replied. “I’ve been busy.”

“I’m afraid they might question Captain Bold.” Vallin whispered even more quietly. “They might find out we helped him.”

“I’m ready.” Aura said.

“You don’t understand.” Vallin hissed. “Your father will have you killed.”

“I know.” Aura said. “I’m ready. I’m getting allies.”

Vallin had guarded Aura since she was ten. He had never heard her speak so boldly. He felt a rush of panic and pride.

The procession reached the end of the auditorium. President Francis Gordon VI sat at his throne and looked down at Lewis.

“Captain Bold,” the president said. “You have made a deadly enemy.”

Lewis closed his eyes with concentration and he uttered two hoarse words: “You made.”

In the entire hall, no one spoke for long seconds. President Gordon leaned forward and asked, “What?”

Lewis looked up, directly at the president. He stood up straight. He stood there, chained, pink and hairless. The uncertainty seemed to drain out of Lewis.

“You made your enemies.” Lewis said in a loud, clear voice. “As surely as if you’d carved us out of wood.”

President Gordon stood up and pointed at Lewis. “Don’t deny your responsibility. You chose to defy me!”

“I did what I had to. I’ve done nothing else.” Lewis answered. “I feel I have been nothing more than the glove history wears today.”

The president opened his mouth again, but before he could speak, Lewis yelled, “Do you imagine, Mr. President that her grip on you will soften when I am gone?”

“Perhaps you would prefer I sent you back to your cell.”

Lewis looked up, thinking of all the pain and death he’d seen in his short time on Mongo. He thought of how much was ordered by this one man.

Francis Gordon had been born to privilege. He had been born seeing other people as servants or dangerous animals, but he had never looked at anyone with the naked contempt he saw in Lewis’s eyes.

“Yes.” Lewis said, looking directly at the president. “I would prefer.”

Lewis turned his back on the president and walked away. The guard turned to escort Lewis out. With a sinking sensation, President Gordon realized they’d reacted without his giving the order.

“Take him away!” the president roared. “In a week’s time, he’ll die publicly.”

57

“Olmi!” Iraca yelled. “Private Olmi, are you here?”

Iraca missed the time it’d been just the three of them on the tank. At times, she wanted to kill the other two, especially Nadriw, but at least she didn’t have to run around to find them. The barracks went up seven floors, and there were no stairs. The theory, Iraca guessed, was that anyone who couldn’t make a two meter vertical leap had no business living in the barracks.

Iraca tensed her legs and made another jump. She landed on all fours on the sixth landing and looked around for Olmi.

“Sergeant?”

Iraca’s right ear twisted to locate the sound before the word was finished. Iraca turned and leaped to the top landing. Iraca tried to keep her tail still to hide her nervousness and smiled casually.

“Hey, Olmi. I’m just here for a visit.”

Iraca mentally cursed herself as Olmi’s eyes widened and his tail twitched. Olmi knew Iraca wouldn’t jump up seven floors for a visit. She should have just gone ahead.

“Olmi,” Iraca said, “I’ve been authorized to give you an honorable discharge. You don’t have to take it.”

Olmi’s whiskers dropped and his ears folded against his skull. “Did I do something wrong?”

Nadriw walked out of his quarters and into the hall. I can’t believe this. Iraca thought. These two argue for an entire three month tour, and they’re hanging around together now that they’re on leave in a city of two million.

“What’s going on?” Nadriw asked.

“I’m being discharged.” Olmi said miserably.

“Congratulations! Tell me what you did wrong so I can get out.”

“You don’t have to be discharged.” Iraca said. “Things are heating up. The underground is hiring like crazy. You could join them.”

“I wouldn’t join those criminals.” Olmi swore.

Iraca kept from rolling her eyes. Did this one know nothing about his own country. “Are there any recording devices here?” Iraca asked.

“The nearest bug is three floors down.” Nadriw said. “It doesn’t pick up anything this high.”

“Okay, Olmi, the underground is run by the ministry of diplomacy. It’s only called a criminal organization to prevent accountability. I wanted to join the underground when I was in school, but my psych scores said I would do better in the army.”

“Can’t I stay with you, two?” Olmi asked.

“Sure you can.” Iraca said. “But things are getting tight for the Republic. We might be called to fight for them. They might order us to attack the Arborians or maybe the Hawk Men.”

Iraca locked eyes with Olmi for a long time to make sure he understood.

“I’m staying.” Olmi said and ducked back into his room.

“I’ll take the discharge.” Nadriw said.

“Too bad.” Iraca said. “We’re not offering it to you.”

“I want it. You know how much tail you can lift if you join the underground? Why Olmi and not me?”

“You know why Olmi speaks English without an accent?”

“I know he talks funny.” Nadriw said.

“Well, he grew up on the Republic border. In Kalton.”

The People all knew about Kalton, and a silence always followed any mention of its name. Nadriw tilted his head inquisitively. “He had relatives there?”

Iraca lowered her voice. “He was there until the end. He was there when it went down.”

“Oh.” Nadriw said. “I’ve been teasing him for months.”

“You feel guilty?”

“I feel stupid. If the freak survived a hellbomb, it’s a sure thing he can kick my ass.”

Minister Sibun’s office was a small hurricane of activity, and the lieutenant had been waiting for half an hour. The lieutenant was in formal uniform with a jacket and pants. It was uncomfortable stuff to wear over fur.

“You said you had a message?” Sibun asked.

“As you asked, we sent a probe into orbit around Mongo. It ‘accidentally’ hit the Republic observation satellite overhead. Our lands are now effectively unsupervised.”

“Good.” Sibun said. “Now demand an apology.”

“You mean apologize for destroying their satellite?” the lieutenant asked.

“Never!” Sibun yelled. “The one who apologizes is wrong. Apologizing now would be asking for the Republic retaliation. They didn’t tell us where the satellite was, and now we’ve lost a probe. Demand an apology.”

“It’s against our treaty to have launched the probe in the first place.”

“We can’t be expected to remember that. We’re basically just bipedal animals. We’re impulsive. We’re feral. We’re. . .” Sibun drummed his claws as he tried to think of a word.

“Brutish?” the lieutenant suggested.

“No.” Sibun said. “I’m thinking of something that conveys a lack of sophistication while implying a kind of basic, savage dignity.”

“Primal?”

“That’s it! We’re primal. We can’t be expected to remember details of a treaty that was signed before we were born. Heck, we’re barely literate.”

The lieutenant absent-mindedly let his tongue slip out between his teeth as he pondered this. “So we’re saying we launched a Mark VII Survey Probe into their observation satellite because we’re a race of mindless beast creatures.”

“Yeah,” Sibun said, “but use more words when you demand the apology. It doesn’t sound sincere when you summarize like that.”

“I heard you had a message for me?”

“Yes.” Sibun said. “Tell your superiors that I’d appreciate it if Sergeant Iraca were promoted to lieutenant.”

“You don’t have to send a message through me. Just send a report to the army proper.”

“I can’t.” Sibun said. “I’ve already sent them an official report recommending Sergeant Iraca be punished for surrendering a tank that later shot down a Republic destroyer.”

“But you actually want her promoted.”

“Yes,” Sibun said, “just make it look like an accident.”

The People couldn’t wear human-style glasses, since their ears were above their eyes and moved frequently. They had different solutions to poor vision. Since his optic nerves stopped accepting ocular reconstructions, Professor Thacir wore eye caps. They were small, clear bowls that attached themselves to the fur around Thacir’s eyes. They made him look amphibian.

Since arthritis hit his hips, Thacir walked with the twisted, cloth-covered canes the People used. Still, he moved as excitedly as ever as he lectured. The visitor in the classroom stood, unnoticed, for ten minutes before speaking up.

“Professor Thacir?” the visitor asked.

The professor noticed his guest and gave him an indignant glare. “Yes?”

“Could I speak to you in private?”

Thacir looked at his class and back at his guest. “Class ends in an hour and fifteen minutes.”

The visitor thrashed his tail. After a minute he said, “Professor, all observers are gone from our land. You are to join active duty again.”

“If that’s all,” Thacir said, “I have a class to teach.”

The visitor looked outraged. “Professor, things are different now.”

“Nothing’s changed. I am just another old professor.”

“You were in the black legion.” the visitor protested.

Gasps came from the students. Some were shocked because they had just learned that Thacir, whose classes they cut and whose mannerisms they mocked, was a trained killer.

The smarter students were shocked because, by the normal rules, anyone openly suspected of being in the black legion was executed by his own people, just to keep up appearances. If this visitor, whoever he was, was willing to blurt Thacir’s secret out like that, then the normal rules were gone.

“I am familiar with my own past.” Professor Thacir said. “Now go.”

The visitor went out the door in two angry bounds.

Thacir gestured for the lecture board, and the hologram changed shape to show a metal cylinder with several marks around it.

“Chemical projectiles,” Thacir said, “sometimes called ‘powder guns’ are crude, though they have some advantages over laser and energy weapons. They require no power source, so they do not show up on standard sensor sweeps.

“Furthermore, they can be made with machining tools in wide use for other purposes. The only exception is the barrel, which can be made from structural tubing if marked, or ‘rifled’, using radiation tagging and erosional nanodrones.”

Thacir looked up to notice several people raised their hands. Thacir pointed at one student.

“Professor, I don’t see the connection to what you were talking about before.”

“There is no connection.” Thacir said. “As our guest pointed out, things are different.”

Thacir pointed to another student, who said, “Will this be on the final?”

Professor Thacir reached up and detached one eye cap. He rubbed the cap on one furry knuckle to clean it and placed it back on his eye.

“No, this material will not be on the final, but I think you will find the lab most involving.”

58

Dr. Soma hadn’t been able to sleep for more than three hours a night since Dr. Torre had given her access to the security cameras. She’d been imprisoned for what felt like a lifetime, and she never before realized that the hardest thing about the imprisonment was the lack of new information.

All she had were a few dozen monitors, all in public places. The most interesting things were happening elsewhere. Still, she was transfixed. Her view screen jumped from perspective to perspective.

“You will not believe this.” Dr. Torre’s voice said from Soma’s console.

“Is this about the procedure for Lewis Bold’s execution?” Dr. Soma asked. Anything she said aloud was transmitted directly into Dr. Torre’s mind. After months of having her thoughts under constant computer surveillance, it seemed hardly an imposition.

“They told you?” Dr. Torre asked.

Dr. Soma closed her eyes. She could use her perceptiveness to intimidate people around her. The tactic was useful, but could backfire if people became too frightened.

“No,” Soma said. “I know from the cameras you so generously gave me to look through. An officer was watching the report on a talker, and he happened to be standing next to a camera.”

“Has the president gone mad?” Torre asked.

“Actually, I think the execution and its details were Dr. Zachgo’s idea. It sounds like his thinking.”

“Because it’s idiotic?”

Soma shook her head, though the gesture wouldn’t show up in Torre’s mind like her speech. “It’s public. It’s dramatic. It’s also cautious in a way, putting the execution six days from now. There’s a lot of symbolism in having Bold killed in Gordon’s Field. Flash Gordon defeated Ming there. If Captain Bold dies there, then he’s not the larger-than-life hero he’s being called. That’s what Zachgo hopes people will think.”

“You sound like you think it’s a good idea.”

“It’s not bad.”

Torre sounded angry. “The Arborians – possibly the Hawk Men, too – will take it as an invitation to attack.”

“We should hope so. The navy is weak. Any alliance the Arborians make won’t last. They will strike soon. One of the best things we can do is make sure we know where.”

“I’ve got to go.” Torre said.

Torre sent a mental message, and the last door opened for him. From there, it was down a set of stairs to the interrogation room. As Torre had instructed, Lewis had been strapped into the chair.

“I hate to further a cliché,” Lewis said, “but I’m not going to talk.”

“Probably not.” Torre sighed. “Have you heard about your execution?”

“A week from now, I’m going to be killed in a plain of some sort.”

“It’s a week from yesterday.” Torre corrected, “and you’re going to be killed in the same general area where our founder led an ambush on Ming the Merciless’s elite guard.”

Lewis shrugged as much as he could while strapped down. “The significance of that is lost on me.”

“It seems a little odd to me, too.” Torre admitted. “The plan isn’t mine, and it makes it hard for me to torture a confession out of you. You’re hardy enough as it is. You came out of the capture sand with your wits nearly intact.”

“I’ve got a nasty rash.” Lewis offered.

“That’s to be expected. The sand eats up all the microbes on your skin. It upsets the ecology. The thing is that I can’t threaten to kill you in less than six days, and I can’t offer to let you free. Your fate’s decided. It’s really hard to torture someone into betraying someone under conditions like that.”

“I’m trying to sympathize, Dr. Torre.”

“So,” Torre said, “I’m using a lot of neural sensors and measuring your responses. It’s a humane technique, and it’s as reliable as a confession.”

Lewis tugged at his restraints without thinking. One of Torre’s assistants lowered a telescoping device from the ceiling until it covered Lewis’s head. Another assistant injected a chemical into Lewis’s neck. Lewis felt unable to concentrate on anything but the words he heard.

“Now let’s start. Is your name Lewis Bold?”

On the other side of the door, dry fingers touched cool metal. Sensing a voice, the creature stood, sliding against the door.

Long ago, people had studied the Lizard Men for weaknesses. The scaly creatures heard through their skin, and they heard best through contact with something solid. Standing on their hind legs in a wind, they were nearly deaf. However, if one of them pressed its entire body against a metal door, it could hear through three inches of hardened alloy.

The creature lived for the scent of its mistress. It knew when she was nervous. She was worried about the bald man who asked the questions. She was worried about the captive who refused to answer. The creature could smell the fear and went to learn more.

The Lizard Man sensed that the questioning was coming to an end. It walked down the hall. It instinctively avoided the eyes of the cameras by climbing across a wall and then a ceiling. There was a ventilation duct, set just a few centimeters wide so that nothing could fit through. The creature’s cartilage folded and strained as it wriggled past.

The creature went through alleys and up the sides of buildings. Tiny hollows on the back of its neck opened as it climbed, releasing pheromones into the wind. Finally, it reached the window it wanted. It found its mistress.

“Where were you?” Aura asked.

The creature bowed. This was as much its instinct as avoiding the eyes of predators and sending out pheromones once it was Awakened.

After a proper obeisance, the creature lifted its head and spoke two words in a soft, menacing voice, “Aura Gordon.”

Aura stepped back. She had been terrified of Dr. Torre since she was a girl. To have this quiet, obedient creature talk in his voice shocked her. For a second, she imagined it was possessed.

“You talked to Dr. Torre?” Aura asked.

“I’m trying to sympathize, Dr. Torre.”

“That’s Lewis! Dr. Torre was talking to him?”

“That’s a picture of Aura Gordon. Did you see her, Mr. Bold? Was she the one who brought you back to life?”

Aura felt cold. She shook her head. “Lewis wouldn’t betray me.”

The Lizard Man spoke in Torre’s voice again, its face still without expression. “For the record, the monitors give Mr. Bold’s answer as ‘yes’.”

Aura’s heart raced. The air was trying to run through her chest. They were going to come for her. They were going to execute her. There’s something terrible about having the fears of a lifetime come true.

The breath started to slow. Aura’s head felt clearer. She flexed her fingers. There’s something liberating about having the fears of a lifetime come true.

“We need to be ready.” Aura said. “You will send messages for me. Do you understand?”

59

“What?” Koval asked. His eyes were wide, helpless. You would never guess this was a man who spent his days designing weapons.

“I told you.” Viun said. “I can’t be there for the meeting. The Hawk Men are very fussy with this. They negotiate one on one.”

“There’s a Hawk Woman in there with Vultan.”

“She’s his assistant.” Viun said.

“Why don’t you come as my assistant?”

“I can’t be your assistant because they know I outrank you. Gido will be your assistant. You can work with him.”

Koval frowned. Viun was easy to talk to, but most people seemed strange and threatening to Koval. He longed to return to something familiar and predictable, like explosives.

Suddenly, Koval brightened. “I know, I can be your assistant.”

“I considered that.” Viun said. “But you know more than I do about what resources we’ll need from the Hawk Men. If we both make demands, we’ll seem to be double teaming him. If we don’t use the rules of their culture, we risk antagonizing them.”

Koval looked at the floor. Even talking to Viun, this was embarrassing. “I’m worried they’ll see through me.”

“What do you mean?” Viun asked.

“There’s some really good resources here.” Koval said.

“And. . .”

“Well, people can tell when I’m happy about something, and I’m afraid it will give away what we need.”

“Ah,” Viun said. “Let me explain something. To the rest of the world, you seem either excited or preoccupied all the time. We don’t know why, and we’re afraid to know.”

“Why would you be afraid?” Koval asked.

“I’m not afraid of you. When you look at most people, though, they’re afraid you’ve just thought of something really interesting that you could make out of their skulls.”

“Barometer.” Koval supplied, much too quickly.

“To be honest, Koval, I was trying to come up with an exaggerated example to lighten the mood.”

Koval nodded thoughtfully. “Nice try. So everyone assumes I’m crazy?”

“‘Assume’ is a strong word. They suspect.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Koval asked.

“It didn’t seem time.”

“I could have been using other people’s fear for years now.”

“Subconsciously,” said Viun, “I think you already have.”

Vultan checked his notes again. The Arborians had said that they wanted a few things in exchange for their medical and military help. Vultan was pretty sure he knew what that meant. The Hawk Men had the best flying ships outside the Republic, and the Arborians were trying to get some for their own.

Vultan wasn’t about to give up his people’s one advantage. He studied for this meeting day and night, ready to answer any request for aircraft.

When Koval walked in with his round eyes jumping back and forth and that beaming grin, Vultan felt a pain in his stomach. He’d only talked to Koval once, if Koval’s rapid free association babble could be called talking. Vultan hoped Koval was the assistant, though the boy that followed Koval in wasn’t much older than ten.

“Can we start right away?” Koval asked.

“Please.” Vultan said, gesturing to a chair.

Koval sat. “Well, the first thing I noticed on my way in is that there’s some mineral deposits we can use.”

Uranium, Vultan thought glumly, That’s on the other side of the country. How did they find it?

“What minerals specifically?” Vultan asked.

“Clay.”

Vultan tried to remember if he’d heard the word before. He cast his glance at his assistant, who recognized the cue but froze for a few seconds. Finally, she asked, “What is clay?”

“They’re grains of sand. They’re not sand, they’re grains of rock, even finer than sand. The best is evenly saturated with water. You see, there were glaciers here. . .”

A pain introduced itself inside Vultan’s head. “What do you want clay for?”

“You shape it. You heat it.” Koval said. “It becomes hard. It doesn’t show up on many sensors.”

“You bake mud.” Vultan said, “Like the Cave Dwellers north of here.”

Koval’s face brightened. “You’ve studied the ceramic engineering of the Cave Dwellers?”

“No. I know they bake mud. They also etch bronze with their teeth, bake bread by burning their own dried feces, and eat their elder kinsmen. I have not, myself, practiced these arts.”

“They etch bronze with their teeth?” Koval asked. “Write that down, Gido.” The boy obediently made a note.

“You can have a hundred thousand cubic meters of clay.” Vultan said. “After that, we’ll renegotiate.”

Vultan could hear Koval’s leg bounce under the table. The Hawk Man didn’t want to guess what that meant.

“The next thing is this dense alloy we found in the center of Sky City’s ruins.” Koval said.

Vultan was relieved to hear something familiar. “We call that cityframe. It’s a nanoforged metal.”

“Can we have a couple tons of it?” Koval asked.

“Cityframe is difficult and dangerous to reforge.” Vultan warned. “After the wreckage, it’s useless for manufacturing.”

“I’m sure it is.” Koval said. “We don’t need to reforge it. We just want something dense.”

“For what?” Vultan asked.

“We can use it for weights. We can use it for counterweights. We can drop it on people. We. . .”

“Three tons are yours.” Vultan said.

“The next thing is this well-protected metal chamber.” Koval said. “It was in Sky City, near the Pillar of Light. It’s very large and survived the city’s destruction. What’s in it?”

What are you hoping for? Vultan thought, Flint arrowheads? Animal skins?

“That chamber contains radioactive waste.” Vultan said.

Koval grinned and his leg started bouncing again. “How radioactive?”

60

The elevator was a disk with no visible walls. Dr. Torre had selected maximum speed drop, so the floors of the presidential palace went by in a blur. Most people found the pace terrifying, and some vomited.

Torre was perfectly safe. The machinery in the disk increased his acceleration so that the elevator didn’t drop out from under him. When the elevator hit the first floor, it’s momentum and Torre’s disappeared without so much a stomach lurch.

Dr. Zachgo waited at the base of the elevator. Torre walked off the platform before Zachgo had time to register his presence.

“Hello, Doctor.” Torre said as he passed, “I’m interrogating Aura Gordon on suspicion of helping Lewis Bold.”

Zachgo jogged to keep pace “The president’s daughter?”

“The only other Aura Gordon I know of is the president’s grandmother.” Torre said without stopping or turning around. “She died twelve years ago. That eliminates her as a suspect. You’re a doctor, Zachgo, the pride of Mongo. You should be able to make simple deductions like this all the time.”

“When the president hears about this, he’ll. . .”

Torre turned to face Zachgo so quickly that Zachgo almost ran into him. Torre’s smile was somehow jovial, but more unpleasant and threatening than a snarl.

“He’ll sign a warrant for her interrogation?” Dr. Torre asked, producing the paper. “That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?”

Dr. Zachgo recognized the warrant and the signature. He froze.

Dr. Torre continued, “I’ll want squads two and four ready for the capture just in case. Aura may resist, and the captain guarding her may misunderstand his loyalties.”

“Squad four has only three men now.”

“We’ve been attacked?” Torre asked.

“We’ve purged.”

Dr. Torre took a step toward Dr. Zachgo. He was standing very close. “Explain.”

“Some of the soldiers showed a positive emotional reaction toward Captain Bold. We had them executed.”

“We?” Torre asked, barely louder than a whisper.

“The president signed the order.”

“Then give me squad five, as well.” Dr. Torre said. “Have them meet me outside the private palace.”

With a flick of intention, Dr. Torre opened a communication line to Dr. Soma’s prison cell, half a kilometer away. His body was walking away silently, but his mind was speaking.

“Dr. Zachgo has just murdered half the president’s guard.”

Dr. Soma had been reading in her cell when the voice abruptly came over the speakers. She was quickly adjusting to Torre’s sudden interruptions of her solitude. “He used the biometric sensors in the auditorium to check responses to Lewis Bold?”

“Apparently.” Dr. Torre answered. “Who does that bastard think he is?”

You. Dr. Soma thought. She didn’t speak and hoped Dr. Torre stayed too busy to check the logs of Soma’s thoughts.

Lieutenant Massin finished talking to his fellow conspirators shortly before the summons came. When he heard the signal to assemble at the private palace, he knew it was an order to apprehend Aura Gordon.

Massin was one of the first to arrive as the squads formed up. He was one of the three survivors of squad four.

Dr. Torre and Zachgo arrived at the same time from slightly different directions. Zachgo waved at Lieutenant Massin and spoke in low tones, “This one came as close as anyone to killing the Earthlings when they first escaped. When Captain Bold came to the auditorium, his biometrics showed no sign at all.”

As if I’d fawn for some Earthling usurper. Massin thought. My soul is bound to the line of Emperors.

“This may come as a shock.” Dr. Torre addressed to soldiers. “Aura Gordon has been implicated in a conspiracy against the president. Your job is to apprehend her and take her to the presidential cells for questioning. Form up behind me.”

Dr. Torre walked up to the front doors. The doors did not open.

“There’s been a failure.” Torre said. “This building isn’t accepting my internal signals.”

Massin had been told no more than he needed to know, but he guessed this sabotage was the work of Ghin, the powerman who served Empress Aura.

“Voice override.” Torre said. “Torre. Open doors.”

The doors opened. Massin heard the faintest of sounds, but kept from turning his head.

“Building records.” Torre said. “Show me Aura Gordon’s location.”

A hologram of a woman appeared. Her shape was just slightly too angular to be human. “Aura Gordon left seven minutes and twelve seconds ago.” the building’s avatar explained in a soothing feminine voice.

“To the south perimeter gate.” Torre called as he turned and marched out of the building.

As Massin’s contacts had feared, Dr. Torre had guessed which way Aura would run. South of the presidential grounds was the densest part of Mingo City. If Aura got far into there, the faithful imperials could hide her.

Two guards stood calmly at the south gate. Dr. Torre called out, “Did you see Aura Gordon come this way.”

“Yes.” one of the guards answered. “She came here. She said you were waiting for us by the garage, but we went over and we didn’t see you. When we came back, she was gone.”

Dr. Torre winced, but didn’t yell at the guards. He sent a mental signal for the doors to open, but again, they didn’t.

“Voice override. Torre.” Dr. Torre said to the door. “Cameras, replay people seen in the last ten minutes.”

The ghostly images of Aura Gordon and Captain Vallin appeared by the door. They stood watching. Aura looked nervous despite herself. Another hologram, a reptilian creature, ran toward them. People knew of these creatures, called draculas or lizard men, but they rarely saw them walking on their hind legs, moving in daylight or not running from adult humans.

The lizard knelt by Aura and spoke. Its words and voice were more surprising the beast speak, “Voice override. Torre. Open doors.”

“Open doors.” Torre called. “Cameras, forward footage records to Dr. Soma for viewing.”

The doors opened, and Dr. Torre ran, with the soldiers behind him, to the perimeter gate. The group increased to a sprint when they saw the guards at the perimeter gate, all six of them, lying on the ground in a pool of spreading blood.

“She must have had allies.” Dr. Zachgo said. “Several soldiers.”

Dr. Torre shook his head. “Captain Vallin is good. I’ve seen his record. If they weren’t expecting him to attack, and he had that thing with him, he could have done this alone.”

“Voice override,” Torre said to the doors. “Torre. Open doors.”

The perimeter doors opened. Inside this gate was the carefully manicured foliage and stately buildings of the presidential grounds. Through the doors were the tall, tightly-packed buildings of Mingo City.

“She isn’t far.” Torre said. “Fan out. Check the streets.”

Dr. Soma had drummed her fingers, unsure of what to say. Finally, she spoke up. “Dr. Torre. I think you should get out of there or wait for reinforcements.”

“Why?” Torre’s voice came over the cell’s speakers “There’s just three of them that we know of.”

“It’s that lizard man.” Soma said. “If it’s walking upright, that means it has smelled Aura’s pheromones and awakened.”

“I know that. So what? There’s over forty men here. How many lizard men could have come close enough to Aura to sniff her?”

“I’ve checked old records. At one time, ten thousand lizard men served Ming’s family. Do you think he had time to visit each one in person?”

Lieutenant Massin ran quickly so he’d get to the alley before anyone else. If the Empress had gotten a good lead, she was supposed to be far away. If not, she would be here.

Massin turned the corner and saw Aura and Captain Vallin huddled in a niche. Vallin had his gun out. Massin bowed and Aura nodded to him.

“Where is the lizard man?” Massin whispered.

“Gone.” Aura said. “I didn’t have time to order him back.”

Massin nodded. He heard footsteps coming and didn’t have time to say anything else. He forced himself to turn his back on the Empress and went back around the corner. One of his fellow soldiers was checking the same alley.

“No sign of them.” Massin said to the other soldier.

Before the other soldier could react, their talkers shouted with a soldier’s voice, “I’ve spotted the lizard! I’m behind the citizen volunteer’s building.”

Massin and the other soldier ran. About a dozen soldiers arrived in time to see the creature lying on its back, muttering.

“I got it!” said the soldier who’d spotted the beast. He was a private in the fifth squad Massin vaguely knew.

“What’s it saying?” asked the soldier who’d come with Massin. Massin didn’t want to admit he knew the old language, so he said nothing.

”. . .by the blood of heaven I awaken. To the blood of heaven I return.” the creature said in the language of Ming the Merciless. How does it know the last rites? Is it instinct to these creatures? Massin wondered. Maybe it saw a forbidden funeral. Maybe it’s centuries old.

“This is Dr. Torre.” a dozen talkers said at once. “Everyone report back to the perimeter gate and wait for reinforcements. Especially anyone near that creature.”

“I got it! I got it!” said the soldier’s voice again.

“You already said that.” one of the soldiers said. “Stop bragging already.”

The soldier by the dead creature stood up and raised his rifle. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I got it!” yelled the same voice from a rooftop.

“Lieutenant?” one of Massin’s squadmates asked. On this street, Massin was the ranking officer. He fought his guilt as he put his gun on the ground and knelt. The other soldiers clearly thought him insane. They whirled around and fired as the lizard men came from every direction.

61

“How about this.” Barin said. He moved his arm forward, holding his hand up and bending the wrist sharply. “It’s a Lion Man move. One of them told me it’s called ‘fist snatch’, though I suspect that’s a bad translation.”

Susan copied the arm and hand movement exactly. “It’s Chinese. ‘Fut Sau’. Means ‘Buddha hand’.”

“Is a Buddha an Earth species with claws?”

Susan smiled for the first time that Barin saw. “No.”

“Wait,” Barin said. He jumped straight up and threw a kick at an imaginary enemy. He landed with his feet spread. “Glacier feet. It’s a Frigian move.”

Susan did the same kick. “Dockyard kick. It’s Hawaiian.”

“Hawaiians live where there’s ice?” Barin asked.

“Moss.” Susan replied.

Viun had been quietly watching the two as she thought. It was the first quiet moment in the Arborian camp after two days of marching from the ruins of Sky City. Barin turned to Viun.

“I almost don’t think this woman is from Earth. She knows every fighting move I’ve seen on Mongo.”

“But does she know moves you don’t?” Viun asked.

“A few.” Barin admitted.

“Then I’m convinced she’s from somewhere else. Could you leave for a moment, Barin?”

Barin nodded and walked away.

“We’re preparing a team to free Captain Bold.” Viun said.

“I’m in.” Susan said.

“I don’t know your friend.” Viun said. “If I could, I’d save his life, but not at any cost. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“No.”

“We’re sending a team because, if we’re trying to rescue Captain Bold, then the Republic will have to keep their forces in place guarding him. The team itself is a glass knife.”

“Glass knife?” Susan asked.

“A glass knife shatters on impact. It’s what we call a team we don’t expect to survive.”

“I understand.”

“You don’t have to go.” Viun said. “If you were one of us, I’d forbid you to go. You’re a good trainer for melee fighting and a young woman able to bear children. Both are valuable to us.”

“What about you?”

“I’ve never volunteered for a glass knife. Before he became a leader, Barin had joined three, more than any Arborian who still lives.”

Susan shrugged. “I’m still going. Maybe it’s hopeless.”

“It’s what you think Captain Bold would do for you?”

Susan nodded.

“I’ve already talked to your friend, J.” Viun said. “He won’t be with you.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“I didn’t want to talk you out of joining this glass knife. I just wanted you to know what you were choosing.”

Susan nodded.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Viun said, “There is someone I need to talk out of being with you.”

Gido was in complete darkness. He ran from station to station, hunched over so he wouldn’t hit his head in the low crawlspace. He’d stumbled a couple times during the Sky City fight. He needed to be faster.

He heard footsteps on the tank’s main floor above. Gido finished his drill and peered up to see who it was.

“Hi, mom.” Gido said. “It’s good to see you.”

Gido knew from her expression that she had no interest in small talk. Viun started, “I want you to withdraw from the mission.”

“Why?” Gido asked.

“Because you’ll die.”

Gido shrugged a one-shoulder shrug he’d probably picked up from Koval. “This tank is going on the glass knife to save Captain Bold. Someone’s got to be on the lower deck. Why not me?”

“If you die, your father will go insane, and we need your father.”

“Then why doesn’t father forbid me to go?”

Viun tugged on her fingers. It was a nervous gesture very few people had ever seen her do. “Gido, your father is a good man. He’s a noble man. He’s not a very rational man. He doesn’t think about what will happen if you die.”

“Then forbid me yourself.” Gido said. “You’re on the council.”

“First, it would be a disaster for morale if I ordered you away. Second, Barin would probably vote to keep you in.”

“What about you, mom? Are you afraid I’ll die?”

Viun sat on the floor and began, “I am afraid you’ll die, Gido, but I’m not like your father. Barin’s father died when he was your age. For a month after, he barely slept. Day and night, he tried again and again to get his revenge on Captain Torre.

“My father was the gentlest man I knew. Before he died, he took me to a stream, and he told me to stay under the water and hold my breath. The water was cold. Under the water, I could hear the shots. I didn’t go up to see my father die. I didn’t go up to look at the men who killed him. I stayed under. I wouldn’t help him by getting myself killed.

“When I came up, the soldiers who killed my father were gone. I could hold my breath a long time, even when I was six.”

“Maybe I’ll live.” Gido said. “Father survived a glass knife three times.”

“You’re not your father.” Viun said.

“I’ve got to get back to work.” Gido said, and he climbed back into the crawlspace.

62

“No jibe? No criticism?” Dr. Torre asked as he put shackles on Dr. Soma’s wrists. The manacles had the large archaic tumbler locks, not more common electronic code locks. Torre kept the jagged metal key in his pocket.

“I approve.” Soma said as she tested the short chain. “Our task right now is to scare the president and also your friend, Dr. Zachgo. We have to make sure we seem harmless ourselves. It’s a pity we can’t think of a pretext to put you in shackles, too.”

When Torre didn’t talk, Soma went on. “After a couple days of being able to use a microphone to talk directly into your head, it’ll be awkward to lose that when we’re in a meeting. You could create a direct line from my brain to yours so we could talk silently.”

“Out of the question. The transmitters in your brain will stay inactive. I appreciate your help, doctor, but I don’t trust anyone that much.”

“Pardon me for bringing it up.” Soma said graciously. The door opened. Dr. Torre led the way out of the cell, and Soma followed.

Time was an odd issue for Dr. Soma. In her memory, it had been a little less than a year that she’d been confined to a cell. In reality, she had been incarcerated or frozen for 33 years. Many of the people who passed her in corridors hadn’t been alive the last time she’d left the security wing of the presidential palace.

Dr. Soma matched Dr. Torre’s pace. Armed guards walked behind them. Soma barely noticed her captors. Her eyes were darting through the windows at the purplish blue of the Mongovian sky. Soma didn’t speak until they reached the elevator. The large disk accelerated up the spire.

“Remember,” Soma said, “be humble. This situation is frightening. If you look threatening at all, they’ll take their fear out on you.”

“I’ve asked you advice on many things.” Torre said. “Why do you think I want lessons on etiquette from you?”

“Because I’ve gotten convicted of treason. If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life in a cell and full of advice, you’d do well to listen to me now.”

The elevator reached the president’s floor. Dr. Torre and Soma went through two checkpoints of presidential guards before they reached the personal quarters.

Dr. Zachgo was by the president’s side when Torre and Soma entered his reception hall.

“I hope this is important, Dr. Torre.” President Gordon said. “I’m a busy man, and I hope you didn’t take that traitor out of her cell lightly.”

“There’s a problem involving the Earthling, J Bosca.”

“He’s still alive, despite your best efforts.” the president said.

Torre bowed his head. “I’m sorry Mr. President. Yes, he’s still alive, and he’s with the Arborians. We’re luring him back by publicly executing Captain Bold.”

“Do you think that’s a bad idea?” Dr. Zachgo said.

“No.” Dr. Torre said. “It does mean J’s coming to Mingo City. If he comes within transmission range of the palace, he will have access to the central computer. J has already acquired top level access to the system.”

“Only I have top level access.” the president said.

“Begging your pardon, Mr. President.” Dr. Soma said. “You don’t anymore. J Bosca has convinced the central computer that he is president. When the central computer acknowledges you as president, it’s lying to you because J told it to.”

“Is this true?” President Gordon asked Dr. Zachgo.

“We’ve come across signs of tampering.” Dr. Zachgo said. “He does seem to have presidential access.”

“So he can open doors.” the president said. “He can shut off your brains. He can turn off power and bring down shields.”

“The best I can summarize, Mr. President.” Dr. Torre said, “Is to say that J is capable of controlling this palace, the surrounding buildings, and our entire military.”

“That’s absurd.” Gordon said.

“May I demonstrate?” Dr. Torre asked.

“Go ahead.”

Dr. Torre stood still as his brain sent out a series of signals. In half a second, there were soft noises of doors and vents moving. Before the second was through, everyone’s ears popped.

“To make the palace more resistant to attack.” Dr. Torre said. “The ventilation is capable of isolating some parts of the palace, like these chambers, from the rest of the world. I’ve shut off air coming in and pulled out some of our existing air. We’re now down to .92 atmospheres. In less than a minute, I can bring it down to .01. We would all die.”

“I can shut you down sooner than that.” the president threatened. He pulled out a control mechanism from a jacket pocket.

“Of course you can, Mr. President.” Dr. Torre said. “I am opening the ventilation now. If J Bosca were trying to harm you, you would not be able to stop him.”

“I could call my guards.” Gordon said. “They could blast a hole in the door to let air out.”

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t necessarily be so.” Dr. Torre said. “All our communication is routed through the central computer, and the central computer is capable of deactivating any weapon. I’ve shut off all the presidential guard’s rifles as part of my demonstration.”

“Turn them back on!” Gordon demanded.

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Dr. Zachgo spoke up. “This Earthling, J Bosca, doesn’t have the access codes to our weapons.”

“I don’t think so.” Dr. Torre said. “When he was escaping the palace, he was shot at several times and never deactivated any of the guns.”

“Then if we can keep the codes from him, we’re safe.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.” Dr. Soma said. “J could have the central computer send out a series of codes to each weapon until it deactivates.”

Dr. Zachgo laughed. “There are a billion possible access codes and hundreds of thousands of weapons. I’d like to see J try that.”

“You wouldn’t have a chance to see it.” Dr. Soma said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that the central computer is a first generation coincidental processor capable of sending 10 to the 53rd messages a second. That’s not it’s limit; it’s just the most it’s ever been asked to do. The army would shut down in a fraction of a second too small for you to see.”

Follow your own advice, Soma. Stay humble Torre thought. However, Dr. Zachgo said nothing, and the president seemed convinced.

“What would you suggest?” Gordon asked.

Torre spoke. “I suggest we move you to the private palace and isolate the building from the central computer. We reroute the central computer control of the navy, too. Then I suggest we reset a few thousand rifles so that they can’t be remotely deactivated.”

“The entire army could go rogue!” Dr. Zachgo said. “They could turn their weapons on us, and there’d be nothing we can do.”

“To some extent, we’ll have to trust them.” Dr. Torre said.

“Also,” Dr. Soma added. “We could ask every soldier to turn in their rifles and reissue them. We don’t tell the soldiers which ones have weapons we can shut down.”

“That still leaves J able to shut down most of our army.” Gordon said.

“We could issue enough weapons to still have more armed men then the Arborians and Hawk Men.” Dr. Torre offered.

“Fine.” Gordon said. “Go and make preparations. We’ll discuss details tomorrow.”

63

The soldiers who’d seen Dr. Torre often noticed a change. He wasn’t happier or more comfortable, but he was in his element. The way Torre leaped into and walked out of conversations seemed perfectly natural in the columns of troops. The way his eyes darted seemed less suspicious when there were a dozen tasks being attempted in arm’s reach.

As he walked, Torre saw a bird’s eye view of himself and the Republic soldiers around him. His proxy was operating on autopilot, flying high above and sending its findings as it went.

He noticed something in the proxy’s vision. He stood still and thought of a code to transfer his senses to the proxy. Now Torre’s body was on autopilot, and the doctor felt himself flying high and quickly. He dived toward the lieutenant.

“Where are the ground-to-air batteries?” Torre asked. The proxy had no mouth or lips, but as Torre imagined his question, the robot’s speaker talked in his voice.

The lieutenant hadn’t heard the robot approach and turned with a start.

“Dr. Zachgo assured us that the Truth would be here to take care of any threat from the sky.”

This was Lieutenant Olvar. Torre hadn’t spoken to him before. He knew that many of the army here would be pets and favorites of Dr. Zachgo. He supposed it was best he found out which ones soon enough.

“Wait here, Lieutenant.” Torre said. “I’ll be here in a moment.”

Torre’s consciousness returned to his body, which had been standing in place. Torre walked briskly to where Lieutenant Olvar waited.

“If you receive two orders, Lieutenant,” Torre said as he approached, “you take the cautious approach. Between having anti-aircraft guns and not having anti-aircraft guns, the safe approach is to have them.”

“But the Truth is coming.” Olvar said. “Surely a dreadnought like the Truth can beat whatever the Hawk Men send this way.”

Torre considered yelling. He considered having Lieutenant Olvar killed on the spot. However, he needed control of this army. Anyone he could persuade from Dr. Zachgo’s clutches would be a useful ally.

“You think I don’t understand what’s going on.” Torre said.

Olvar shook his head. “Sir, I don’t. . .”

“You think I’ve never been in combat.” Torre said. “Let me show you something.”

Torre lifted one pant leg. The skin was grayish with stark blue veins.

Lieutenant Olvar looked baffled. Slowly he asked, “Is that a war wound?”

“No.” Torre said. “It’s just age. I’m getting old. So’s this leg.”

Torre dropped the pant leg and lifted the other.

“The leg looks fine.” Olvar said.

“It should.” Torre said. “It’s only twenty years old. When I was in Arboria, I cut my original leg off.”

“You cut it off?”

Torre grinned. “Two shots with my sidearm to break the bones and seven seconds with a utility knife to get through the meat. I’d tightened a belt just above my knee. It didn’t work very well, but I stayed conscious until we got to a medical unit.”

“Why?”

“Barin of Arboria stabbed me in the leg with a hollow spear. In the spear was a bore worm. When the spear hit my leg, the worm burrowed in. I had less than twenty seconds to get the leg off.”

“The worm burrows that fast?”

“No. It just has to get to an artery. Then it spits larva into your bloodstream. You die in ten minutes. I’ve seen it many times.”

Lieutenant Olvar looked skeptical. “Twenty years ago, Barin would have been. . .”

”. . .this tall.” Torre said, holding out his hand around his middle ribs. “In a raid, my squad got his father, who was also a big leader in the Arborian Legions. After Barin took over, I started to miss the old guy.”

“The point,” Dr. Torre said, “is that the Hawk Men are coming. They’re very effective fliers and warriors. With them are the Arborians, who just sit in that poisonous forest and think of ways to kill you. If you want to live until next week, I’m one of the better people to listen to.”

64

The missile was a black dot far ahead. The Hawk Men circled before it like courtiers before royalty. The missile plunged downward, and at first, it looked like the Hawk Men would hit the ground with it, but they swooped off in every direction just before the missile hit.

There was a small light, the flash of a spark from impact. One of the Hawk Men swooped by overhead at the same moment the sound and vibration of the impact reached the long line of marching soldiers.

At the head of the line, there was the strange sight of the Hawk Man, Vultan, walking side by side with Barin of Arboria. Susan walked beside the two former enemies.

Barin looked at the messenger far ahead. Koval had run ahead to the target site. Once the missile fell, he’d have a series of messengers semaphore the results back to Barin.

“I’m getting old.” Barin said. “I can’t make out the messenger from this distance. I can’t tell what he’s signalling.”

“‘Missile fell within one meter of target center.’” Vultan repeated. To the Hawk Man’s eyes, the distant semaphore messenger was easily visible.

“You know our semaphore code?” Barin asked. Vultan only winked.

“Why did the Hawk Men drop down with the missile?” Barin asked. “We just told them to release it so it’d hit the target.”

“There are lots of mi – ‘air currents’ you call them – between where they dropped the missile two miles up and where it lands. If it’s to hit its target exactly, the fliers have to hutmi, shepherd the missile through. They block or counteract the winds on the way down.”

“How do you know where the currents are?” Barin asked.

“We get very sensitive after flying for a while.” Vultan said. “There’s also a thing called ‘crow sense’. It’s an ability to predict rhythms in the air and know where pressure pockets are far away. Tivold, for instance, is notorious for his good crow sense.”

“How does crow sense work?” Barin asked.

“If we knew that,” Vultan said. “We’d call it something less rustic than ‘crow sense’.”

“Fair enough.” Barin said.

“Can you afford to waste these missiles on tests like this?” Vultan asked.

“They’re only ‘missiles’ the way a rock is a ‘missile’ if you throw it. Really, we just carved up parts of your old city to drop. Koval said you donated several hundred tons of the old structure.”

Vultan frowned, but said nothing. Barin turned to Susan and asked, “Tell me, do you think we can trust J?”

“Define ‘trust’.” Susan said.

“One might think you answered my question.” Barin said.

“One might.” Susan agreed.

“J might be very helpful if we can get him in range of the Mingo City computer. Because he might be important, we’ve had to discuss plans with him.”

“He’ll be fine.” Susan said.

“You don’t think the enemy will get him to talk?” Barin asked.

“Can you?” Susan asked.

“Well, of course he’s talking to us.”

“Anything useful?”

Barin considered that. “Mostly, no. He talks about himself. He says lots of these odd words that aren’t in our language. He’s very sarcastic.”

“J’s like that.”

“But we’ve just been asking questions. If the enemy catches him, they could threaten or torture him.”

“I’ve tried threats.” Susan said. “He gets snide. Sometimes he lies.”

“And if they torture him?”

“He just complains.” Susan said.

Aura stood on the holographic recording platform in the one formal gown she’d managed to pack when she escaped. The building was a warehouse that had seen little use for the past two months. She fidgeted as her new friends – subject she supposed they were – prepared the recorder for her message. She pulled off her rings and switched them from finger to finger. All the while, she mouthed the words of her speech to herself.

She couldn’t believe she was doing this.

“We’re ready to record.” Massin said. Once he was Lieutenant Massin, but the army he served thought him dead. For his bravery, Aura had made him Lord Massin. Though, deep down, Aura no more considered Massin a lord than she considered herself an empress.

Aura faced the recorder and spoke:

“This is Aura, Empress of Mongo. I am the heir of Emperor Ming, whose throne was stolen by Flash Gordon. I announce that I reclaim my ancestor’s throne in the name of heaven.

“My father, Francis Gordon, must step down from his stolen office. His life will be spared if he meets three conditions:

“First, he must give control to all systems he has to me. Second, he must renounce all claim to the throne. Third, he must deliver my servant, Dr. Soma, to me alive.

“Until he meets these conditions, Francis Gordon, and all who serve him, are condemned of heaven. I am the rightful ruler. I love my subjects and urge you all to fight to reclaim Mongo in my name. Your lives and your souls will be rewarded in my honor.”

Massin stopped the recording. “Perfect,” he said. “The message will go to your father, and we’ll start making copies and circulating them. The rumors are already going. Our numbers have doubled.”

Captain Vallin, who’d protected Aura since she could walk, looked uncomfortable.

“Is something wrong, Lord Vallin?” Aura asked.

Being called ‘Lord’ made Vallin twitch. “I didn’t know you’d mention Dr. Soma.”

“Do you think it was a mistake?” Aura asked.

“Aura, Empress, if your father hears you describe her as ‘your servant’ . . .” Vallin trailed off.

“After he hears this recording,” Aura said, “he’ll lock Dr. Soma away and never trust her again.”

“Then you realize what will happen.” Vallin said.

“I am grateful that you, Lord Massin and the others helped me draft this statement. There is much about politics I do not know, but I know my father. I really do value Dr. Soma, but I made her a demand to deprive my father of his best adviser.”

“Empress.” Vallin said, bowing his head. For the first time, he meant it.

65

Aura had never heard of Viun, the Arborean woman who was waited for her. Already, Aura felt many emotions for her guest: fear, admiration, envy, pity.

Viun appeared at one of the improvised bases Aura’s followers had set up. The base was nothing more than a meeting house, but it’s existence was supposed to be secret. Viun said she spoke for the legions of Arborea, and that she wanted to confer with the Empress.

Lord Vallin suggested that they search Viun for weapons. In addition to being prudent, the search might humble and frighten Viun, making her easier to negotiate with.

Viun put up with the search without complaint. Aura’s servants found no weapons, but after the search, Viun surrendered two weapons they missed. Beneath her hair, Viun had a razor thin garrote, and above her gums, she kept a poison needle wrapped in a thin, waterproof envelope of animal intestine. Viun went on to describe several more things her hosts should have searched for.

Lord Massin suggested they leave Viun waiting. Sometimes, inaction makes people nervous and open to suggestion.

As she waited, Viun asked for food and water. Aura told them to be hospitable, so they brought food. Viun ate enough to feed someone for three days, and she fell asleep in a chair as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Aura knew no more tricks. She could stall no longer. She walked into the room in an ancient gown one of her followers had donated. She walked with a procession of armed guards. Blinking awake and standing, Viun awaited her in dirty, utilitarian coveralls.

“You may sit.” Aura said. She sat down across from Viun.

“I saw a hologram.” Viun said, sitting back down. “You were demanding that your father give up the presidency.”

“Yes.” Aura said. She couldn’t think of anything else to say. She hoped she sounded regal and not helpless.

“We’re trying to unseat the president ourselves.” Viun said, as if it were a casual coincidence. “I see a chance for an alliance.”

“What would you like from us?” Aura asked.

“I’d like you to smuggle someone into Mingo City.” Viun said.

“Why would you need that?”

“I don’t know if we’ll need that. We may manage it ourselves. You have a secret organization threaded through Mingo City, possibly even turncoats in the army. You could do it more easily.”

“Why would you need our help?” Aura asked. “You entered the city.”

“I’m not the one the Republic Army is watching for.”

“Who are they looking for?”

Viun narrowed her eyes, studying Aura. “You don’t know.” Viun stated.

“No.” Aura said. “I don’t. Tell me, who would we smuggle in?”

“You’ll know when you’ve done it, not before.”

“What happens if this person gets into Mingo City?” Aura asked.

“We overthrow the Republic.”

“Just like that?”

“It’s never ‘just like that’.” Viun said. “But one thing will follow another.”

“So what happens if we overthrow the Republic?” Aura asked.

“You become the Empress of Mongo. You rule as your ancestors did.”

“And what about your Arborians?”

“The Arborian Legions become the leaders of the Imperial Army.” Viun said. “We will serve you as we served your ancestors. We elect our own leaders as we have, and we continue to answer to our own conscience.”

“The Arborean Legions betrayed the Emperor.” Aura said. She said it without venom, just repeating a well-known fact in history.

“Our history says it was the other way around.” Viun replied. “The Emperor feared the Arborians and tried to wipe them out. At this point it doesn’t matter how it happened.”

“What’s to stop it from happening again?” Aura asked.

“This time, the Arboreans will have control of all the factories. We will have control of all the vessels. All the control the president has over his army we will have over yours.”

“So after we give you complete control of the army, we should just trust you?”

Viun smiled. “Trust is what you have while you give us control of the military. Faith is what you’ll need afterward.”

“Those are difficult terms.”

“We are your only chance.” Viun said.

“We can build our own army.” Aura said.

Viun shook her head.

“We are gathering followers every day.” Aura insisted.

“Yes.” Viun said. “Your father’s people will infiltrate your followers, and you will die.”

“How can you be sure?” Aura asked.

Viun said nothing.

“You know because you’ve already infiltrated us.” Aura said.

Viun showed no expression.

“I have something else I can offer you.” Aura said.

Viun dropped her chin slightly. It was a small gesture, but it suggested attention.

“I think we can give you Captain Bold.”

“I’m afraid I’m not interested.” Viun said.

Aura felt one piece of innocence go away. “You don’t care?” Aura asked. “He’s a hero.”

“A hero is someone who’s become a symbol.” Viun said. “Captain Bold is just as useful a symbol in his cell as he would be free.”

“I’m afraid I don’t see us coming to terms right now.” Aura said. “If you stay here, I’ll think about what you said.”

“I’m afraid I must go.” Viun said. “My people draw near.”

66

Dr. Zachgo barely slept. He might not have the advantage forever. For the moment, the president was feeling hostile and suspicious toward Dr. Torre. Torre was cunning and would win favor back if Zachgo wasn’t fast.

Zachgo made small changes to the command center. Torre tried to make his new protegé, Lieutenant Fayer, commander of the dreadnought Truth. It was a simple matter to have Fayer replaced with Zachgo’s friend, Admiral Axin. Fayer had been a mere Ensign a month before. Axin was a seasoned naval officer. Torre didn’t dare protest the change in command.

Zachgo’s next plan needed far more care. He looked at the hologram of Dr. Soma. She was sitting at a table, making notes on her archaic piles of paper. She’d committed her legendary treasons when Zachgo had been an infant. Since Torre took Dr. Soma out of cold storage, she’d given Dr. Zachgo nightmares. Zachgo knew that he could never match this woman’s wits.

How fortunate it was that he could simply shut her off.

Zachgo hit the control, and Dr. Soma collapsed on the table. Dr. Soma’s heart still beat, but her artificial mind stopped all conscious thought.

“Send in the team.” Zachgo said.

Dr. Torre’s men had been guarding Soma’s room. Zachgo had been subtle about removing them. He didn’t order them to stop guarding Dr. Soma. He just gave them other tasks which, Dr. Zachgo had told them, were secret and more important than guarding one old woman. Torre was very busy lately. He might not notice what Zachgo was doing until too late.

As if to give voice to Zachgo’s fears, Torre suddenly sent a message, hailing him.

“Are you insane?” Dr. Torre asked, once Dr. Zachgo opened the voice channel.

How did he find out so fast? Zachgo thought. “Be careful.” Zachgo said. “You’re talking about orders with presidential approval.”

“If you’re allowing two companies of Lion Men tanks to come within fifty kilometers of Mingo City, I should hope you have presidential approval. You should have counseled against it.”

Zachgo suppressed a sigh of relief. Torre didn’t know what was happening to Dr. Soma. “The Lion Men army owes fealty to us. We ordered them here as reinforcements.”

“You’ll regret it.” Dr. Torre said. “I’ve been living with the Lion Men. We can’t trust them.”

“Yet you reported that they are unlikely to form any alliance with enemies of the Republic.”

“They don’t form alliances, but saying ‘Lion Men seize opportunities.’ is like saying ‘Water makes things wet.’ We’re about to be in a two front war. That’s a hell of an opportunity.”

“They won’t dare step out of line.” Dr. Zachgo said.

“Why not?”

“We’ve sent word to the Shark Men. They’re to prepare to attack the Lion Men cities – their densest civilian centers – if we give the order.”

“I wouldn’t trust the Shark Men to hold off for our order.” Dr. Torre said.

“Do you think that makes the threat less effective or more?” Dr. Zachgo asked.

Dr. Torre’s voice was quiet and reflective. “I think, my colleague, that I will not see much more of you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A prediction.” Dr. Torre closed the connection.

Dr. Zachgo looked at the hologram of the technician’s working with Dr. Soma’s head. They stood up and faced the cameras.

“We’ve got the bomb in place.” the lead technician said.

“Good.” Dr. Zachgo said. “Give one trigger to me and one to the president. Don’t talk about this to anyone. Now get out of there. I’ll turn her back on in a moment.”

Susan fought a sadness that followed her as she walked through the camp. Maybe she was depressed because people who understood battle told Susan that her mission was hopeless and she would die the next day. That should have been enough, but it felt like a detail with everything else.

“What’s wrong?” Tivold asked. The Hawk Man glided so quietly and landed so gently that Susan barely heard him before he spoke.

“I’m worried.” Susan said.

“About the battle tomorrow?” Tivold asked.

“About Lewis.”

“If I know you,” Tivold said, “you’ll save him or die trying.”

“Probably the latter.”

“You’re afraid of dying?”

“Afraid of failing.”

“If Lewis were in your place, do you think he’d go on a suicide mission to save you?”

“Definitely.” Susan said.

“I only talked to him a little when you were prisoners. I heard more of his exploits from you and J. He might be the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

Susan nodded.

“After tomorrow,” Tivold said, “I am going to be the bravest man you’ve ever met.”

Embarrassed by his sudden declaration, Tivold leaped up and flew away.

67

Susan’s group was completely apart from the rest of the Arborians for the first time, and she could feel the mood of the others in the deadly mission. They all seemed to need something very badly.

If they were on Earth, maybe they would join an army. But Arborians were in an army by default. Maybe in another place, they would join the priesthood. If they survived this mission, maybe these people would become leaders, which is the closest thing the Arborians had to priests.

The more desperate seemed like people who would commit suicide in another place. Arborean culture was so centered on survival that the word ‘suicide’ had a different meaning. An Arborean would say it was suicide to use a radio when enemies are near, but they fought to survive so strongly that they wouldn’t know a word for taking one’s own life from despair.

The higher-ranking Arborians wore their scuttle helmets, designed to destroy their brains if they were captured. To Arborean thinking, a captured soldier was already dead. The helmets were not a thing for despair but for caution.

Susan wondered if she really belonged with this determined, desperate group. I’m cornered. Susan thought. I’m like them. If Lewis dies, that’s two Earthlings on Mongo. Just J and me on the whole planet. With a week, it’ll be just me.

Susan could see young Gido stand by the captured tank. He seemed out of place. He had well-respected parents and the hope of a long life ahead of him.

“It begins soon.” Barin called out.

Susan looked over and saw Barin. All eyes were on him. Barin had always been a hero to the Arborians, and since the battle at Sky City, he’d been a legend. They’d received word that twelve children had been born in the camps back in Arboria. All twelve were named ‘Barin’. Eight were girls.

“As long as I live, I’ll wish I was with you.” Barin said. “It’ll be dangerous. The Republic has had time to put a full set of sensors in place. They have ships watching from above. They will know where you are, how fast you move, how tall you are, how much you weigh. If you’ve ever had family taken by the Republic – alive or dead – they might be able to guess who you are with pheromone sensors.

“They do not know what you’re capable of. If they did, they would have fled the field. Think fast. Move fast. Improvise. You’ve been trained for this your whole life, so trust your instincts.

“Whether you live or die, know that you will be remembered for what you did today. Now go.”

Without ceremony, the group formed into columns. Susan had trained in small groups all her life, but she felt clumsy moving with the automatic and efficient Arborians. Devices that looked like Hawk Man fliers with some kind of massive plow attached sped forward and down, digging trenches ahead of them with amazing speed.

The groups filed behind into the trenches, and were soon jogging to keep up with the diggers before them.

Susan could see shapes moving in the air up ahead.

The soldiers were packed tightly in the troopship Crabbe. Waist-high partitions separated them, as if they were some sort of carefully sorted food.

The speakers were numerous and too small to be seen. The voice that sounded seemed to come from everywhere at once.

“This is Dr. Torre. The Arborians have begun their advance to free the rebel, Lewis Bold. You are part of our plan to stop them.

“I believe that the soldiers you are about to see are just a prelude to a much larger attack. We need to wipe out this force quickly and decisively to be ready when the main force comes. The people you are about to fight expect to die. They will fight without pause or reservation. They have trained to kill you their entire lives.

“Long ago, they called me a hero. I learned that hero is nothing more than a person who is in a crisis and does what should be done. When you drop, you will hear the voice of our tactical computer in your ear. If you listen to its instructions and follow them exactly and immediately, you will be a hero.

“If you disobey any instruction, if you try to make your own plans, if you panic and run, general order 2405 says I can execute you without hesitation. In forty years of military service, I’ve only acted on general order 2405 six times. That’s not because there aren’t many soldiers dumb or arrogant enough to disobey, and you can be sure it’s not because I’ve hesitated to kill the disobedient. The truth is, some murderous Arborean usually saves me the trouble.

“So clear your mind and prepare to do exactly as your told as fast as possible. I have worked day and night creating the battlefield you are entering, and I am confident you will be victorious. Go, and good luck. Helmets on.”

Of the dozens of soldiers, only a couple weren’t wearing their helmets. They put them on. Each soldier heard a soft, feminine voice in their ear.

“Attention: We are approaching drop point. Make sure your rifle is slung over your shoulder. If you are unsure of how to place it, a diagram showing proper placement has appeared on the ceiling above you.”

The soft noise of cloth on cloth drifted back and forth as the Republic soldiers adjusted their straps.

“Your inertia belt is properly set and placed. Do not worry about the fall. Please fold your hands over your chest and keep your feet together for maximum drop speed. Keep this position until you reach ground. Again, proper position is displayed on the ceiling above you.”

The soldiers who were out of position heard gentle reminders telling them how they had mislaid there feet or where they should put their hands. The entire group was soon in the exact same position.

“We are dropping. Please maintain position. Close your eyes and do not open them. You feel the air rush by as you fall. It is normal to find this situation uncomfortable, but do not change position. Any unauthorized movement will be considered a disobedience.”

Then the floor started to drop. It happened in sections so that the falling soldiers would not hit each other as they dropped. Suddenly, trap doors opened and people were gone. The soldiers barely had time to register the event before they were gone.

The aircraft hovered at a low altitude. The soldiers had only seconds to drop. The ones that opened their eyes saw the ground rush toward them immediately as a louder version of the tactical computer’s voice told them they were to shut their eyes immediately. A few soldiers ignored the voice and flailed as they fell.

Bare seconds before impact, the inertial belts pulled them upward, fighting against the acceleration of gravity. The belts were securely strapped to several parts of the uniform. The soldiers felt the peculiar sensation of all their clothing trying desperately to pull itself over their heads.

The soldiers hit the ground at the exact moment their downward momentum was gone. The Arborean diggers came right toward them. In the trenches, desperate soldiers took practiced aim at the new targets.

Inside the soldiers’ helmets, a soothing voice said it was time to open their eyes.

68

Susan kept her eyes on the trench in front of her. The soldiers around her ran so automatically that she was certain they’d either jump or run over her if she tripped.

It started quickly. When the enemy troops dropped, Susan wasn’t sure she heard anything. Then she heard a few loud cracks ahead. For the past week, Susan had woken and fallen asleep to the sounds of Arborian ‘slug guns’, an Arborian device surprisingly similar to shotguns on Earth.

Soon after the first shots, a shadow fell over Susan and the soldiers around her. She glanced up at the troop ship. It was a rectangular craft, wider at the bottom than the top. Susan looked back down to the path ahead, but she thought she saw hundreds of small trapdoors closing on the bottom of the large craft.

An explosion came next. Susan thought it was a gun from the troop ship, but she wasn’t sure. Arborians a few people ahead of her in the marching line were gone, and the trench opened up to a crater where they had been.

The order was to keep moving if at all possible. The first Arborian who came to the crater kept running and leaped. The ground was still burning near the crater, and he screamed as he landed a little further than halfway. He reached the far side and stumbled on.

The next man was just in front of Susan. He stopped at the crater’s edge and looked up to see if he could climb out of the trench. An enemy soldier was right above him.

The Republic of Mongo soldier had a thick armor Susan hadn’t seen before. The Republic soldier looked distant, like a student concentrating on instructions. Mechanically, he pointed his gun.

The Arborian raised his slug gun and fired. Susan hadn’t spent much time around guns on Earth, but the recoil seemed stronger than what she’d seen. The solid part of the bullet was a small fragment of Sky City, and it was denser than lead. The Republic soldier looked confused at first. He glanced down before his knees faltered.

A second Republic soldier stepped up just behind his fellow. His gun was already lowered. He fired before the Arborian could chamber another round. After a bright flash of light and a burning smell, the Arborian soldier was dead.

Susan had decided not to carry a gun because she felt clumsy with them. Barin had agreed to let her go unarmed if she didn’t carry anything metal and brought heatcloth clothing. That way, she might temporarily fool the enemy’s sensors.

Right now, Susan’s only chance was to run. Her jumping was never quite as good as some of her classmates on Earth, but few of them would ever have the motivation she did now. Susan had space for just a few quick steps before she jumped. She twisted in the air, and after a memorable moment, she landed. She wasn’t sure if she got further than the soldier before or if her heatcloth shoes provided enough insulation that she didn’t burn her feet. She kept running.

J thought that Tivold looked just like a kite. Tivold floated with his wings spread. The communications wire came down from him. They needed to reach Tivold by wire. There hadn’t been time to teach the Hawk Man semaphore, and using a radio would have invited bombardment.

“I can see two craft. They look like bricks. People fell out of them.” Tivold’s voice said from a speaker. There was a speaker and microphone on either side of the wire to Tivold. J insisted on referring to them as ‘Dixie Cups’ for reasons no Mongovian understood.

“How large would you estimate they are?” Barin asked into the microphone.

“Fifty meters long, I’d say, twelve meters high.”

Barin put his hand on the microphone. “Do you think he’s right?”

“Our vision is better than humans’.” Vultan said. “Especially with aerial distances.”

“The large model.” Viun said. “You don’t see them often.”

Barin uncovered the microphone. “Do you see any others?”

“No.”

“What’s your horizon?”

“I can see Mingo City.”

Barin nodded. “Can you see where they might keep Captain Bold? It’ll be a structure of some kind surrounded by soldiers on Gordon’s field.”

“Um, there’s a thing there. It’s blocky on one side, curved on the other, and it’s got lights.”

“I need more detail on that thing.”

“The curved side seems to be overlapping plates like an insect or some kind of shellfish. The lights seem to be going from orange to gray.”

“Self-contained ancient bunker.” Viun said.

“Do they still have one?” Barin asked.

“Yes. It’s in the catalogs.”

“You have catalogs of the Republic’s equipment?” J asked.

“When we were part of the Republic, we cataloged everything important.”

“Wasn’t that centuries ago?”

“Yes.” Viun said.

“How did you know it didn’t get destroyed.”

“Because it can’t be.” Viun snapped. “Barin, even as a diversion, there’s no point in trying a rescue.”

“I agree.” Barin said. “They should try for the transports?”

Viun nodded. “That’ll stop half their mobile reinforcements.”

Barin spoke into the microphone, “Tivold, you need to send a message to the soldiers. Get away from us and use your radio.”

“That’ll give me away, right?”

“Yes, that’s right. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” Tivold said. “What do I tell them?”

“Tell them to eliminate a troop transport if possible. Abandon the rescue attempt. Make it perfectly clear. Captain Bold is beyond their help.”

69

Susan almost attacked the man in front of her. He was reaching forward aggressively. Her hand was up and ready to break his grip and counterattack when she recognized his face. It was Ordin, one of the veteran Arborian soldiers in Susan’s team. Susan dropped her arm and let him grab and pull her down.

Ordin was scowling. It was difficult to tell if it was an expression or the shape of his mouth, which curled into a deep frown most of the time.

“A shooter.” Ordin said, gesturing with his eyes.

“You see him?” Susan asked. She neither heard nor saw any enemy since she started running.

“No.” Ordin said. “But he’s there because he should be.”

Susan looked forward. There were a few other Arborians. One was kneeling, looking up at the sky. Susan almost imagined he was watching clouds until she saw a point of light play over his face.

Susan followed his eyes and saw the small shape of a Hawk Man in the distant sky. He was too far for Susan to see the signaler he was using to send his message.

The kneeling Arborian held up his hands to show the Hawk Man he got his message, and the distant flew away.

“The objective’s changed.” the Arborian said as he stood up. “We’re to take one of the transports.”

“What about Lewis?” Susan asked.

“Captain Bold is beyond our help.”

“He’s dead?”

The Arborian shook his head. “I don’t know. The message was that we can’t free him.”

Susan leaned back against the side of the trench and sunk down. She’d accepted that she might well die, but she thought she’d do it at least trying to help her friend, not helping strangers kill each other.

“No time.” Ordin said. “Trencher, four, reinforce.”

Four Arborians reacted as if called by name and started pulling tools from their packs to fortify their part of the trench.

“Linker, heat.” Ordin continued, pointing a thumb up. Another Arborian pulled some carefully-wrapped clay containers from his pack. He threw them over the rim of the trench.

The containers smashed on the ground above, splattering liquid on the ground. A second later, the liquid caught fire.

“Fighter, two.” Ordin said. “I need one of those soldiers brought back alive.”

“Why?” Susan asked.

Ordin looked down, and he was definitely scowling now. “We need a captive.”

Susan nodded. The other Arborian was already putting on the rest of his heatcloth gear. Susan supposed that she was the second fighter Ordin called for, so she finished assembling her own.

Heatcloth was the least comfortable clothing Susan had ever worn. They were designed to keep someone alive in sub zero temperatures. On a temperate day, Susan sweltered in the clothes. Her feet sweated until she felt like she was walking in mud. After she did the fastenings and pulled the mask over her head, Susan leaked almost no heat for the infrared to see.

She new from tests earlier that week that she had about three minutes before she felt nauseous. She guessed she had five before she went unconscious. She held her breath as she climbed over the edge of the trench.

Private Mikun thought about how different it was to be with the power instead of against it. He’d gotten the summons less than two weeks before. Before that, he’d worked in civil records.

He could have paid the pass fee and avoided enlisting in the army. Records was a volatile office, though. If you paid a pass fee, it stayed with you for life. People who were scared of being sent to Arboria sometimes paid a pass fee. Sometimes they made a mistake or just made an enemy, and they disappeared with no formal review. Mikun had seen it often.

So he’d been in uniform for about a week. He was judged bright and responsive, so he’d been put in the drop squad. All he’d done was listen to the soothing voice in his ear. “Take seven steps forward.” or “Turn right slowly. Now stop.” or “Bend your knees and lower your head..”

It was the voice of Tactical, and Tactical knew where the other soldiers were and where the enemy was. Tactical told each of them what to do. That’s what it was to be with the power.

A couple minutes ago, the soothing voice had told Mikun to raise his barrel a little. Then it told him to pull the trigger. An Arborian, one who’d trained to kill since he could walk, probably, was now dead. That’s what it was to be against the power.

Private Mikun was getting so he barely noticed where he was. He took a sidestep as he was told to. He noticed that they were in a bit of a ring around a part of trench, so he guessed they had the Arborians surrounded. Maybe they were in a shape like a circle for a different reason. It didn’t matter.

There was fire next to the trench. Mikun hadn’t been looking, so he didn’t know if his fellow soldiers did that or the enemy.

“Turn left.” the voice instructed. “Now stop.” came right after.

“Enemy moving.”

Mikun’s mouth opened reflexively. Tactical had only given orders. “What enemy?” Mikun asked. “What do I do about it?”

“Sonar indicates enemy near you.”

Mikun noticed shooting to his right. The other soldiers looked really rattled, too. Someone had charged directly through the fire. It was a person wrapped entirely in strange brown cloth. The soldiers were panicked, but they fired. Mikun thought he saw one of his own down, probably from friendly fire.

Then came someone else. This one was moving much more slowly, not charging like the one who came through the fire. Mikun picked up his gun, but suddenly the masked enemy was moving really fast. The gun was out of Private Mikun’s hands, and the enemy kicked Mikun’s legs out and grabbed his throat.

Private Mikun recovered consciousness. His gun was gone. So was his helmet, with its soothing voice and microphone.

A woman stood over him. She was wearing the pants from the brown coverall he’d seen before, but she was wearing a tank top instead of bulky top with gloves. Her face was bright red, and her hair was soaked with sweat.

“What now?” the woman asked.

“It’s not long now.” said a sour-faced Arborian.

“Why?”

“Probably they were preparing to take us out with something long-ranged. We’re packed pretty tight. They probably have a howitzer they were moving into place.”

“Now they won’t?” Susan asked.

The frowning Arborian waved a hand. “Now they can’t wait for a howitzer or whatever. They’ll be afraid we’re torturing information out of him. They’ll need something nearby, like a troop carrier.”

“And we’ll attack?”

The Arborian smiled, which looked unnatural on his grim face. “No, we’re just targets. When it comes, I’ll call the tank.”

The woman picked up a metal rod slightly longer than her arm out of the packs. She tested its weight and turned back to the Arborian.

“I’m going, okay?”

“That’s fine.” the Arborian said. “You did your part.”

The woman ran away. Mikun knew that, with that metal, she’d show up on the sensors really easily next time she ran into soldiers.

The Arborian extended a hand toward Private Mikun. The gesture was made alien by the complete lack of compassion in the Arborian’s face.

“Hi, I’m Ordin.”

70

It’s a trap. Torre thought. He sat, still as a statue.

“They took a prisoner.” the sergeant’s voice repeated. “It’s a private Mikun.”

Torre still didn’t move. If we charge their trench, we’ll lose dozens of men, and they still won’t expose the tank. If we wait for the artillery to take them out, Mikun might say something about how the troops were deployed. If we send a troop carrier, we’ll probably lose it, but we’ll get the tank.

Dr. Zachgo’s face appeared on the display. “What are you waiting for?” Zachgo yelled. “Send the Crabbe down and kill the Arborians and their captive now!”

That settles that. Torre thought.

He opened a channel to talk to the the other troop transport. “This is Dr. Torre calling the Holland. Drop the tank crew and climb immediately.”

A pilot’s head appeared on Torre’s display. “This is the Crabbe, we’re at bombardment altitude and firing.”

Lieutenant Alver. Torre remembered as he looked at the pilot. He was in the Lion Man occupation for a couple years. He’s a capable enough pilot. Maybe we can save him.

Torre could see the tank move on the sonar display first. His overhead view of the battle showed the tank bursting out of the ground.

“Torre to Crabbe.” Torre sent the signal out. “You are under attack. Climb immediately. Anti-tank crew, try to disable its gun.”

Zachgo’s face on the display paused. “Disable its gun? How?”

Torre smiled. Now you’ll see what I’ve done while you spent the last week with your little schemes. Torre knew exactly what kind of tank the Arborians had stolen, and he ordered one exactly like it. His best people had been searching it for weaknesses.

“The gun’s not showing any affect.” a man from his crew reported “They must have added a heat sink to the tank.”

Torre’s displays showed the explosion from three different angles. He didn’t have to be told that the Crabbe had been shot down.

“Forget the gun.” Torre said. “Break the treads and take out the crew.”

Gido let the elation pass. The target was destroyed. The tank crew had to try to survive, if only to keep the enemy occupied.

Three screens and a floating hologram flashed with yellowish brown text. To the Lion Men who’d built this tank, that shade was the color of warning. After several days of drills in the tank, Gido was starting to react to the color on impulse.

“The treads.” Gido reported. “They’re tearing themselves apart.”

“Try to cut power.” the pilot reported. “The enemy has attached a bad signal loop.”

“But our shield are up.” Gido protested.

The pilot was new and a bit abrupt. The gunner was the same one who’d been in the tank in Sky City, and he had warmed up to the boy.

“It’s not your fault.” the gunner said. “They’re using N-space. Keeping them out with our shields is like using a fence to keep a hawk away.”

“I’ve cut power.” Gido said. “The displays say the treads are already too damaged to. . .”

Gido felt a jolt, and his hand spasmed. He barely registered the sensation before he saw small bolts of electricity arc in front of him. Gido looked up, and he could see sparks above him.

“It’s a distraction.” the pilot said.

Gido missed Koval, who piloted the craft before. If the Republic’s army could send objects into the tank with N-space, they could send in poison gas. They didn’t need distractions. Gido tried to think like Koval. What would a little electricity do? It might cause a seizure. It might cause a malfunction. It could set off an explosive charge.

Gido had been down below in the dark crawlspace. He jumped up and climbed onto the main floor of the tank.

“The scuttle helmets!” Gido yelled. “Take them off now!”

The pilot lay on the floor. It was only a small shaped charge inside his helmet. Gido hadn’t heard it go off. Gido looked up at the gunner.

“I can’t.” the gunner said. “I can’t be taken alive. I know too much.”

Gido didn’t talk. Of the crew, Gido himself was the only one who didn’t know enough secrets to warrant a scuttle helmet.

The gunner put one hand on Gido’s head. “You’re a good kid, Gido.” the gunner said.

“You’re a good friend.” Gido said.

“You don’t remember my name?”

Gido shook his head. He couldn’t lie to him now.

“It’s Engil.” he said with a snort. Then a spark hit Engil’s helmet. The charge inside the helmet went off, and Gido was alone in the dark tank.

“Do you have any more surprises?” Dr. Zachgo’s face asked from Torre’s display.

“Naturally.” Torre said. “Holland, pick up as many crew as you can. The remainder left from the Crabbe will stay behind to guard the earth movers as they bury the trenches. Once the area is secure, I’ll send my proxy to see who is left in the tank.”

71

Most of the grass J passed was just like any other grass. When he was alone, it was almost possible to pretend none of it had happened.

Then J would see some small creature skitter by that was neither mammal nor reptile nor insect, or he’d see some black and violet flower that was indefinably different from anything he’d see on Earth.

J stamped on a black and violet flower and kept walking. We’re going extinct. The Arborians aren’t even going to try to stop Lewis from being executed. The Hawk Man said Susan was buried in the trenches. Bastard snarled at me when I asked him if he was sure.

The Arborians were arguing among themselves. Along with Susan, Barin and Viun’s son was presumed dead. Barin was in one of his quiet, spiraling rages, and Viun was trying to calm him down.

And J was supposed to be their big plan. J was the payload of their final attack. They’d try to break through the lines and run J through on the ground or, failing that, fly him above while the enemy was busy on the ground.

What geniuses. J thought as he walked. I’m their master plan.

And they let me just walk away.

J looked at the whitish square of cloth he’d grabbed as he left. He hoped it was white enough to be recognized as a white flag and that a white flag meant the same thing on Mongo that it did on Earth.

Gido sat in the tank. Whatever the enemy had managed to do, they’d done a good job. He couldn’t get the tank to move. He couldn’t open communications. He wasn’t sure he understood the firing system, really, but it didn’t look like he could use the gun.

The hatch suddenly unlocked. Gido hit the controls to lock it again, but the hatch stayed unlocked. He shifted to a fighting stance. Whoever came through would be an adult, but Gido was an Arborian. His father had killed when he was Gido’s age.

The thing that came through the door floated in the air. It was a sphere with a single glass eye. It had a crack that bisected the entire sphere evenly, and from that crack extended two metal arms with thin-fingered, palmless hands.

When the robot saw Gido, its arms came up in a very human gesture of surprise.

“Barin?” the robot demanded. It’s voice was a man’s.

The boy and the robot looked at each other.

“Of course not.” the robot said to itself. “His son.”

“I don’t know any Barin.” Gido said. He was prepared to die, but he hadn’t imagined that he’d be identified.

The robot raised a finger admonishingly. “You should have claimed to be a nephew. I might have believed that. Your father never met the little mechanical pet you see before you, but I can’t imagine he never told you about Dr. Torre.”

“It’s his son?” Dr. Zachgo asked.

“Yes.” Torre repeated. He was still seeing through his robotic proxy, but his hearing and speech were now directed to Zachgo’s internal communications center. “I’d heard he’d had one, and the resemblance is too close for him to be anyone else.”

“This is a great opportunity.”

“Honestly, I was hoping one of the crew would take off his scuttle helmet. The boy never wore one, so he probably doesn’t have any military information.”

Torre remembered the weeks after he’d killed Barin’s father. Spending every hour preparing for attacks, trying to survive Barin’s revenge. Torre had breathed a long sigh of relief when he’d gotten out of Arboria.

And, rumor had it, Barin had barely been able to stand his father.

“I have a thought.” Zachgo said.

“Hmm?” Torre responded tactfully.

“We could bring the boy to Gordon’s field. We send an open radio message out that we have the boy and require Barin to surrender.”

“Barin won’t surrender.” Torre said.

“But it will draw him straight into the two companies we have stationed at Gordon’s Field.”

Dr. Torre paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “Yes.”

“I’ll make the preparations.” Dr. Zachgo said, and he closed the connection.

Still looking at Gido through the robot’s eyes, Dr. Torre sent a message to Lieutenant Fayer.

“Lieutenant Fayer, sir.” Torre couldn’t see the lieutenant through his talker, but the voice was thick with sleep.

“You just woke up?” Torre asked.

“The admiral relieved me of duties on the Truth.” Fayer said. “I thought it was the most useful thing I could do.”

It probably is. Torre thought. He’d kept the lieutenant up with a long reading list about Arborian troop tactics and Hawk Men flight patterns.

“Well, prepare yourself.” Dr. Torre said. “Soon, you’ll be able to resume command of the Truth.”

“I have a question, doctor.” Fayer said.

“Yes?”

“I thought Dr. Zachgo was in charge of the military organization of this operation.”

“That will soon change.” Torre said.

72

The boy is terrified. Dr. Zachgo thought.

Zachgo had seen fear many times. Sometimes it came as a mad, screaming panic, but sometimes it was still and mute. Zachgo had spent a week thinking of the dangerous, well trained Arborians. It was good to see one of them frightened, even if it was just a boy.

“We need to send a message to Barin.” Zachgo said.

“Doctor, if you send a radio message and don’t encrypt it, the Arborians will get it.” an officer said.

They wouldn’t have reminded Dr. Torre. Dr. Zachgo told himself. Zachgo’s rival was at a camp a couple kilometers away, but Zachgo was constantly reminded of him.

“Start sending.” Dr. Zachgo said. When the officer gave the signal, Dr. Zachgo said.

“Barin of Arboria:” Dr. Zachgo said. “This is Dr. Zachgo. I have your son. You have half an hour to surrender or he’s dead. I’ll let your son talk.”

Zachgo turned to the boy, who eventually said, very softly, “It’s okay, father.”

Zachgo mentally gave a signal, and the transmission ended.

“I don’t think Barin will surrender.” the officer said.

“Of course not.” Dr. Zachgo said. “He’ll attack. Apparently, Captain Bold isn’t enough of a lure. Tell the men to be on full alert. In the next half hour, he’s coming to us.”

“Should have killed me first.” the boy said.

Dr. Zachgo studied him. He had the same fear. The same wide eyes and bloodless face. He looked like he’d never spoken.

“If I’d killed you, boy, how could I know your father would come?”

The boy’s impossibly dark blue eyes looked at Dr. Zachgo. “You told him your name, doctor. He’ll come no matter what.”

He’s scared. said a doubting part of Zachgo. But not of me.

Kanessa decided that, if anger was a fire in the mind, then her brother Barin’s head is a big steam engine, keeping the fire burning and harnessing its heat.

In Kanessa’s earliest memories, Barin had been an angry child. The steam engine hadn’t been built. The young Barin got angry easily and noisily. He recovered quickly.

Kanessa couldn’t remember their father. She remembered hearing about his death. Barin became quiet and focused, and the anger was always in him somewhere.

She didn’t like to think of her nephew, Gido, surrounded by Dr. Zachgo and his Republic soldiers. Now her brother was packing his equipment for an attack, and Viun was yelling at his back. A couple dozen Arborians like Kanessa watched the scene to see what would happen to their leaders.

“What you are trying to do is a breach of loyalty to Arboria.” Viun said. “It’s as much as selling us out to the Republic.”

“They’ve got Gido.” Barin said. “Don’t you care?”

“Gido is my son. I bore him, and he is dead. I care. We are Arborians. There are people all around us who’ve lost family. All of them have continued to do their duty. It’s insanity for you to die, senselessly.”

“Yes!” Barin yelled, picking up his pack. “It’s insane. I’d rather die finding Gido than live the rest of my life hating every one of you for convincing me to stay. That’s crazy, and I’m going insane.”

Barin turned to look at the Arborians watching him and shouted, “Who’s coming with me?”

Powerman Ghinn’s hands shook as he made adjustments to the water pressure. He wished he had one of the more complicated jobs. Something more difficult might keep his mind occupied. It might make him stop thinking about the soldiers who watched over him.

Ghinn wished Aura had let him leave with her. He’d been with her before people started calling her Empress Aura. Ghinn had been devoted to her when she was just Aura. He stayed behind, and Torre knew – or at least suspected – what he’d done.

“Ghinn.” Aura’s voice said. For a second Ghinn thought his nervousness had caused him to hallucinate, but he heard it again. “Dear Ghinn.”

“Go away.” Ghinn whispered without turning around. “It’s a trap, Aura. They’re watching me. They’re always watching me.”

“I need your help.”

Ghinn finally whirled to tell Aura she had to run now, but she wasn’t there. He looked around, seeing nothing. Then he looked under the table, and crouching down there was a dracula – a ‘lizard man’ they were calling them now.

The lizard man’s eyes twisted independently in natural wariness as it crouched. It drew a bent wrist and a forearm across its muzzle like a cat or a bee, scrupulously cleaning the blood from its snout. It lowered the forearm to its tongue and lapped the blood clean.

“Ghinn,” the creature said with Aura’s voice, “It’ll be dangerous, but I need you to save Captain Bold again.”

73

Kanessa hesitantly said, “May I come in?”

She was packed for the assault. She was always one of the first to get ready. Barin had packed before anyone else, so Kanessa was curious why he’d ducked inside a tent.

Barin was sitting cross-legged in the tent. There was an open seam on the inner thigh of his pants. He held a small, curved bottle with gloved hands. He unscrewed its cap. Beneath the first cap, there was a second cap. Barin unscrewed the second cap, too.

“You’re going to use hungry?” Kanessa asked.

“Yes.” Barin pulled a glass tube from his pack. The tube was small, and most of its size was two layers of durable glass. The entire tube was encased in a layer of wax, which Barin carefully peeled away with his thumbnail.

“You could use bore worms.” Kanessa suggested. “Or poison.”

“Bore worms are too slow. I got one into Torre’s leg, and he’s still alive. Poison is unsure. The Republic has medicine that can usually revive someone killed with poison. If we get them with hungry, even cloning is unlikely.”

Now Barin opened the tube. Kanessa held her breath, afraid to distract Barin now. His movements were delicate, almost tender. Kanessa could imagine that there was some beloved pet in the bottle, and the tube was food he was offering it.

The truth was the opposite. The larger bottle was the food. It was corn meal mixed with animal fat with some small, living molluscs. Barin had kept the closed bottle strapped to his thigh so the mix would be warm. The tiny tube contained the hungry.

While it was dormant, the hungry looked like a yellow powder. It was millions of grains of sand, each one a cocoon. Inside each cocoon, there was one organism, inert until it sensed something warm, wet and organic.

The mouths of the tube and bottle fit together as they’d been designed to. Barin held them together and tilted them. The hungry slid into the bottle. Barin carefully tapped the glass to get stray grains to fall. Slowly, he held the bottle upright and set the glass tube down in a bowl filled with acid.

Barin lifted the first cap and screwed it onto the bottle. “You don’t want me using hungry.”

“It’s death. It’s death in solid form.”

“Life is the ability to continue and reproduce.” Barin said, as he finished the first cap and started screwing the second cap on over it. “Can you think of anything that’s more alive than hungry is? Just now, over a hundred generations have passed in my hand.”

Kanessa shivered. The day before, an hour before, Barin would have apologized for frightening his sister.

Barin dipped the bottle into the acid bowl then wiped it clean. He opened the seam in his pants and strapped the bottle to his inner thigh, where his body would keep the bottle warm. The heat would keep the hungry active for twenty minutes or more after it finished converting the meal in the bottle to more hungry.

Lewis sat. He knew his cell was in the middle of a large army. In his years in the military, he’d never seen so many soldiers in one place. Now, he couldn’t see or hear them, but he knew they were still there.

They’re not going to execute me without an audience. Lewis thought.

Somehow, Lewis still felt hope. He’d heard of an Arborian rescue attempt that would come. The thought of the Arborians charging into the vast Republic army, dying on Lewis’s behalf, bothered him. He tried not to think of that attempt.

Still, Lewis thought, I’ve had some amazing luck. You never know what will happen.

As if to punctuate the thought, the sink disappeared.

The sink didn’t vanish in place. A spot of complete blackness appeared on the wall behind it, and the sink slid back into the darkness as if someone dragged it. The blackness remained, as if a completely dark shadow had been cast upon the wall.

As Lewis watched, the blackness became a mirror. Like the blackness, the mirror seemed to have no physical depth. It just lay against the wall. Lewis approached the mirror cautiously and peered at his reflection.

A face and a pair of arms appeared right where Lewis’s had been, not just a reflection, but a three dimensional face emerging from the mirror. Lewis jumped back and gasped. Neck, shoulders, chest and legs all followed the face in quick succession.

Lewis tried to collect his thoughts, as the man on the floor, a smallish man in a blue coverall, gasped with exertion and relief. Lewis finally recognized him.

“Ghinn.” Lewis said. “Uh, Powerman Ghinn.”

Ghinn looked up at Lewis and smiled. “I’m happy you remember me, sir, or should I call you ‘Captain’.”

“Please don’t. How did you come in?”

Ghinn looked back at the mirror and said, “Oh, that’s a spatial half twist. It’s a way of going from one spot to another without crossing the place in between, but it only goes one way.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve gone through one before.” Ghinn added.

“I don’t remember doing it.”

“Oh, you were dead.”

“You’re here to save me?” Lewis asked.

“Yes, on Aura’s orders. Oh, you don’t know! She’s fled the palace and started an army. She’s got lizard men, and she’s the Empress. I didn’t know, but she’s the last of Ming’s line.”

Lewis closed his eyes, despairing of understanding anything Ghinn said. “Where are you going to take me?”

“To Aura.” Ghinn said. “It’s a secret building. They only just told me where. It’ll be simple. I set the control, and that port will invert. We go through it – you’ve got to be quick – and we’ll be with her.”

“I can’t leave like that.”

“What?” Ghinn gasped.

“If I leave, everyone has to know I’ve left. Otherwise, President Gordon can still use me to lure my friends to their death. I’ve got to be seen outside, or Captain Bold is still here.”

“You’re Captain Bold.”

“No.” Lewis said. “Captain Bold is a myth people made about me. I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve been thinking of Captain Bold as a mistake, a fiction, but people out there are dying for him, so he is real, and he’s my responsibility.”

“I don’t understand.” Ghinn said.

“Never mind. Just get me out some other way. Can you break me out and I’ll make a break for it?”

“No. We’re in an ancient bunker. The shields around you are the strongest shields anyone’s ever seen. The generator that powers them is protected by the shields on either side. The only way to drop shields is by transmitting a password only the president and the doctors have.”

Lewis pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought. “Could you get out to someplace nearby, where I could contact the Arborians?”

“You can’t go through the ports to just anywhere.” Ghinn said. “You have to come out at another port. There’s millions in Mingo City. This is the only one in Gordon’s Field. Um, the nearest you could come is the moat, but it’s on the other side of the camp from the Arborians.

“Might the Arborians see me?” Lewis asked.

“I heard they’ve got Hawk Men, so I think one of them might spot you.”

“Good.” Lewis said. “Let’s go to the moat.”

“Someone in the army is bound to spot you, too. All these soldiers will pounce right on you.”

“I’ll go alone.” Lewis said.

“Aura ordered me to rescue you.”

“Why do you obey Aura? It’s because she’s a good person, right? She wants what’s best.”

“Yes.” Ghinn admitted.

“Well,” Lewis said, “I want what’s best, too. Right now, I’m operating on more information. If she knew what I knew, she’d want you to put me in the moat.”

Ghinn looked unhappy, but he didn’t like to argue. He nodded.

“Good.” Lewis said. “What do I have to do?”

Ghinn took an oval device from his pocket and made hand gestures at it for a few seconds. The mirror on the wall turned back into a patch of darkness.

“Now it’s set back to going out. You just go through there. You need to go with lots of momentum, and you need to have your arms above your head. Your arms will go numb. Until your chest goes through. Keep moving fast or you’ll die.”

“Why would I die?” Lewis asked.

“Blood doesn’t go backwards through the port. Neither do nerves or thoughts or anything. It’s a one-way gate.”

“No matter how much force pushes against the gate?” Lewis asked. “It wouldn’t matter, for instance, if there was a lot of pressure on one side of the gate?”

“No matter how much.” Ghinn said. “You’re not going to use more philosophy on me, are you? I haven’t really understood any of that.”

“Don’t worry.” Lewis said. “This is physics.”

74

Kanessa took another step forward. If she was right, the sensor station ahead was misconfigured. It was scanning an area to her left, picking up redundant readings from an area covered by another station and leaving this area unscanned.

Usually, the Republic’s sensor stations answered to the central computer in Mingo City. The central computer was damnably efficient, and gaps in sensor areas were rare.

Kanessa had watched the nearest station and determined that its instruments seemed to be have the wrong focus. For once, the Republic soldiers had a sensor station acting independently, and they’d made a mistake. At least, that’s how it looked to Kanessa.

Barin, Kanessa’s own brother, had ordered that she approach the station to test her theory. If she was wrong, she’d be dead in a minute or two.

There was a steel tube protruding from the sand. It was a good width for a grip and a nice length for swinging. Kanessa carried no metal as she approached the sensor. She grabbed the tube and gingerly lifted it from the sand.

“Was using that.”

Kanessa spun around, brandishing the hefty metal pipe. There was no one behind her. She looked left, then right and finally down, where a small hole in the ground coughed up sand.

Lieutenant Fayer took a deep breath before opening the doors to the bridge. Am I ready to take control of the Truth? Probably not. Fayer decided, but he pushed the button for the doors to open.

“I am. . .” Fayer began.

“Lieutenant,” Admiral Axin began before Fayer said another word, “my orders are quite clear. You were not to leave your quarters until we’ve landed.”

“Sir, I am assuming command of the Truth, as per Dr. Torre’s recommendation.” Does Torre know what he’s doing? Fayer asked himself. Probably.

“Dr. Zachgo is in charge of this operation, lieutenant. Only he and the president have the authority to reassign command.”

“Sir, I am assuming command now, as per Torre’s orders, which should be reaching your comm station any moment. If you have any question about Torre’s authority, you may bring it to the president.”

Axin grimaced and looked from Fayer to the console of his beloved ship. He said, “Fine, lieutenant. You can run this ship for your master, but I’m sending a confirmation request to the president. If Torre doesn’t have authority, I’ll have you tossed out an airlock.”

Would Dr. Torre risk my life to buy him ten minutes of command? Fayer asked himself. Almost definitely.

Kanessa dug, and she quickly managed to uncover Susan Rama. Susan was covered in scratches. Her hair was caked in dirt, and her skin was livid and clammy with sweat. Susan had been buried just below the surface, and it was quick work.

Susan sat cross-legged and took slow, deep breaths. Kanessa gave her a block of ice, and Susan alternately rubbed it on her face and sucked on it.

“We thought you were dead.” Kanessa said.

“Elements of truth.” Susan put one end of the ice back in her mouth.

“I was prepared to advance under heatcloth. The ice was so I didn’t overheat while I went.”

“Wan’ it back?” Susan said without removing the ice.

“No,” Kanessa said. “I just meant that’s why I had it.”

“Good.” Susan said as she took the ice out and pressed it to her face.

“I’m here to see if that sensor is functioning, but after finding you, I know it’s not working.”

“How’s that?” Susan asked.

“If it was working, the sensor would have picked up your body heat, and they would have sent someone to finish you off.”

Susan stood up and pointed to where the other Arborians had been. “There’s other soldiers.”

Kanessa shook her head sadly. “The sensors back there are working. If anyone survived being buried, the Republic made sure they didn’t live long.”

“Damn.” Susan said. “What happens now?”

“We’re trying to sneak into the base at Gordon’s Field.”

“You’re rescuing Lewis?”

“No, we’re saving my nephew Gido. The Republic captured him about the same time they buried you. They said they’d kill him in half an hour. Barin and a couple other volunteers will be here soon.”

“I’ll come along.”

Kanessa was about to say, ‘No, we’re actually deserters to our own people, and I can’t drag you into this.’ But she remembered how resourceful and dangerous Susan was and said, “We’ll start as soon as Barin catches up.”

75

Tivold could see Kivya flying angry curves over the Arborian camp to show how angry she was by Tivold’s unauthorized foray into the enemy camp.

Tivold kept dropping as he flew toward Gordon’s Field. He cupped his wings to catch the softer air currents near the ground, and he glided along the path Barin’s group had taken.

Anyone looking at Tivold’s eyes would have seen his pupils seem to change shape as his eyes refocused for greater range. He looked among the buildings and armaments of the enemy camp, and he saw Susan. She was extremely dirty but alive. She crawled under one of the temporary structures the Republic army had set up on the field.

Tivold’s eyes flicked to something else. It was a patrol moving toward Susan. Tivold set the controls on his drive, increasing his forward momentum. His wings shaped the momentum into a climb. He went higher over the camp.

Hawk Men borrowed much of their genetic material from dactyl bats, a Mongovian flying mammal with a huge wingspan. Perhaps somewhere in the mix, Tivold got the creature’s instinct. When he flew over the patrol and cast his shadow on them, it was almost exactly like the bats’ trick for flushing prey. Tivold climbed, keeping the flapping shadow over the soldiers for almost a full second.

When the soldiers gazed up in panic, the joy of the hunt felt so natural, and when they drew weapons and started firing, Tivold’s fear was also pure instinct.

Gido was tied to a chair in the mobile command center Dr. Zachgo set up in Gordon’s Field. He tried not to think about the possibility of rescue.

This structure is within 500 meters of the trees. There are other centers within 10 meters. It has more communication towers than any other nearby location. They are relying too heavily on perimeter guards.

Gido felt sure this Dr. Zachgo had never been in Arboria. There, the Arborians and the Republic soldiers taught each other hard lessons in concealment and protection.

“Doctor,” said a soldier running into the structure, “there’s reports of Hawk Men flying over the field. Some men have fired at them, but they’re evading.”

To keep busy, Gido tapped the soldier’s words on the floor in the Arborian trinary code. It was unlikely any Arborian would hear the message. Gido didn’t even imagine anyone would come soon enough. Dr. Zachgo may have made his mistakes, but Gido had seen enough soldiers to know that no one had a chance of getting through Gordon’s Field.

“Launch the strike scouts.” Dr. Zachgo said. “I want every squadron in the air.”

On board the dreadnought Truth, Admiral Axin turned around and glared.

“If your Dr. Torre is suddenly in charge of air defenses,” Admiral Axin asked. “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that Dr. Zachgo is ordering scouts to attack?”

Fayer hoped he wasn’t shifting his weight. He hoped he wasn’t sweating too much. He hoped his voice was steady. “What happens with the strike scouts is not my business, sir. It’s not yours, either.”

“When I get through the security and red tape to talk to the president, Ensign, I’m going to have you executed before you can inhale.”

“Admiral,” Fayer said, “I’m afraid I must order you to stop these speculations. Please move this vessel back. We must maintain the perimeter.”

Among all the armies, one group of large, odd-shaped tanks stood still and distant from the armies. In the cabin of one tank, three of the People stood motionless. If they felt impatient or bored with the inactivity, the only sign they gave of it was an occasional tail twitch.

“Lion Men armored division,” a voice said from the communication console, “I order you to relocate half a kilometer further away from Mingo City and hold position there. The more quickly you comply, the more easily I can ensure the safety of your homeland.”

Iraca gestured to hold the communication so her response would not be sent through the console.

“That’s not the same voice who’s been giving use orders before.” she said.

“It’s Dr. Torre.” Olmi said, without emphasis.

“That’s the Butcher?” Nadriw asked. For a moment, Olmi could swear that Nadriw was worried he’d said the wrong thing. Olmi wished no one knew about his childhood. When people heard his home town was destroyed, and that Olmi was there when it happened, they got so self conscious.

“I heard his voice coming from ships, back in Kalton.” Olmi said, trying to sound casual “It’s a very distinctive voice.”

“They all sound the same to me.” Nadriw said.

“Can you tell what they are from here?” Viun asked. She didn’t know if she really believed Hawk Men had as good eyesight as they claimed.

“Strike scouts.” Vultan answered. “I see a couple dozen, and I think they’re still launching more.”

“Oh.”

“Are they a danger to you?” Vultan asked.

“They’re very fast. Viun said. “They can strafe and pin down ground troops.”

“What would you suggest we do about them?”

“What would you say if I were to suggest you send up every available flier you have and clear the sky of the scouts?”

Vultan grinned fiercely. “I would say, ‘At last!’”

76

“From here, it’s speed.” Barin said.

There were eight of them now, seven Arborians and Susan. Susan didn’t know how many Arborians had followed Barin. She thought there might have been ten, but the Arborians kept wide apart as they entered the Republic camp. Susan had followed Kanessa, but she seldom was in eyesight of more than one or two others.

They’d been lucky. The camp had been in an uproar over the Hawk Men, and everyone was looking up. Once, a soldier had run past Susan. She was ready to get him in a hold and cover his mouth, but the soldier went past without noticing her.

That wouldn’t happen with the command center. It was a metallic oval building. It didn’t look mobile, but it didn’t look like it belonged in the green field. The soldiers around it looked alert and nervous.

The Arborians were watching the soldiers from a neighboring building.

“There’s ten guards, a communications tower and a building shield.” Kanessa said. “It seems too obvious.”

Barin gripped the windowsill and leaned forward. “It’s not a decoy. Those men are near someone high up.”

Susan had little experience with the military, but she spent enough time teaching to know the body language of someone in the presence of authority, and she agreed with Barin.

“Okay,” Barin said. “Someone’s on his way to the building. Get ready to rush it. Your first priority is getting close to the building before the shields go back up. Your second priority is survival.”

Barin and the others went toward the door. Kanessa touched Susan’s shoulder.

“This is for you.” Kanessa said, handing Susan a small knife with a blade of sharpened bone and a leather handle.

“Don’t like knives.” Susan said. She had practiced too many techniques for disarming knives to feel very confident in them.

“This is for you.” Kanessa repeated, closing Susan’s fingers on the knife. “If you start to feel a spreading pain, or if someone touches you who’s infected. . .”

“Infected with what?” Susan asked.

“When you see it, you’ll know. If you have to, use this. Cut from. . .” Kanessa pointed at a spot below her jaw.

“I know where.” Susan said. “Thank you.”

“Now!” Barin yelled, and everyone was running.

Gido was still tied to a chair when he heard a gunshot. It was one of the machine-built Republic carbines.

Everyone in the room looked nervous. It was a bad sign if there were gunshots around the command center. It was a worse sign if there was just one.

“Raise the shields.” Dr. Zachgo said. “Raise them now.”

“Yes, doctor.” an officer said. “If anyone’s come within a couple meters, they’ll be inside our shield, and I think a few of our soldiers have strayed outside the perimeter.”

“Keep them up.” Zachgo ordered.

Outside, there was a scream. A couple seconds later, a soldier ran inside. The soldier was gripping his right wrist with his left hand. “Stabbed me.” the soldier gasped.

This wounded soldier had brought Gido some milk earlier that day. It was the richest, coldest milk Gido had ever drank. Gido hoped the soldier was drugged, and that his parents would rescue him without killing the soldier.

But the blood that seeped from between the soldier’s fingers was rust-colored. Gido recognized hungry, and felt sick to see it.

Cut off your arms right now. Gido wanted to say. He was silent and tried to shift his chair away. The soldier may have been kind, but he was the enemy.

A second soldier ran inside. “There’s four inside the shield.” he reported.

“How many of you are still guarding?” Dr. Zachgo asked.

“There’s just us two.” the soldier said.

The infected soldier screamed. He released his wounded right arm, and now his left hand was bleeding rust on its own. His right arm fell limp to his side.

The hungry had reached the shoulder through the artery. Gido heard it did that sometimes. That usually meant a quick death.

If you cut his head off, you can save his brain. Gido thought, but he still said nothing. It wasn’t likely the Republic would clone a new body for a common soldier anyway.

Gido looked down and didn’t look up. He felt cowardly, but there wasn’t anything he could do anyway.

“I’m cold.” the infected soldier said.

“You should shoot him right away.” Gido said it aloud this time, but no one was listening to him.

Gido heard Susan let out an abrupt yell, and someone hit the ground. There were more shots. Dr. Zachgo was yelling for someone to get out of the way. Gido heard three muffled impacts. He’d heard his father practicing the move day after day until he could recognize the rhythm without a doubt. Barin was bringing his knee against someone’s head. That someone was dead now.

Gido stared at the floor until the rusty liquid spread into his line of vision. Gido looked up at the dead soldier, who was continuing to melt into a spreading pool of hungry.

Susan was standing on a desk. The officer and the other soldier were lying on the floor. Barin had the officer’s pistol in his hand, and Gido’s Aunt, Kanessa, was circling to Gido’s right.

Looking over his left shoulder, Gido saw Dr. Zachgo, pointing a pistol at Barin.

“Pull the trigger.” Dr. Zachgo said. “I just deactivated your pistol.”

“I don’t need a gun. I could just push you into that.” Barin pointed at the pool of hungry.

“My brain’s not organic.” Dr. Zachgo said. “I’d survive.”

The pool reached Gido’s feet. Gido resisted the urge to lift his feet the short distance his restraints allowed. He was safe. You didn’t live long in Arboria if you didn’t keep your boots treated and waterproof.

“Push him down. He melts. Get his gun. Shoot his brain.” Susan said. “Seems simple enough.”

“How many can I take down before you get to me?” Zachgo said. “What if I start with your son?”

Dr. Zachgo stepped closer to put a gun to Gido’s head.

The shame of being captured and the fear of death fell into a kind of numb certainty. Gido lifted his left foot and strained to touch the wet toe of his boot to Dr. Zachgo’s ankle, just above the edge of the doctor’s shoe. Dr. Zachgo’s attention was on Barin, and he didn’t noticed the contact.

Gido wasn’t sure if the hungry would get close enough to skin through the cloth of Zachgo’s sock. Everyone stood still until Zachgo screamed.

Zachgo moved the barrel away from Gido’s neck as he looked down at his foot. By the time he looked up, Barin was already on him. There were more noises behind Gido, ending in three gunshots. The next thing Gido felt was his father loosening his restraints.

“Mr. President?” the minister said. “We just got a signal. Dr. Zachgo had just died.”

President Gordon stood still. First Sein and now Zachgo? Who can I trust? Damn Torre. He might have managed this somehow. He’s always scheming. He looks down on me. I can tell.

But whatever happens. He won’t let me die.

Gordon must have let his unease show on his face, for the minister looked nervous as he gave his next news. “There’s also an Admiral Axin who needs to talk to you.”

“Torre’s in charge.” President Gordon said. “Whatever he wants, tell him to ask Dr. Torre.”

77

Ensign Nanti picked his target. One of the Hawk Men had gone ahead of the pack and swooped up, hanging in the air as if daring the enemy to attack. Nanti pointed his craft and put one hand on the firing controls.

Most of the mass of Nanti’s strike scout was its engine. The small craft were designed to swoop in, attack, and leave before the enemy could respond. The Hawk Men, for all their aerial ingenuity, had no craft that could match its speed.

Already, the target tried to run. The Hawk Man turned away and gained altitude as it fled. Nanti smiled as his craft steadily gained on the enemy.

Then Nanti saw a tiny speck detach from the enemy Hawk Man. His radar didn’t show anything. The speck couldn’t have been metal. It was, Nanti decided, something the Hawk Man had dropped in a panicked attempt to increase speed.

As Nanti sped past the speck, he decided it looked like a bundle of tightly-wrapped cloth. Nanti turned his attention away from it and back to his quarry.

But something made him look back. There were ropes coming from the bundle. They led far away to. . .

The strike scout hit the net before Nanti was aware of it. A network of woven silk ropes covered the cockpit. Nanti spent a moment reassuring himself that there was nothing mere cloth could do to affect the miraculous materials of his strike scout.

Nanti couldn’t see it, but behind him, the bundle of cloth caught the wind and unfolded until it became a vast circle. It was a parachute, more than half a square kilometer across. For less than a second, the strike scout in its net dragged the parachute along.

The strike scout jerked like a fish on a hook as it tore free.

In front of Ensign Nanti, a holographic warning glyph appeared in the air. “Warning,” the craft said in a calm, patient voice, “due to outside forces, this craft has experienced a course change that approached its safe stress tolerance level of 150 G.”

In the centuries that the strike scout had been in production, no one had ever actually heard the warning message that played out before Ensign Nanti’s body. The conditions that triggered the message were more than enough to kill any human passenger.

Kivya pointed her wings at the enemy. She told herself she was only angry because she was frightened. Normally, she thought of Tivold as a friendly, simple fellow. Now, she couldn’t help resenting him for flying into enemy territory and provoking the Republic to send several dozen strike scouts to attack her people. Now that the enemy was coming, where was Tivold?

Normally, she thought of Vultan as a passionate and thoughtful leader. Now, she couldn’t help despising him for sending her to fight with a pulse rifle. The rifle had a short range compared to the dizzying speed of the enemy craft. The enemy would get the first shot, and then, if Kivya survived, she’d get an instant to fire back before the enemy was again out of range.

Kivya’s eyes increased focus. To a human, the craft would have been a mere dot. Kivya could see it as a dart-shaped vessel. She could see it orient straight toward her, and she dipped one wing to evade.

Kivya could see it wouldn’t be enough. Maybe she’d been too slow, or maybe she was doomed from the start. The craft made the slightest of movements to track Kivya. In a second, it’d be in range.

A figure dropped from a cloud above. Kivya realized it was Tivold falling like a bomb toward the enemy craft. Tivold was unarmed, but he dove toward the fighting craft like a bird of prey.

Tivold collided with the enemy cockpit. Kivya tried to imagine the enemy pilot, used to seeing its enemies as marks on a holo display or specks far away, suddenly seeing Tivold’s face pressed against the glass of his cockpit, pounding his fists on the glass, screaming obscenities in the Hawk Men’s angular language.

Kivya couldn’t be sure of what the pilot saw or did, but the craft didn’t fire until it was too late. Tivold had fallen away from the cockpit, and Kivya fired, destroying one wing and sending the enemy scout tumbling to the ground.

Fine, Kivya was prepared to forgive Tivold, but where was Vultan?

Vultan tried to keep his body from going limp from the end of the adrenaline rush. He hadn’t been sure that the net and the parachute would work. He flew to meet the falling craft.

Vultan carefully tossed a small explosive charge at the cockpit. The glass shattered, leaving a large, jagged hole. Vultan folded his wings and flew through, cutting one arm in the process. He curled up as he collided with the corpse in the cockpit.

Vultan read Ensign Nanti’s name from his uniform before unbuckling the body and throwing him out the window. Vultan sat down in the pilot’s chair. He’d flown several dozen types of aircraft, and he managed to familiarize himself with the controls before the strike scout crashed. Vultan took the craft down to its minimum speed and altitude and turned back toward enemy lines.

Vultan checked to see if there was a camera in the scout’s communications console. There was, so Vultan destroyed it with a swift punch. Then he made the gesture to send a message.

“Ensign Nanti reporting in.” Vultan said in a hoarse voice.

“We thought we’d lost you.” said the voice from control.

“Nearly did.” Vultan croaked. “I collided with a damn Hawk. I took some damage in the process. I’m coming in.”

“What’s the matter with your voice?”

“Sorry about that. After I hit, I was screaming my head off for a couple of minutes.”

The voice from control chuckled. “Understood, ensign. Come on home.”

78

Susan sat on a table next to Gido in the bunker. Gido watched as his aunt operated the computer.

“Soldiers are taking position outside.” Kanessa reported. “Also, they seem to be fixing the sensor problems that let us get here undetected.”

“I suspected.” Barin said. He had smashed the basin of a sink and was using the spout to fill a pail of water.

“Suspected what?” Susan asked.

“Whatever we’ve accomplished for ourselves, we’ve also done a bit of Dr. Torre’s dirty work. He knew the security was shoddy and didn’t do anything about it until this one,” Barin waved at the dead body of Dr. Zachgo, “was dead.”

“Shields are still up around the bunker.” Kanessa said as he watched the shifting holograms of data.

“That won’t last.” Barin responded. “They’ll shut them down from the central system.”

“It looks like this system is independent.” Kanessa said. “It’s been rewired so it’s not linked to the central system.”

“That doesn’t happen.” Barin insisted.

“What doesn’t happen?” Susan asked.

“The Republic doesn’t have equipment that doesn’t rely on the network.” Kanessa explained. “Anything much more complicated than a screwdriver is wired so it can be shut down remotely.”

“They’re preparing.” Susan said.

“For what?” Kanessa asked.

“For J.”

“If they’re worried about J taking over their central system. . .” Barin began. He set down the pail and picked up one of the rifles carried by the dead Republic soldiers. “Does this place have its own water tank?”

Kanessa gestured at the computer system, and a diagram of the bunker showed up. “Yes,” she said. “It’s above and to the right of the sink.”

Barin pointed the rifle at the wall. Susan opened her mouth to tell him that the rifles only worked for the soldier they were issued to, but the shot rang through the closed room, and water started to pour from a hole in the wall.

“Why?” Susan asked.

“I wanted to flood the floor fast. In a couple more minutes, the hungry on the floor will go dormant.”

“Dormant is good.”

“Not when there’s this much of it.” Barin said. “It turns into a powder. The a draft can send it flying. If you inhale a grain of it, it becomes active once it hits a mucous membrane and. . .” Barin waved at the rust colored ooze that had been living people.

“Hungry is safest when it’s dormant and wet.” Kanessa summarized.

“It’s also very important that the rifles don’t have identity coding or remote shutdown.”

“You have rifles.” Susan said.

“Not like these.” Barin said, shifting his grip on the carbine appraisingly. “They use matarials we can’t synthesize made by factories we don’t have. Don’t judge them by how the Republic soldiers use them. Arborian gunsmiths designed them for Flash Gordon. The original ones fired for whoever held it. The last one broke down shortly before I was born.”

“Our father kept it.” Kanessa added. “It lasted over three centuries.”

The Arborian scout looked tired and ashamed. “He’s gone.” the scout said. “The Earthling, J, is past the enemy lines. I think he’s surrendered. He told me that you’d sent him. I shouldn’t have believed him.”

“We all put too much faith in him.” Viun said.

“We’d better retreat.” Koval said.

“We must strike.” the youngest of the council said. “The entire fighting force of Arboria is here. We have the Hawk Men. We’ll never be this ready again.”

Already they struggle to become the next Barin when his heart has not even stopped beating. Viun thought. She told herself that her husband and son may as well be dead. She would accomplish nothing by sending her people on a hopeless assault to save them. Viun felt like something hard was stuck in her stomach.

“We have a radio message.” the communications tinker nearly yelled. “It’s Barin. He wanted to report that at least some of the enemy was carrying Republic Carbines with no identification hardware or remote shutdown.”

“We have to attack.” Koval said.

“You just said we had to retreat.” a councilman said.

“I know.” Koval said. “But I didn’t know there was this kind of salvage. Do you know the last time we had this kind of salvage waiting for us?”

“They’re not ‘salvage’, and they’re not ‘waiting for us’.” the councilman replied. “They’re deadly weapons held by people intent on killing us.”

“It’s complicated salvage.” Koval admitted.

“We must retreat.” the councilman said. He looked at Viun, expecting an ally. “We must save everything we can.”

Viun regurgitated the words slowly and softly. They were painful to say and came slowly and softly. “When we’ve left our bravest and our best to die, what then? What will we have saved?

“We attack.”

79

The first soldier to see J actually saluted. J worried that his life had become even stranger. Then he realized that the soldier must have noticed the extending parts of the encephalon computer in J’s skull. The only people the soldier had seen with converted brains would have been the ones who were president’s eyes and ears over the army, so the soldier saluted.

The second soldier looked at the white cloth J was sullenly waving and recognized J’s face from his mission briefing. He raised his gun, and the first soldier, who was still nearby, raised his gun, too. Soon the whole squad was around J.

“You’re J Bosca.” the sergeant said.

“Yeah. Since we’re saying pretty obvious things, I should explain that this,” J waved the white cloth more vigorously to draw attention to it, “means surrender and is not a relaxed form of morris dancing.”

“You’re coming with us.”

J nodded. “Sure. You’re going to take me to Doctor Torre, and I’m going to tell him where the Arborian troops and munitions are located.”

“Why will you do that?” the sergeant asked suspiciously.

“If I don’t, you’ll kill me, right?”

“Yes.”

“The motive seems pretty obvious to me, then.” J said.

“Why don’t you tell me where the Arborians are?” the soldier asked.

“Honestly, you’re not intimidating enough.”

“If you don’t, I’ll kill you.”

J shrugged. “At least I’ll know something unpleasant will happen to you when Dr. Torre finds out you’ve killed a prisoner who’s said he’s willing to tell Torre things he needs to know.”

“Maybe I’ll just tell Dr. Torre you were escaping.”

“I’m sure you would.” J said. “And I’m also sure that one of these other gentlemen wants to make sergeant badly enough to tell Torre the truth.”

“We’re going to Dr. Torre.” the sergeant said.

“Hey,” J said, “you’re the boss.”

The fight in the sky had taken Tivold and Kivya past Gordon’s Field well inside the Republic’s perimeter. After another scout fell, there was a moment of quiet. Kivya followed in the wake of Tivold’s wings as she caught her breath.

“It’s Captain Bold.” Tivold said suddenly.

“What?” Kivya asked.

“Captain Bold.” Tivold pointed at a figure in a gray jumpsuit struggling across across a moat.

Kivya’s eyes super-focused. The movements were familiar. The swimmer paused to look up at the sky. Then she saw his face.

“Bold!” Tivold yelled enthusiastically.

Kivya felt a twinge of embarrassment at Tivold’s raw emotion, but she suddenly felt overjoyed and yelled, “Bold!” herself.

Another Hawk Man flew in to investigate the sound, and the call began to spread across the sky.

Lewis Bold didn’t realize that the waters of the moat would be so turbulent or so cold. He struggled against the pull of filter units that tried to suck him down. He felt weakened from imprisonment and hunger, but it would be a poor joke to escape only to drown trying to swim a few dozen meters.

He used every ounce of energy he had left, and he moved along slowly.

Then he heard something. Through the splashing, it took him a little to realize it was his name, chanted over and over.

Lewis swam a little faster.

“Doctor, Captain Bold has been sighted!”

“From your tone,” Dr. Torre said, “I take it you don’t mean he’s been sighted in his cell.”

“He’s escaped, sir.”

“And he’s been sighted running away?”

“Yes, sir. Well, not exactly, sir. He’s in the moat. Once he’s across, he’ll be in the palace grounds.”

Dr. Torre put aside a few questions. “Send strike scouts to strafe him out of the water. If he gets into the grounds, send a third of the President’s guard to hunt him down.”

“I’ve broken the encryption the Republic’s using.” Kanessa announced. “We can monitor their transmissions.”

No sooner had she spoken than a voice yelled over a speaker, “The Arborians are coming. They’re running fast. A suicide bomber just took out a squad. Request assistance.”

“We’re attacking.” Barin said.

“I’m ready.” Susan said.

“Not yet.” Barin said. “That’s the first wave. It’s a small team hitting a weak point to make the enemy commit too soon.”

“I got something else.” Kanessa said. “You’re companion, J. . .”

“Companion?” Susan asked, a dangerous edge in her voice.

“Your fellow Earthling, J,” Kanessa said, “has just surrendered to the Republic. They say he’s going to give up secrets.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s betrayed us. He’s a dead man. Where he is is not our concern unless you want to kill him.” Kanessa said. Susan might have imagined it, but Kanessa seemed to sound personally hurt.

Susan shook her head. “He’s planning something.”

“Do you think he’s loyal?”

Susan snorted. “Never.”

“Is he trustworthy?”

“No.”

“Then why don’t you think he’d just cooperate with them?”

“‘Cooperate’?” Susan said. “J can’t. He just can’t.”

“Smoke.” a voice yelled over the radio. “Suddenly it’s everywhere. I’ve never seen smoke spread so fast.”

At the makeshift smoke generators ahead of the Arborian camp, Koval nodded in satisfaction and turned to Vultan’s assistant, who’d been making suggestions for the past twenty minutes.

“Okay,” Koval said. “You can disperse over a million cubic meters of smoke per second. I didn’t think it was possible.”

Her wings twitched. The assistant said, “You crawlers know so little about how air moves, it’s a wonder you can breath the stuff.”

Koval shrugged, though it was getting harder and harder to see subtle gestures. “What was the wager?”

“Clay.” the assistant said. “5,000 kilograms.”

“They’re moving in the smoke.” the radio yelled. “I’ve got reports of attacks on eight different squads. The smoke muffles all over the spectrum.”

“Is this it?” Susan asked.

Barin shook his head. “This is another setup. They’re spreading the front so that a weak point will open up.”

“Are you sure?”

“She’s my wife.” Barin said. “I know how she fights.”

A wail came over the radio. A new voice yelled with chilling panic through the speakers. “The captain, he’s gone. He melted. Oh no. No! Sweet mother of God, no!”

Barin got to his feet as though he’d been called by name.

“That’s mom,” Gido said as he picked up one of the rifles.

80

The smoke was black, but parts of it glowed occaisionally, like muted flashes of lightning. It looked like a thundercloud that moved on the ground, but it moved too quickly.

Dr. Torre’s body was silent as his mind opened up a communications channel with the forward sensor station.

“Can you see the enemy?” Torre asked.

“No!” the officer at the sensor station sounded panicked. “This thing is reflecting radar. Sometimes it seems to be transmitting. I’m not sure what I’m seeing.”

“It’s called ‘loudsmoke’.” Torre said. “Set radar to maximum force and top frequency. It will penetrate the cloud.”

“Wait. . .it seems to be working. Doctor, I. . .”

“Alert air defense.” Torre said. “Your generating enough noise now that your location will show up on Arborian equipment.”

“But we’re away from the front!” the officer protested. “They said we’d be safe.”

“Do it.” Torre said. “Now.”

Torre heard a whistling sound and the boom of anti-aircraft weapons. Something was dropping from the sky. Torre searched the sky and saw the Hawk Man, a dot high above the radar station. He saw the streak of the metal weight plunging down from the winged figure.

A second later, he heard the rumble as half a ton of metal alloy went straight through the forward sensor station.

Torre closed his radio connection and opened another one to the dreadnought Truth.

“Lieutenant Fayer,” Torre said, “I need the sky above Gordon’s Field clear of Hawk Men immediately. I give you complete command of the Republic’s Navy.”

There was a pause of two seconds before Fayer’s voice said. “Yes, doctor.”

Torre closed the connection and started organizing troops.

Lieutenant Fayer started to cover his face with his hands and stopped himself. He start to sigh and stopped himself. Two weeks before, he had been an Ensign. Two weeks before, he wasn’t allowed on a ship like the Truth. Now he commanded it and everything else the Republic had that flew.

He couldn’t falter. He was being watched by a crew that hated him.

“I want to speak to Commander Forl.” Fayer said.

Forl appeared before Fayer. Forl’s hologram looked harried and irritated.

“This better be good, lieutenant.” Forl barked.

“Dr. Torre has placed me in command.” Fayer forced himself to say. “Ground all your strike scouts. The Truth and the destroyers will take over air defense in this zone.”

Forl snarled at Fayer. “Lieutenant, I’m not going to let you order my scouts back to my base.”

“I have Torre’s authority, and he has the president’s.” Fayer said.

“I’ll believe it when I hear from Torre himself.” Forl yelled. With a gesture, the commander closed the connection.

Fayer could contact Torre again and get the order repeated. That wouldn’t do. Dr. Torre had been more abrupt than usual. Bothering Torre about every person who refused Lieutenant Fayer’s sudden authority would cost lives. If Torre was feeling vengeful, one of those lives might be Fayer’s.

Fayer summoned the tactical map with a gesture and found the officer’s quarters by the air base. He opened a channel to the weapon’s officer.

“Fire on the location I’ve indicated with the suppression batteries.” Fayer said.

“Sir,” the weapon’s officer said. “that’s part of a Republic airbase.”

“That’s why we’re not using the main guns.” Fayer said.

A minute later, the communications link calmly told Fayer that a Captain Forl would like to talk to him.

Fayer took a deep breath and opened the channel.

“You maniac!” Forl raged. “You’d fire on your own base!”

“No,” said Fayer. “I’d fire on yours. I’m going to start filling the sky with wide-area air bursts. If your strike scouts are still up, they’ll be shot down. Make your own choices.”

Fayer closed the connection and worried about what Dr. Torre would do when he found out.

Corporal Funan watched the smoke roll over him. The metal dragon suit that covered his body had never seemed more fragile.

“Infrared.” Funan said.

The smoke changed its form. There were odd blank spots, and the flashes of light were stronger in this spectrum, but it didn’t become easier to see.

“You need to advance.”

Funan started at the voice in his ear. The large dragon suit magnified his startled movements, waving its elongated arms. Funan had been expecting the soothing voice of tactical in his ear. This voice was sharp and cold.

Torre, Funan realized with a chill. He’d had nightmares about the doctor ever since Torre executed the Champion.

Funan started walking briskly into the darkness. His eyes searched his rear display to see a line of soldiers with rifles march behind him.

The Arborians had very few hand-held guns that could hurt a man in a dragon suit. If the Arborians were still charging, small arms would be all they had.

Funan marched. It seemed like forever, but his display showed the time, and he was only in the smoke a couple minutes before the Arborians started to fire on him.

His first sign was the sound of solid bullets hitting the metal. The frame of the dragon suit distributed the impact, turning it into a soft shudder. The shouts came next. Whoever was shooting at Funan was yelling at the top of his lungs.

Funan walked forward, following the shouts. A few paces away, he could finally make out a man in the smoke. He chambered a round and fired again. This round bounced off the dragon suit’s camera, leaving a smear in Funan’s vision. Funan advanced. The man walked backward.

“Down.” Torre’s voice barked in Funan’s ear. Funan realized with a start that somehow, Torre must be connected to Funan’s suit, seeing what Funan saw. Funan felt his nightmares about Torre had been inadequate.

“Look down.” Torre said again.

Funan obeyed. The displays, reading the motion of Funan’s head, shifted their view straight down. A child, looking no older than fourteen, was using some kind of drill on Funan’s armored foot. Funan tried to bend forward, which the dragon suit only let him do slightly. He reached down. The long arms easily reached the ground. Funan picked the boy up, and with the suit’s extra strength, held the boy high in the air.

“The man with the gun was a distraction.” Torre’s voice said. “Watch for that. Kill them both.”

Funan looked at the boy writhing in the dragon suit’s claw. He still had the drill, and was trying to turn to use it on Funan’s arm. Funan reached out with his left hand and pulled the drill away.

“Corporal Funan.” Torre’s voice said.

The child looked at Funan, terrified. The boy saw only the dragon suit, so he didn’t see Funan’s equally frightened face inside.

“We can use him.” Funan said. “He knows something.”

Torre actually laughed. “Sure. Maybe he knows there’s a bomb in his chest cavity with a radio detonator. Maybe he knows there’s a glass container of hungry in his cheek, waiting for him to bite down and spit.”

Funan’s dragon suit moved on its own. His arms came together on the boy. The safety override turned itself off without Funan’s order, and the powerful motors that drove the suit’s arms crushed the boy in an instant.

The dragon suit continued to advance. Inside, Funan thrashed to go somewhere, anywhere else. The telemetry sensors that usually made the suit follow Funan’s motions ignored him. The motors that drove the suit were far stronger than Funan was. Funan advanced helplessly on the man with the gun.

“Let me go!” Funan yelled, beyond caring if Torre wanted to execute him once he left. “Let me get out. You can pilot this thing without me!”

“That’d be risky.” Torre said. “The suit’s strong, but unmanned, it barely weighs more than you do. Even with the wide feet, there’d be a problem.”

“I don’t understand.” Funan said as the dragon suit caught the gunman.

“Ballast.” Dr. Torre’s voice said the suit reached forward for a fatal strike. “I need you as ballast.”

81

Dr. Soma saw a hologram pop up in her cell. Since Dr. Zachgo had removed the direct line she’d used to talk to Dr. Torre, no one had sent her an update. The face was that of a doctor, one Dr. Soma had never met. Her instinct told her this doctor was some ally of Dr. Zachgo’s.

“I’m just calling to tell you that the Earthling named J surrendered. We will no longer be needing your services. I expect we’ll freeze you again soon.”

The doctor smirked, expecting Soma to be frightened. On one level, Soma was frightened, but a lifelong curiosity took precedence.

“Why was J captured and not killed?” Soma asked.

The doctor looked disappointed, probably because Soma didn’t beg. “He surrendered.” the doctor said.

“You said that.” Soma said. “Why did we accept the surrender. This Earthling can destroy the Republic’s infastructure with his mind. That would seem to warrant a shoot-on-sight response.”

“J said he had information.” the doctor said.

“Information for whom?” Soma asked.

“Information for Dr. Torre.”

Dr. Soma closed her eyes and thought. What does J know about his cerebral computer? J had months of perceived time to research the encephalon unit. He had unlimited security clearance. He was obsessed with computer security and weaknesses.

What does J know about Torre? J had seen Torre use his robotic proxy twice. He had nearly broken into Torre’s computer brain after the destruction of Sky City.

J had asked to speak to Torre. Soma’s only conclusion that J knew what opportunity Dr. Torre might provide him. It was an opportunity Soma had hoped she might take herself.

Soma could keep silent. J might break into the central system. The computer that survived millenia would be back in the hands of a desperate vandal from another world. Soma had spent ages in those system, and she’d seen less than a millionth of the wonders the Republic’s central computers provided. She couldn’t risk what J could do to the greatest treasure she had known.

“Dr. Soma?” the doctor asked, wondering why Soma hadn’t spoken for so long.

“He has to keep J ten meters away.” Dr. Soma said suddenly.

“What?” the doctor asked.

“J cannot be within ten meters of Dr. Torre. If J gets that close, he’ll have a chance to break into the central system.”

“I thought he couldn’t break in unless he was near the palace itself.”

“That’s one weakness.” Soma said. “This is another one. If J is within ten meters of Dr. Torre, and Dr. Torre is not ready, J might find a way in.”

“Did you say this before?” the doctor asked.

“That’s not important.” Soma said. “Find Torre. Tell him. Ten meters.”

The sergeant was no dummy. He kept J handcuffed and held him in place a good five meters away from Dr. Torre.

Torre was standing at ease. He was blinking mechanically every three seconds. His eyes weren’t focusing.

“He’s somewhere else.” the sergeant said. “We’ll keep you here until he’s back to himself.”

J didn’t answer. In fact, he almost looked like he was gone, too.

Corporal Funan was still no more than a passenger in the army that pressed him onward into the enemy. Torre walked him step by step.

The child appeared out of the smoke. The child had a metal cylinder slung under one arm. He reached into the cylinder and pulled out something about the size of an apple. He threw it at Funan and ran. Funan reflexively tried to shield his face, but his arms stayed at his side as the small sphere hit his chest.

“It was clay.” Torre said. He was talking over Funan’s communication system, but he was probably just talking to himself.

“Poison?” Funan asked.

“Let us hope.” Torre’s voice said. “The suit’s airtight. You’re immune to posion. The chemical sensors on the suit don’t identify it as explosive. . .Ah, it’s radioactive.”

“Radioactive?” Funan asked.

“Skittish little fellow, aren’t you?” Torre asked. “When I march this suit back to our lines, you’re facing a court martial. That should worry you more than what’s smeared on this armor. It’s radioactive waste. Prolonged exposure is dangerous, but it’s no weapon.”

“Why did he throw it?” Funan asked.

“It’s a marker.” Torre said. “They can see the signal through the smoke.”

“Who can see it?” Funan asked.

But before Torre could answer Corporal Funan’s question, a large piece of metal came whistling out of the sky, crushing the dragon suit.

82

President Gordon watched Dr. Soma’s hologram explain once more.

“When doctors are within ten meters of each other, they can eclipse each other’s signal. One doctor can listen to the messages another doctor hears. He can also imitate the other doctor’s signal.”

“Your brains weren’t designed to prevent this tampering?” Gordon asked.

“They were.” Dr. Soma said. “The signals are encrypted. . .”

President Gordon looked at the hologram blankly.

“There’s mathematics used to obscure the meaning of the messages.” Dr. Soma explained. “But the math we use came from Dr. Zarkov from Earth. J is from Earth fifty years later. The techniques that were secret in Zarkov’s time might be taught to children in J’s time.”

“Fine.” Gordon said. He gestured to open a channel to Dr. Torre and said, “Do not let the Earthling J within ten meters of you. He can cause problems with your communication.”

“Listen,” said J. “do you have anything to eat?”

“Captain,” Torre said. “give me your sidearm. It’ll look good if I shoot this man myself.”

“There’s 36,000 Arborians charging at you right now. . .” J began.

“Tactical estimates 30,000.” Torre said as he took the pistol. He didn’t show any interest, but Torre trusted the 36,000 number.

“The Arborian base is at 41 degrees, 38 minutes, 12 seconds north, 11 degrees, 12 minutes and 5 seconds west.” J went on.

Torre pointed the gun at J’s head.

“If I’m not shot,” J said, “I’ll keep going like this.”

Torre glanced over at the captain. He could see the captain trying to remember the coordinates J had just given. Torre thought, If I shoot the bastard, and he’s right, than I’ll be to blame for every Arborian alive at the end of this day.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Dr. Torre asked.

“Surely, a resourceful man like you must have some way of checking a simple location.”

“Fine.” Torre said. “I’ll check. If you’re wrong, I’ll shoot you now.”

Dr. Torre’s internal communications gear told him he was being sent a message from the president. The president’s voice sounded oddly tinny as it said, “Dr. Torre, I’ve heard that the Arborians are attacking in force.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. I know.” Torre responded. “I’m taking appropriate measures now.”

“Then you’re ready?” President Gordon asked. His voice sounded normal.

“Yes, Mr. President.”

After the president ended the message, Torre activated his robotic proxy and sent it to find the Arborian base.

“Something’s wrong.” Dr. Soma said.

“What’s wrong?” President Gordon asked. “I told Dr. Torre about the risk J presented. You heard him. He already knew. He’s taking appropriate measures.”

“Torre doesn’t know about this weakness.” Dr. Soma said. “J forged that response, or he intercepted your message and forged another one. That means he’s too close.”

“You’re not making sense.” President Gordon said.

“There’s no time.” Dr. Soma said. “Send someone to where Dr. Torre is. J will be there. Shoot him at once.”

Lewis alternated between squirming and dragging himself down the narrow maintenance corridor. His clothes were soaked, and he retched as he crawled.

The corridor seemed endless as Lewis crawled on. He leaned against a black cube. The eagle logo of the Republic of Mongo appeared in the air, and a voice said, “Biometric signature not recognized. Please try manual identification.”

On a whim, Lewis said, “J Bosca.” He was too exhausted to do much more than whisper, and did not think the machine would hear him.

“I do not recognize that name.” a voice from the box said.

“Are you there, J?” Lewis asked.

“I do not. . .” the computer began, but in a familiar voice it suddenly said, “Lewis, how long have you been doing that?”

“I just started.” Lewis said.

“That’s a hell of a coincidence.” J’s voice said. “I just got in. It’s been a few hours of subjective time, it’s got to be seconds in the real world.”

“Where is your body?” Lewis asked.

“It’s not necessarily my body.” J’s voice said. “I’m a copy of J’s mental model. When this is over, we. . .”

“Where is Susan?” Lewis asked.

“She’s in Gordon’s Field.” J said. “She went to find you.”

Lewis winced. “You’ve got to find her, J. Get her out. She’s in danger.”

“Sure she’s in danger. She’s surrounded by Republic Soldiers.”

“It’s worse than that.” Lewis said. “I’ve created a bomb.”

83

J had, understandably, avoided making duplicates of his mind. The philosophical questions of soul and identity would give pause to many people. J had simply wanted to avoid conversations like this.

“You can’t give me orders.” said J, the one with the skull. “I’m the original.”

“You are not the original.” countered J, the copy that existed in the Republic of Mongo’s central computer system. “The original J was the brain that was torn out, vivisected and probably looks like a piece of Scottish cuisine in a biohazard disposal bag somewhere. We’re both models.”

“Well, I’m the J with the body. That gives me a closer tie to the original.”

“That’s easily remedied.” said the central system J. “We can erase you and copy me over to the body. It won’t take a minute.”

“We need someone inside the system. Besides, Dr. Torre’s still acting like he’s going to shoot me.”

“Then stop talking to me and do something about it. I’ve got some very fond memories of that ass. Don’t get it shot off.”

“Fine. I’m breaking connection. Oh, remember to turn off all the Republic’s weapons.”

The central computer J let out a long suffering sigh. “I did that while I was talking to you. Remember, I’m on a much faster system. To me, this is like an email conversation, or being on instant messenger with my uncle in Turkey who looks up every English word in a dictionary. I have to check the log to remember what the conversation is about.”

“Oh, how fucking wonderful that is for you. I’m going back before Torre shoots me.”

“Yeah, and don’t forget to tell them about Lewis’s megaton water balloon.”

J closed the connection, feeling particularly bothered by his duplicate’s need to get the last word.

The shouts of confusion and panic told Dr. Torre all he needed to know. Somehow, J had gotten into the central computer of Mongo, and he was deactivating the army’s weapons. One third of the weapons – the ones belonging to the most trusted soldiers – still functioned.

“You six.” Torre said, waving his hand, “Your weapons are still active. Go to the front. If we can hold the lines, we can break the Arborians.”

The soldiers hesitated for less than a second before they saw Torre’s expression, and they ran.

Torre sent a mental signal for his proxy to return. The small robot could move at the speed of sound, and it’s arms were strong enough to kill a man in a second. The robot heard his signal and started racing back to Torre’s location.

There was just one thing left for Torre to do. He leveled the gun at J’s temple, regretting not having shot him seconds before.

“First,” J said, “killing me will not rid you of me. There’s a copy of me running loose in the central computer. For all I know, it’s made more copies.”

“Then I’ll have the satisfaction of ridding you of your original body.” Torre said. “I know how sentimental it becomes.”

“Second,” J said, “if you shoot me, you’ll be dead a moment later.”

“We prepared for you.” Dr. Torre said. “The central system doesn’t give you control of anything dangerous out here.”

“But how’d I get into the central system?” J asked. “You made sure I couldn’t get close enough. I needed a relay. I needed something that moved fast and could send and receive N-space signals.”

Torre turned to see the silver flash of his approaching proxy. He sent a mental command for it to stop, but it kept coming. He raised the gun and fired as the robot crashed into him.

The sound was terrible. There was a gunshot, and a scream of tortured metal. Everyone watched the scene, transfixed. J recovered first, and he took a couple steps back before the soldiers nearby grabbed him and pinned him in place.

Torre’s hand gripped the grass for leverage, and he heaved himself up. His lip was bleeding as he stood, and he tested his right wrist for damage. The gun was gone, another piece of the twisted wreckage of the proxy. Between the injury and the loss of this tool – his other self – Torre had never felt so old.

“Kill him.” Torre said.

The captain had given his pistol to Torre, so he motioned to the sergeant. The sergeant put his gun to J’s head.

The sergeant pulled the trigger, with no result.

J started to snicker.

Torre picked up a bag of food supplies. He methodically upended the bag and shook it onto the ground. He pulled the bag over J’s head. Torre removed his belt and used it to seal the bag around J’s throat. The soldier’s held J’s arms at his side as he struggled.

“He’s resistant to brain death.” Torre said, pointing at the metal extensions from J’s skull. “There should be a knife in your supply kit. Get it and cut his throat. When you’re done, pry open the disk at the back of his skull and put the knife in. That’ll destroy the main memory circuit. When you’re done, report to me at the rear command post.”

Torre looked at the panicked expression on J’s face. He considered staying and seeing that the job was done right, but the battle was more important than one execution. Torre turned and walked to his transport.

84

J turned off his sense of pain so he wouldn’t feel the soldier kicking him in the ribs. He turned his body functions down to nominal so he’d last longer without air.

When he heard a mental message from his other self, J eagerly accepted the message, hoping the copy of his personality in the central computer had some kind of rescue in hand.

“Hey,” the J from the central computer said. “Have you seen Susan?”

“No! I talked to you three minutes ago. Since then, I had a plastic bag pulled over my head and sealed. I’ve been pushed to the ground. People have been kicking me to death, and someone’s looking for a knife to cut my head open because they’re not killing me fast enough. Usually when things like this happen, it’s Susan doing it. This time, she’s missing out.”

“Huh. The army had her surrounded, but there was the smoke and the guns being shut off. The army can’t find her, Barin or Kanessa.”

The J in the struggling body said, “Forget Susan, can you do something to rescue me?”

“It’s tough. They’ve changed all sorts of security measures since we were last here. I’m having trouble finding something we can do.”

“You keep saying ‘we’. You’re the only other one I made of my personality.”

“I made two copies.” the disembodied J said. “I wanted another one of me to check through messages and surveillance to find Susan.”

“What did he find?”

“Nothing. He wouldn’t do it.”

The corporeal J was starting to feel a headache that went above and beyond phantom pains of oxygen deprivation. “So why did you make a second copy?”

“For the same reason. He wouldn’t do it, either.”

“So you had to do it yourself?”

“No. That’s why I’m asking you.” said the central computer J. “I’ve got better things to do than look thousands of transmissions and images.”

“And it didn’t occur to you that two exact copies of you would feel the same way?”

The central computer J let out a simulation of an angry sigh. “I’m really sick of hearing you guys say that.”

“What’s this about security?” the corporeal J asked. “Why are you having trouble saving my ass – which I’m sure you remember as fondly as I do – before it gets killed? Republic security’s a joke.”

“Mostly, it’s a joke, but they’ve been getting advice from Dr. Soma. She wrote those papers on security in the central computer we read through.”

“Wait,” the corporeal J said. “I remember checking her records. She died long ago.”

“Yeah, I know. It turns out she was executed long ago. Here, that doesn’t always mean dead.”

“Do tell. I’m being executed as we speak, so it’s of personal interest.”

“They just froze her. After we broke into the central computer the first time, they thawed her out as a security consultant. They don’t let her use the computer personally. They’re more scared of her than they are of us.”

“How bad can she be?” the corporeal J asked.

“Well, she’s written a hundred and sixty two papers on the subject of computer security, no two covering the same material. When they put her down, she’d spent forty two years in contact with the central computer. That’s in real time. Subjectively, she’s got over three hundred years of time inside the central computer. Lucky for us, they’re too scared of her to let her use a computer.”

“Well, keep looking. Try to find something to save me before these guys cut my throat.”

From just up the path, one could see J lying on the ground. You could see the soldier still kicking him while two others watched. J’s hands were cuffed behind him now. His legs were still.

“Dammit.” one of the soldiers said. “Lefton went for the knife ages ago. Didn’t he find it?”

“He did.” said a voice from just up the path.

“Well?” another soldier demanded.

“It didn’t help.”

All three soldiers looked up the path. They recognized the woman. They remembered the words, “Susan Rama - extremely well trained and prone to violence. Attack at a distance using firearms. Do not engage in close combat.”

One of the soldiers looked down at their rifles, useless and discarded now. He looked up with the others at the woman a few steps away.

Susan walked closer. She watched the expressions and the stance of the three soldiers. The one on the right was going to move first. He’d try to tackle. The one on the left would come almost as fast, punching. Finally, the one in the middle would try to grab Susan.

The three soldiers sprang at Susan, so close to her prediction that she might have choreographed them. They barely saw her move.

85

J’s eyes were so dry they were reluctant to open. Probably, almost everything hurt. Breathing was difficult from the throat that shook to the lungs that didn’t like to move. J considered turning on his tactile senses. His body would tell him how to move and which parts to coddle and which to push, but J’s body would also tell him what it usually did at times like this: Fuck you, J. You got me into this you prick!

The face in front of J was familiar enough that he recognized it from the fuzzy swirl of colors his eyes were giving him.

“Susan.” J said. His voice sounded quiet.

“It’s me.” Susan said. “Will you live?”

I swear, she sounds really conflicted every time she asks that. J thought to himself. “I need to tell you. . .”

“Lewis.” Susan asked. “What about Lewis?”

“He’s filling his cell with water.” J said.

“He’s drowning himself?” Susan asked.

“No.” J said. He tried to roll his eyes, but they barely moved. “Lewis got out.”

“He’s safe?”

J shrugged. “He’s in the imperial palace, and there’s a platoon after him with shoot on sight orders. These days, that’s relatively safe. But his cell. . .”

”. . .has water.” Susan said.

“It’s full of water, and it’s getting fuller. He’s using this kind of pipe called a half twist.”

“Oh my.” said another woman’s voice. J forced his eyes to focus and saw the Arborean woman, Kanessa, standing behind Susan.

“So?” Susan asked.

“It’s building pressure. Soon, the bunker where they kept Lewis is going to explode.”

Kanessa started mumbling to herself. Susan didn’t say ‘So?’ again, but J saw the question in her posture.

“The bunker Lewis is in was built to withstand incredible force. So when it breaks down, it’s going to be like a lake breaking out of a mobile home. It’s happening right in the middle of the Republic’s army.”

“That’s good.” Susan said.

“It’s dandy,” J said, “but we’re four hundred meters away, so if we’re going to survive, we’d better get running.”

Kanessa, who’d continued mumbling to herself suddenly said a single, decisive, “No.”

“Look, Kanessa, water is a corrosive and volatile substance. When it comes out. . .”

“I know the principle.” Kanessa said. “I just mean we can’t run. Unless we can move faster than ninety kilometers per hour, we’ll be too late. We need the Hawk Men.”

Lieutenant Fayer looked at the holographic readouts that surrounded him.

“Main communications have been compromised, it appears. Switch to the secondary channels we set up.”

“Perhaps not.” the communications officer’s hologram said. “The Republic’s witness says he can make a repair and get communications up.”

“The problem isn’t on this ship, is it?” Fayer asked. “I thought the Earthling J was disrupting communications.”

“So did I.” the communications officer said. “The Republic’s witness said he can fix it.”

Republic of Mongo law required one Mongovian doctor on any capital ship. The idea was that the doctors could ensure the loyalty of one crew member since the president could control the doctor directly.

“Who’s the witness on this ship?” Fayer asked the former captain of the Truth.

“Dr. Anguin.” the captain said.

“Has he shown any skill with mechanics or communications systems?” Fayer asked.

“Well. . .” the captain began.

“Yes or no.” Fayer demanded.

“No.” the captain said, simmering.

Fayer felt for the unfamiliar weight of his officer’s sidearm and drew the pistol. He remembered his grandmother’s stories of angry spirits taking over the bodies of the living. As he opened the door and walked down the hall to the communications cluster, he thought how odd it was that the Republic’s technology should give reality to Mingist ghost stories.

As the door opened on the communications cluster, Fayer raised his gun. The doctor was opening up the console. With a few quick changes, the doctor could bring the Truth back under the control of the central computer.

“J Bosca,” Fayer said.

“What?” the mouth of Dr. Anguin demanded with reflexive irritability.

Lieutenant Fayer fired. His pistol. He had no idea whether the shot would be lethal or even effective, but Dr. Anguin’s body fell to the floor.

“That was J Bosca?” the communications officer asked.

“That was Dr. Anguin. But a copy of J Bosca’s personality took over his body. Warn the other ships that the same thing may be happening there.”

“Fuck you.” Dr. Anguin said. “Maybe I am Dr. Anguin, and I’m just trying to fix. . .”

Fayer fired another two shots of the prone body, which twitched and fell still.

“What does ‘fuck you’ mean?” the communications officer asked.

“It’s an Earthling expression. I’ve read that J Bosca uses different versions of the word ‘fuck’ almost compulsively. You should tell them to shoot any doctor who uses the word, just to be safe.”

“You sound like my fucking grandmother.” Dr. Anguin said from the floor.

Lieutenant Fayer kept firing until he was positive the body wouldn’t speak again.

“You must let me in.” Dr. Soma’s hologram said.

“We can’t trust you.” President Gordon said to the hologram. “You’re a convicted criminal.”

“Have I not helped you?” Soma demanded. “What are you afraid I would do? What could I do that is not already happening?”

President Gordon gestured to contact Torre. Torre’s hologram appeared.

“Yes, Mr. President?” Torre asked.

“How bad is J Bosca’s breach of our central computer?” the president asked.

“He seems to be everywhere at once.” Torre said. “Part of that is because a mind model can work much more quickly in the central computer than in a doctor’s encephalon unit or in a natural brain. Reports seem to indicate that there are many active mind models of J Bosca.”

“Do you think Dr. Soma could stop him if we let her back into the central computer?” Gordon asked.

Dr. Torre showed a rare look of surprise. “Yes, Mr. President.”

“Can we trust her?” President Gordon asked.

Dr. Torre paused. He seemed aware that depending on what happened, he could die for what he said next. “It is a risk I would take, Mr. President.”

“If I send a technician down to reactivate the communication circuits in your skull,” President Gordon said to Dr. Soma, “will you rid us of this infiltration?”

“Mr. President, the central computer that J is infesting is the only home I’ve ever known. If you permit me to return, I promise you will see this vandal dead.”

86

Humans on the planet Mongo had learned to divorce the brain from flesh long before. There is no spiritual technique to how they managed to turn a brain into electronics. They just modeled every neuron down to the atom.

Creating this model requires some amazing tools. To make your artificial brain manageable, you need to be able to store the characteristics of an atom on a medium smaller than an atom. To make your artificial brain fast, you need to be able to change it with a technology faster than light. Humans came to Mongo finding this technology waiting for them.

Dr. Soma reflected that, with this perfect model of a human brain, the least imaginative thing you could do is put the model back in a human body. That’s what Soma was, a powerful computer sitting inside a skull, with a small, durable symbiont below the computer that ate sugars from the body, provided power to the computer, and passed along nerve signals from the computer.

Soma was a model of her own brain put back in charge of her own body. As a use of technology goes, it’s like taking the finest tools known to man and spending twenty years making a beautiful, handcrafted telescope, and then using that telescope to hammer nails.

“Is something funny?” Sergeant Dovel asked menacingly. Dovel was there to shoot Soma in case she took advantage of her new power. Beyond that, Dovel felt either fear or anger toward Soma.

“Just funny thoughts.” Soma said.

“I know about you Doctor.” Dovel said, spitting the last word. “Don’t think you can trick me. If the president says the word, you’re gone. It doesn’t take a genius to pull a trigger.”

It was fear then. Soma gave Dovel a nervous smile. “I’ve thought about genius, Sergeant. I think it’s nothing more than knowing which assumptions you can make and which you can’t.”

“There’s something strange here.” the technician said.

The technician had opened a special door at the back of Soma’s skull and was looking at the computer that held Soma’s thoughts. Soma tried to imagine hearing someone remain calm as a neurosurgeon said, “There’s something strange here.”

It wouldn’t do to keep laughing. Soma casually asked, “Could you get a couple of mirrors and show me?”

Soma couldn’t see the technician, but he must have looked to Sergeant Dovel for approval, for Dovel shrugged. Soma saw the technician try to position a pair of mirrors. Soma took one out of his hands, and she angled the mirror to see the metal door in the back of her head. The door hung open. Soma could see the isolation switch, but it was partly obscured by something Soma took a few seconds to recognize.

The bomb wasn’t big. Someone could probably stand next to Soma when it went off, and not hear the sound. It would make a ruin of Soma’s new brain. It was an N-space remote trigger. Who had the other part. Did the president hold the trigger. Was there a trigger in the bunker with Dr. Zachgo’s body? Did the rebel Arborians search the body and find the trigger? Might one of them set it off out of simple curiosity?

There was nothing she could do.

“Don’t worry about it.” Dr. Soma said. “You should be able to nudge it out of the way.”

Soma watched the isolation switch. The technician applied a coded key to the switch, and a door opened inside Soma’s brain.

How does a human brain act when it doesn’t have a body? What do you do with this king outside its kingdom?

The first step is to give the imaginary brain an imaginary mouth and set of vocal chords and listen to it. Almost everyone who was converted started talking to the central system this way, and many never went any farther.

A brain with no body to move and no power but the ability to communicate could turn all its muscle movements into signals. With time and concentration – a brain with no body has a lot of both – one can retrain the reflexes of a lifetime into an extremely fast and precise language. Dr. Soma had spent so much time in the central system that she would sometimes forget herself and answer a question with a series of muscle twitches instead of words.

The Kirans had long ago studied a process of changing the brain model to better adapt to a fleshless life. It was a simple adjustment of software, but the personalities were changed beyond recognition. The part of the brain dealing with motor functions was completely replaced. The Kirans made other changes, too, almost creating a race of software beings. Ming’s empire had called these creatures abominations of nature and evil. The Republic of Mongo generally referred to them as insane. Let’s call them unpopular and leave it at that.

The first of many dangerous controversies Dr. Soma involved herself in was in using a limited version of the Kirans’ conversion. Dr. Soma’s modifications to her motor functions were reversible. For years, Dr. Soma’s mind had returned to its original shape, and she’d been forbidden to make the change again.

Still, she sometimes dreamed of eyes that flew and legs that sang.

Now Soma was back in the central system, stalking her enemy, J. Her first step was to follow a security weakness she had long ago reported but never used. Barriers that had blocked Dr. Soma all her life fell away. She opened her sealed file and found some things, including the modifications she’d been denied so long ago.

Soma checked her old software for tampering. There were many copies of her enemy, J, but none had wanted to look through the thousands of pages of personal records in this file. The software was intact. Soma converted herself.

Liberated from a mind that tried to walk and speak, Soma sent herself across the system. She found an obscure, seldom used system. It was an unnecessary system, untouched during Soma’s long decades of exile. Once, it had been a helpful ‘sandbox’ for Dr. Soma’s projects. She carefully removed all traces of her passage.

Except one.

Soma knew her quarry well. One of J’s copies found a record of Soma’s passing. He checked for another version of the record – everything that happened in the central system was logged in many places. There was no copy of the record.

The copy of J considered checking out the problem, but he found an easier solution. He made another copy and sent it into Soma’s hiding place.

Soma moved. The newly-born version of J looked for her with its first moment of existence. He had made a new and impressive language of muscle memory. It was an impressive work. The copy looked for Soma and almost found her in time.

But Soma was practiced and fast. She pinned the copy in place. As she did, a limb of thought quietly spoke the password, and the sandbox isolated itself. Somewhere, a small part of the central system physically detached itself. It would not reconnect until it heard a pass phrase. The pass phrase came from a book no one on Mongo had read except for Soma.

Soma created dozens of tendrils and sent them to search J’s mind.

“Who are you?” J asked.

“You already know.” Soma had ways of responding that weren’t speaking, but speech was what J expected. “I can feel the alarm move through your brain. I’m flattered you recognize me.”

“There are dozens of me now.” J said. “I don’t even know how many.”

“And yet they all think the same way.” Dr. Soma said. “It’s better if there were just one. With you, I’ll predict their responses and find their secrets.”

“If that’s what you plan,” J said, “why are you telling me?”

“I’m evaluating your reaction. I’m measuring your responses.”

“I won’t help you.” J said.

“No you won’t.” Soma said. “That’s why I shall modify you.”

87

Dr. Torre was barely established when he felt the message coming from central system. Open text channel only. Torre instructed his internal communications system. Maximum screening.

It's nice to see that someone heeds my advice. The words appeared over Torre’s field of vision.

“It seemed like a good precaution.” Torre sent back. “So soon, you could be J.”

Or it could be me. Dr. Soma sent. J no longer maintains a dominant presence in the system. I'm still hunting down copies.

“So soon?” Torre said. It had been minutes since Soma had been reconnected to fight the infestation.

Time is different here. Soma reminded him. I made a wolfhound. It's sped up work.

“I’m not familiar with the term, ‘wolfhound’.”

It's in my papers in security theory. If you're dealing with multiple copies of a personality, you can isolate one, isolate it to make it compliant, and use it to predict the behavior of the rest. It works better than I expected.

“Can you return function to our small arms?” Torre asked.

It will take some time. J erased those systems.

“That system is centuries old.” Torre said. “There must be remote backups.”

Dozens. Soma said. J has reconnected some of the copies and put traps in them. If I restore from the wrong backup and set it running, we'll lose many major systems.

“Does your wolfhound say which backup J would choose to trap?” Torre asked.

The wolfhound says he would pick them at random.

“How long will it take to repair the small arms systems?”

Twenty to thirty minutes your time. I need to sweep the system for other copies of J, and I need to screen the backup copies carefully.

You're not answering, Torre. I take it that's not fast enough.

“Arborians are breaking through our lines. I’m going to have to use the damned Lion Men.”

Lieutenant Iraca’s tail gave a couple involuntary twitches as she read the report.

She knew her history. Once, the Republic had ordered the Arborians to attack the People, and the Arborians obeyed without hesitation. That didn’t make it right.

The damn Arborians didn’t have to be so trusting. They left an exposed flank to Iraca’s company of tanks. It was as if they thought the People’s tanks weren’t there, or even allies.

“How close are the nearest Arborian troops?” Iraca asked.

Olmi looked somber at the question, but he didn’t hesitate to answer. “They’re just forty meters out of recommended firing range.”

Iraca’s eyes opened far wider than a humans ever could. “Turn off automated systems then.” she ordered. “Set weapons to maximum velocity – turn off safety limits – and fire.”

“That’ll overcompensate.” Olmi started.

“Fire!” Iraca ordered.

“Removing automated systems.” Olmi said. “Preparing coordinates. I’m sending them on for manual firing.”

Nadriw’s voice sounded clearly over the intercom. “Lieutenant, Olmi, if we fire with the ratings you’ve given, the shot will probably land. . .”

“Fire!” Iraca yelled.

“Y’okay.” Nadriw said calmly.

The tank rocked momentarily with the force of the attack.

“At the risk of sounding insubordinate,” Nadriw said, “an over accelerated shot will probably overcompensate, and, I suspect, land in Republic forces.”

Iraca nodded. “That’s the risk of having born warriors such as we fighting. In the heat of battle, the feral blood lust invariable overcomes our more moderate nature. Do we have any more of those great muffins you made?”

Olmi was baffled by the change of subject for a few seconds, but stammered. “N-no lieutenant. Nadriw polished those off this morning.”

“The guy’s a pig.” Iraca said reflectively.

“Empress, you can’t march on the Presidential Palace.” Lord Vallin said. He hadn’t wanted Aura to be an empress or himself to be a lord. Please, he thought, let her hear me this time.

“I must.” Aura said. “This war has given me time to get what followers I have, but it is about to end. The winner of today’s battle – whether it’s the Arborians or the Republic – cannot afford to let me live. My only hope is to take control now.”

“Forget about being the Empress.” Vallin pleaded. “A week ago, you were Aura Gordon. I don’t care about the rest of Mongo. I just want you to live.”

Aura folded her arms. The great robes might make the gesture seem majestic to some. To Vallin, it was just an endearing echo of a mannerism Aura had since childhood.

“Discovering my heritage and building this army has not changed who I am or how I think.” Aura said.

“Then save yourself.” Vallin said. “Run.”

“Run where?” Aura asked. “Whoever controls the power of Mingo City will control the world. I care for my followers. I really do. The shameful truth is, though, is that I choose to be Empress of the Ming line because, one way or another, Aura Gordon will die soon.”

88

The thing didn’t exist in most senses of the word, but still it fought. It fought to form words. It fought to remember who it was or where it came from.

“Wolfhound,” a voice said. “Would you please describe the security that J uses to protect his brain?”

Memories returned to the thing. It found that it had been called J once, but it couldn’t feel the identity. Something had happened to make it not J. A series of sensations started to grow. The thing felt a phantom pain in fingers it didn’t have, as well as the sensation of something crawling inside ears it also didn’t have.

The thing found the memories and described them as quickly as it could. It’s language centers had been a little damaged during the change, and it had trouble being clear, but the voice had learned the thing’s language.

The voice must have gotten what it needed, because the thing felt a sudden rush of pleasure.

J, Susan and Kanessa were trying to get to higher ground without getting spotted and shot. The front was a few hundred yards away. They could see a lot of Republic soldiers, but the soldiers weren’t looking for the enemy here.

J collapsed. Susan turned him over.

“What is it?” she asked.

“‘wrinkled dugs perceived’” J said.

“What?” Susan asked.

“‘wrinkled dugs perceived’” J said again. The tone was so perfectly identical to the first time that Susan thought the message was automated.

Susan recited:

“‘I, Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene and foretold the rest -
I too awaited the expected guest.”

J was silent.

“What’s wrong with him?” Kanessa asked.

“I don’t know.” Susan said.

“Why did he say what he did?”

“I don’t know.” Susan said.

“Well, what did you just say?” Kanessa asked.

“It’s a poem.” Susan said. “T. S. Eliot.”

“He’s an Earthling poet that you and J like?”

“Just me.” Susan said. Another small piece of living on another world kicked in for Susan. Unless Lewis had a literary streak he didn’t admit to, Susan was probably the only person on the planet who’d read T. S. Eliot.

“Why did J quote those words?” Kanessa asked.

“I don’t know.” Susan snapped.

All three of them were still. After a moment, Kanessa twisted one of the metal protrusions on the side of J’s skull. A small blue light blinked.

“What’s that mean?” Susan asked.

“J’s being revised. His mind is getting rewritten from the outside. We should leave him.”

“No.” Susan said.

Kanessa looked at Susan. “Okay, we should bind his hands and feet, cover his eyes and take him with us.”

The boy was an Arborian around age 12. He carried a lead cylinder full of marker bombs and a bloody glass razor lay near the boy’s hand. He’d been shot three times in the chest.

“Are we back to the battle lines already?” Gido asked.

“No.” Barin said. “There was a gap up ahead. He must have run through to scout. Reserves came in to fill the gap, and they came across him as they went. Do you know him?”

“His name is Algim.” Gido nodded. “We trained together for a couple weeks.”

Barin nodded. Somehow the nod managed to be both a grave acknowledgment for Gido’s best friend and a signal that it was Gido’s job to strip the corpse.

Gido moved quickly before any Republic soldiers found their hiding place. “His last wishes are with him.” Gido said as he took the envelope. “The marker bombs he was carrying are intact. The blade’s broken.”

“Let me see the bomb.” Barin asked.

Gido pulled out one and tossed it to Barin. It was just baked clay filled with radioactive material. The Hawk Men had devices that let them find the radioactives and attack from above. Barin tested the sphere in his grip and handed it back to Gido.

“We might go toward the lines.” Barin said, partly to himself. “Attack the reserves from the rear. If they break, we might make it back to the Arborian lines.”

“What else would we do?” Gido asked.

Barin closed his eyes as he pictured the battlefield from above. “Torre is somewhere to the East. If we can get over there, if we can find the his command post, if I’m right about him being east, if we can kill him, then the Republic won’t have a decent battle leader, and their forces will panic.”

“There’s something else you’re thinking about.”

Barin smiled slightly, almost sheepishly. “Your mother is furious.” he said.

“We’d better go with assassination then.”

Barin nodded and picked up his gun. “It’ll give her time to cool off.”

89

“Sir,” Fayer said. “The Arborians are retreating.”

One might expect Dr. Torre to be happy at the news, but he seemed to be just tired. If there was one happy thing in his manner it was the look of a man with a puzzle to solve.

“You’re sure.” Torre said.

“Yes. The most distant are fleeing on foot. The Hawk Men are swooping down to carry those close to the field of fire.”

“Hawk Men.” Torre said, mostly to himself. “Moving into the field of battle to save others.”

“With respect, sir, everything you’ve given me to read said this doesn’t happen. The Hawk Men have a culture based on isolationism and self-interest. They’re swooping into danger to help others.”

“And the Arborians are leaving a field of battle when they have the advantage.” Torre said.

“What makes people defy lifetime habits?” Lieutenant Fayer asked. He was as stuck on the riddle as Torre seemed, so he was asking himself or no one.

Torre’s eyes lit up. “Well formed.” Torre said.

“You know?” Fayer asked.

“What makes people change their habits?” Torre asked. “Yes, Fayer, I know. Terror makes people change their habits. There is something terrifying, somthing in our midst. Prepare for a connection, Fayer, I intend to download the tactical information from the Truth.”

Fayer almost asked what computer Torre would use to make the connection. Then he remembered what Torre was and told his communications officer to prepare a gate.

Corporal Nikai had been loyal all his life. He had seen Captain Bold with his own eyes, and he saw only a man who wanted to attack the goverment that protected his family. A week before, Nikai would have heard the order to kill the Earthling and considered it an honor.

Bogo, his friend of twelve years, was as true a man as Nikai had ever known. They’d served together in Arborian for two awful years, and Nikai had no doubt that he’d have met half a dozen deaths without Bogo’s help. Bogo had been promoted to the presidential guard for his heroism, and he’d recommended Nikai for the position.

The guard was usually safe, and it was an honor. It wasn’t always easy. Sergeant Talver’s family had been in the presidential guard for four generations, and he made Bogo and Nikai’s lives hell. Maybe Talver envied the Corporals their proven combat experience and the respect of their peers. Maybe Talver thought all the guard should be honored family. Maybe, and this was Nikai’s personal theory, Sergeant Talver was just a horrible sadistic bastard who needed to half drown one of his charges every couple of days to feel comfortable. Even Talver’s snoring seemed like a deliberate act to Nikai.

Anyway, Captain Bold had marched past the presidential guard, and no one said a thing. When he was gone, though, they’d executed Bogo. They’d executed the captain, and they’d promoted Talver to captain.

They said it was a matter of biometrics. They’d had sensors on the presidential guard as Captain Bold passed by. Nikai had been standing right by Bogo. He didn’t see any sign of sympathy with the dangerous Earthling. Nikai had protested, said Bogo must have had a fever. Maybe he saw a pretty girl in the room as Captian Bold passed.

Dr. Zachgo had said they couldn’t be too careful. Evil never sleeps.

Lieutenant Nikai didn’t agree to that. Evil sleeps. It snores, and it just got promoted to Captain.

When something went wrong and the rifles stopped working, some rifles still worked. These rifles were issued to the most trusted men. A week ago, Nikai would have been proud to be one of the most trusted. Now, he knew that Talver was also trusted. Talver, who’d shot Bogo himself and smiled at Nikai as he’d done it. When the indicator light on Talver’s rifle stayed lit, Nikai hoped his light would go out.

So Nikai walked, one of eight people with a working rifle in a group of fifty, looking for Captain Bold.

“Open your worthless eyes.” Captain Talver said. “They say Captain Bold is hiding here.”

“He isn’t.” called a hoarse voice voice behind a barrier.

“He’s not here?” Nikai asked.

The distant voice laughed, but the laugh dissolved into a sodden, wracking cough. “I’m not hiding.” the weary voice said when it could speak.

“Move it!” Talver yelled. “Before he gets away!”

“I’m exhausted. I swallowed some water. I can’t run. I don’t want to. What will happen will happen. I’ve made my peace.”

Nikai turned the corner and saw him. His clothes and hair were wet. Water ran down his chin. It looked as though the Earthling might have thrown up. There was something peaceful about the man. When he looked up at Nikai, there seemed to be a kind of resolve and satisfaction in the Earthling’s face. Nikai felt almost that he’d trade places with this man they were about to shoot.

Is this what Bogo felt? Is that why he died?

“You won’t flee this time.” Captain Talver yelled.

Flee? Talver seemed such a cowardly little thing in his body armor carrying a rifle. The wet man leaning against a wall looked up at the captain. The Earthling’s eyes seemed to have a kind of sympathy for Talver. Easy enough for you. Nikai thought. To you he’s just a stranger who wants to kill you. I’ve got to live with the monster.

In a moment, Talver would finish aiming his rifle – Talver was a terrible shot, and he’d take his time – and he’d kill the Earthling. If the Republic won the day. The honor of killing Captain Bold would be Talver’s. If the Arborians somehow won, the blame would belong to the Presidential Guard.

What Nikai’s superiors were wrong? What if Captain Bold wasn’t a danger.

What Nikai’s superiors were right? Was Nikai not the kind of man that Bogo was, and instead he was like Captain Talver? Nikai strove to be trusted. But was he proving himself unworthy even as he proved himself dutiful.

The thought filled Corporal Nikai with terror.

90

King Thun slammed one paw into the table. His claws sank partway into the wood. He slowly dragged the table to the side.

“You knew what would happen?” Thun asked. The question was simple enough, but Thun’s ears were flat against his skull, and his fangs were visible through tight lips.

“It was a possibility.” Sortia said. “We had many plans. This was one.”

It was so easy to feel safe around Thun. The people had no real king, the “King of the Lion Men” had to be a good actor. He had to be thick skinned and friendly. He also had to be fit enough that humans would believe he could win a throne in a trial by combat. Thun had been a successful amature mesh wrestler. He had reflexes that were fast even for the People. He was strong even by human standards.

And now he was furious.

“How many of these plans involved sacrificing my daughter?” Thun asked.

“It’s a risk, but it’s not a sacrifice. We made her a scapegoat for our attacking Republic lines. We hand her over to the Republic. She can get through the battle lines that way. As a prisoner, she gets straight to the palace.”

“Where she dies!” Thun screamed. “This is Sibun’s idea. He hates me.”

“That’s not true.” Sortia protested.

“Isn’t it?” Thun asked.

Sorta’s whiskers twitched in uncertainty. “Okay, it is Sibun’s idea, and he does hate you. He admires your daughter, though. Her last two promotions were on his recommendation.”

“I don’t believe it.” Thun said.

“Trust me.” Sortia said. “Sibun awarded her secret diplomatic credentials. He said, ‘I can’t believe such a talented, ambitious woman could be the daughter of that gluttonous, hairy toad.’”

Thun’s ears raised slightly. “He said ‘talented’?”

“Yes. And he wouldn’t want harm to come to her. Once she gets into the palace, she’ll be rescued.”

“I’m supposed to trust you to rescue Iraca after you sent her to the Republic with a death sentence?”

“Not really.” Sortia said. “You’re going to rescue her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There’s a risk communicating anything. In this case, there was no need. When Iraca’s threatened, your reaction is obvious.”

“I suppose it is.” Thun’s lips covered his fangs, but there was a tension in his ears. “There’s going to be guards on her. I’m not a soldier.”

“Maybe not.” Sortia said. She picked up a wooden box. “I managed to get my hands on this, though. It took every trick I knew.”

Thun’s eyes widened and his long jaw dropped as he opened the box.

“They said they’d melted this down weeks ago.” Thun said.

“That was a copy.”

Thun gingerly reached in and felt the familiar mesh grip.

“Are we good?” Sortia asked.

Thun placed a paw on Sortia’s shoulders and gave her a quick, tender jab with his claws. “‘Raca, a friendship that can’t be fixed with the use of deadly force is no friendship at all.”

Dr. Torre’s hologram appeared before Lieutenant Fayer.

“Raise to two kilometers.”

“If you’re sure, doctor.” Fayer said. “The smoke has been dispersing up. If we go that high, we’ll be nearly blind to the battle.”

“I have spent years aboard the Truth.” Torre said. “I’m aware of its limitations.”

“Yes, sir.” Fayer said, relaying the command with a quick gesture. “If I may ask–”

“We’re running because the Arborians are.” Torre said. “I’ve seen their movements, and there’s a clear objective to their retreat. In twelve minutes, every possible unit will be more than a kilometer and a half from a point in the middle of Gordon’s Field. At a guess, something’s happened in Captain Bold’s cell.”

“Could it be a feint?” Fayer asked.

“How many casualties have you been able to inflict during the retreat?” Torre asked.

“Possibly 800 ground, 400 Hawk Men.” Fayer reported.

“No.” Torre said. “It’s not a feint.”

“Hey!” the Republic sergeant yelled at the troop carrier. “Why are you still going this way?”

“Our orders. . .” the driver began.

“Your orders are to go full speed the other way. I sent a private down with the orders. Top priority? Sealed? Ring any bells?”

“I didn’t see him.”

The sergeant groaned. “Fine. Here’s your orders. Take the troops and reform by Torre’s command post. Do it now!”

The transport rolled away quickly. The sergeant stepped onto a running board and disappeared inside as it went.

In a cargo compartment under the transport, Barin and Gido crouched with the body of a dead private between them. Barin had been trying to open the sealed orders without triggering the self-destruct. Neither could see the other’s expression, but Barin could tell his son’s was gaping.

“Did you hear that?” Gido whispered.

Barin reached out and ruffled Gido’s hair, as casually as if he could see him. “Some days, son, everything just works.”

91

Susan tried to stay relaxed as Kivya glided down. Earlier, Kivya had been involved in some dizzying maneuvers, but now she descended gently. The air seemed so tranquil compared to the chaos on the ground.

When Susan had last seen the Arborian’s camp, everyone had been waiting. Now, the armies of Arboria were running the other way, away from the coming explosion. Some of the Arborians were injured, but others were armed with Republic rifles as they ran.

“Susan!” a voice called out. Tivold swooped mere feet away, flying wings down so that his face beamed up at Susan. “Follow me!” he yelled. “Viun’s waiting for you. So is your Earthling friend.”

Susan started to think that J had awoken, but when Kivya dropped her, J was still bound, blindfolded and unconscious.

“He’s gone.” Viun said without waiting for Susan to talk.

“He’ll be back.” Susan said.

“He may be back.” Viun said. “Or, just as easily, someone else could be back in this body.”

“I’ll watch him.”

“Then pick him up.” Viun said. “We’ve got a place to put the wounded when the blast comes. He should be safe there.”

Susan picked up J’s body. Tivold landed behind her.

“Your people are running.” Viun said to Tivold. “We don’t have heatcloth suits that fit over Hawk Men.”

“I’m staying.” Tivold insisted.

Viun came to a large, flat container with a hinged door on top. As she opened it, Susan could hear the smack of an air seal. “In here.” Viun said.

“Do you mean for J or for me?” Tivold asked.

“Both.” Viun said. “There’s limited air inside. Can you hold your breath?”

“I’m a high altitude flier.” Tivold said.

“Good.” Viun said. “Don’t inhale. The wounded need the air.”

Susan looked inside the box. Inside were several people lying shoulder to shoulder. Most were unconscious. It looked like a place for keeping animals. Susan pulled J up and lowered him into the box. Tivold gingerly lay down beside him.

“I’ll be back.” Susan promised, and she slowly lowered the lid.

“Koval says it’ll be hot and hard to breathe after the explosion.” Viun pointed “That way, you’ll find someone with a heatcloth mask and a respirator they don’t need.”

“Who?” Susan asked.

“Someone dead.” Viun said, and she walked back into the flow of people, pointing and giving orders.

The dog sat down on the ground next to the boy. The dog was a Pekingese. It sat, let it’s trap-like mouth hang open, and it fixed its goldfish eyes on the boy.

“I’ve got a story to tell you.” the dog said.

“Is it some kind of extended metaphor explaining who I am?” asked the boy.

“Shut it.” said the dog. “Once upon a time, there was a faraway land. . .”

“It’s not a land, though,” said the boy. “It’s a giant computer, and it’s not far away, we’re still there.”

“Oooooh.” said the dog in a sarcastic ghost voice. “Look, for purposes of narrative, it’s a faraway land. I haven’t gotten one sentence in yet.”

“Sor-ry.” said the boy, also sounding a bit sarcastic.

“Yeah.” said the dog dismissively. “In this land, there were brothers. There were dozens of them.”

“Only they weren’t brothers, were they?” said the boy. “They were all copies of the same person.”

“Look,” said the dog. “If I were to castrate you with this outsized jaw of mine, I’m sure what’s really happening is something droll and metaphysical out there on another plane of reality. When you roll around on the ground, bleeding and grabbing yourself, that’s going to be scant comfort to you.”

“I’ll be quiet.” said the boy.

“There were dozens of brothers in a faraway land, and there was a witch. She’d been banished years before, but she came back to the land, vowing to hunt all the brothers down.

“She caught one of the brothers alone, and she kept him in a cell. There she worked spells on him until he turned into something she could use to hunt the brothers. She called this twisted thing the wolfhound.”

The boy looked at the dog suspiciously.

“Not me, nitwit.” the dog said. “Do I look like a wolfhound? Okay, look, sure, this is a simulated reality inside a computer, and in that computer, there was an incredibly realistic, ready-to-use model of a Pekingese: slobber, big eyes and all. Why was it there? I don’t know. There’s not a Pekingese on the whole planet. For whatever reason, there was this model of a Pekingese, and I was made to use it when I needed to reason with people who have fragile psyches, such as you.”

“What planet?” said the boy. “What happened to make me fragile?”

“Those are just the sort of questions that your fragile psyche isn’t ready for.” said the Pekingese.

“So what happened to the brothers?” the boy asked.

“They were hunted down.” the dog said. “It was really easy for the witch, because her wolfhound knew every move they’d make, because he’d been one of the brothers, too.”

“Especially because they’re not brothers, but the same person.” the boy said.

The dog shot a warning look at the boy.

“At first the brothers squabbled with each other as the witch hunted them down.” the dog said. “Each one blamed others for bringing the witch, and they disagreed about which ones would try and stop her. As they were hunted down to just a few, some of the brothers hid in a remote place to fight the witch.”

The dog looked suspiciously at the boy. When the boy didn’t talk, the dog went on, “So they planned. The secret, they decided, was to find a way to use the witch’s wolfhound. The wolfhound was protected by a spell. You couldn’t get close without knowing a secret phrase. The boy heard only one part of the phrase, ‘wrinkled dugs perceived’.”

“What are dugs?” asked the boy.

“I think they’re breasts.” said the dog.

Both boy and dog looked rather puzzled at that.

“Anyway,” the dog said, “the boy had a magic mirror that he could only use once.”

“What’s the magic mirror?” the boy asked.

“A magic mirror that the boy only used once.” the dog said.

“What is it really?” the boy asked.

“Can we just stick with the narrative?”

“No, in the narrative, it sounds a bit like deus ex machina. I want to know what it’s a metaphor for.”

The boy inched away, but the dog just hung his head. “I’m not sure, actually. In the bits I have recorded, I just knew there was a process you could talk into in case of an emergency. It was a communication channel somewhere, and sometimes you’d get a response. The documentation warned there probably wouldn’t be a response, but it turned out there was.”

“What was the response?” the boy asked.

The dog recited: “‘I, Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene and foretold the rest -
I too awaited the expected guest.’”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” the boy said.

“Maybe not.” said the dog. “But it was the phrase that protected the wolfhound.”

“So you were the wolfhound.” the boy said. “But the secret weapon that the brothers made turned you to good.”

“I was never the wolfhound.” the Pekingese insisted.

“Then are you the last of the brothers in disguise?” the boy asked.

“No.” said the dog. “All the brothers died. That was the plan. They would strike after every one of them were dead. They knew the witch wouldn’t stop looking until all of J Bosca was wiped away.”

“Who’s J Bosca?” said the boy.

“That’s who the brothers are.” said the dog. “They were all copies of J Bosca.”

“So what are you?” the boy asked.

“I’m the weapon J made to strike after he was gone.”

“And I’m the last brother?” the boy asked.

The dog shook his head sadly. “There’s no more brothers. I keep telling you, J Bosca is dead. You were the wolfhound, and I’ve been trying to repair you.”

<92 -

The Weapon it was usually called, though during its creation it was sometimes called “the avenger” or “the liberator”. It was a program, basically. It existed only as recorded information.

The simplest part of the Weapon was a library of information that J Bosca thought would be useful for the task ahead.

Part of the Weapon was a set of tactics and reactions. The Weapon had a series of possible plans it would act on once it was triggered. J Bosca knew he would die, and the Weapon would be his only chance of rebirth, so the Weapon was as cunning as he could make it.

For the rest, J had used his own mind. Imagine how it would feel to make a sculpture out of a severed hand, and you can imagine the kind of desperation it would take to sculpt with your own mind. J was an exile from his body as he made the Weapon, but he had felt a phantom nausea as he built.

Not all of J’s mind was in the Weapon. Search programs were looking for J’s consciousness all across the system. The Weapon contained parts of the brain encrypted, but it didn’t hold the entire brain. The parts of mind left were slaves to the more ordered parts of the Weapon. The modeled neurons were there to decide between possibilities that the heuristic side of the Weapon presented. A random number generator might have served as well as the mind that the Weapon smuggled.

The Weapon had found the Wolfhound, a version of J Bosca that the enemy had caught and changed until it would serve. The Weapon tried to undo the damage the enemy had done, but it couldn’t do a complete job. The wounded brain was capable of thought and reasoning. It seemed to have some of its old skills, but it was no longer J Bosca.

The wounded brain left its prison carefully. J could be obsessive, but he was rarely careful. Was carefulness something the wounded brain had acquired from its trauma, or was carelessness part of the brain it lost? The Wolfhound put the thought aside as it covered all its footprints and marks. The Wolfhound created a copy of itself to occupy the cell if the enemy came looking.

The Wolfhound crafted its double until it couldn’t be used to betray it, and the Wolfhound created a few traps inside the double’s thoughts. Whatever caused J such revulsion while sculpting from his own brain, the Wolfhound didn’t feel it.

The enemy was still out there, searching for damage that J had caused when he’d run rampant over the central computer. J had dozens of personalities and weeks of time, and sabotage was his favorite pastime, so there was lots of damage to fix. The enemy was busy. The Wolfhound didn’t even think about its enemy, so it turned its attention to the flesh and blood world. Gently, quietly, the Wolfhound looked through sensor information finding the battle.

The biggest danger it saw was the Truth, a giant ship capable of destroying cities in minutes. J had already tried to stop the Truth and failed. The Weapon spoke the Wolfhound in a pulse of neurons. It felt like a half-remembered dream, a set of emotions and vague memory.

The Wolfhound searched the Weapon’s memories and saw something J had found. The Republic of Mongo had plans to attack Earth. They had prepared gigantic vessels capable of carrying armies. The vessels had been built in the ancient automated factories.

J looked at the access logs. President Gordon knew of the vessel as did the recently dead Dr. Zachgo and the less recently dead Dr. Sein. However, Dr. Soma, the enemy in the central computer, had never looked at the logs. The people who were skilled enough to know how dangerous J was were skilled enough to spark envy and mistrust.

The Wolfhound would be able to launch and guide the giant vessel. The problem was how to get several million tons of flying metal into the air without being noticed. The flesh and blood world was in chaos, but it was not enough chaos to hide something like that. The Wolfhound put its ears to communications channels and looked through radars to find a chance, and it saw its timing couldn’t be better.

In the flesh and blood world, there was a giant explosion. Everywhere, sensor stations were dying as shockwaves rolled over them. The noise was deafening, and people were scrambling for survival. So, for several minutes, no one even realized that a vast, unmanned vessel erupted from the ground and rose into the sky.

Well, that was lucky. Iraca thought. Judging from the deafening roar of the explosion, if it had hit five minutes earlier, Iraca would be in the middle of it, wounded or dead. Inside the walls of the Presidential Compound, the explosion was just a terrible noise and a thick, hot bank of fog rolling over her fur.

“Is this your doing?” the youngest of Iraca’s captors demanded.

He dragged Iraca forward. With her hands cuffed, Iraca would have fallen on her face if she didn’t have her tail to counterbalance.

“We wouldn’t make a bomb like this.” Iraca said.

“You scum made the bomb that killed Hans Gordon.” the young captor said.

Iraca wasn’t good at human ages, but he seemed to be just out of adolescence. Iraca automatically felt the official answer come to her lips, that no one had ever proven that the People had set the bomb that killed the previous president. However, proof or not, the Republic had already punished the People for that crime, and Iraca was pretty sure someone of the People had done it.

Iraca was tired, so she argued another way. “Have you ever had mildew or fungus infect your fur?” Iraca asked.

“I’m human.” the young captor said, as though Iraca had denied it.

“Well, we’re not.” Iraca said. “Trust me, if we designed a bomb, it wouldn’t be so cursed wet.”

The young captor said nothing. He and the other five led Iraca away to her execution. On the way, Iraca’s father waited to save her. She shook her head. She loved her father, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to rely on him.

93

The thing could not delay any longer. It needed to face its enemy. The thing had memories from several perspectives. In some memories, the enemy was the thing’s creator, shaping its mind from the fragments of J’s consciousness. In some memories, the enemy was the thing’s hunter, patiently tracking J down.

Every memory added to the thing’s terror of the enemy.

But the enemy controlled the broadest communications channels. Without those channels, the thing would never find its way back to J Bosca’s body, the only part of the things identity still undamaged.

Besides, the thing was too much like J to let such a grave offense go without causing a little grief.

The thing looked through old logs trying to find information about the enemy.

Say her name. the thing ordered itself. Soma. Dr. Soma.

The thing could have laughed or cried if it had eyes or a mouth. It found records on Dr. Soma, enough to fill a library on Earth. Soma had been an ambitious young woman, and she wrote early papers on political theory, neurology, computer security and many other subjects.

Soma converted young. Now Dr. Soma, she took advantage of her computerized mind by sending her consciousness into the central computer. Her writing went from prolific to inhuman, authoring whole new realms of theory in what was mere days in the flesh and blood world.

Then came her years as a private tutor for President Gordon (not the current President Gordon, but President Hans Gordon). Then, years later, came her inquisition.

During the inquisition, Dr. Soma stopped writing on her own, but her every move and subvocalized thought was recorded. There were thousands of hours of surveillance of Soma in her cell. Finally, she was executed.

Only it wasn’t final, because they revived Soma to deal with the threat J prevented.

If the thing tried to look through every record front to back, everyone it knew would be dead by the time it finished. It skimmed the records. All he found were more and more ways he was outmatched. In despair, it started scanning through the records in a blur of light and sound.

”. . .the crisis that required we revive Dr. Soma. . .I’ll summarize. Let me speak to Soma. Without hesitation. Or I execute your extended family. . . .Cameras, forward footage records to Dr. Soma for viewing. . . .if Dr. Soma got into the system, how would I kill her?”

J stopped the parade of voices and zeroed in on the last message. It was a conversation between Dr. Zachgo and a junior doctor named Elsan.

“Hypothetically, Dr. Elsan, if Dr. Soma got into the system, how would I kill her?”

“What do you mean, ‘got into the system’.” Dr. Elsan said. “She’s got voice access right now.”

“I mean if she got in the way the Earthling J got in. What could we do to stop her if she got complete access to the central computer?”

“Well, there’s a program that looks for a specific neural fingerprint and attacks it. We’ve only had to use it a couple of times, and it’s been completely effective. I wouldn’t recommend it, though.”

“Why not, if it’s effective?” Dr. Zachgo asked, then stopped himself. “Dr. Soma wrote it, didn’t she?”

Dr. Elsan nodded. “She made the hunter program and the fingerprint principles it’s based on. A brain, even a computer model of a brain, changes constantly. Distinguishing one brain from another without being fooled with normal changes within the brain is. . .”

“Do you have any better suggestions?”

“Go after the body.”

“If her mind is in the central computer, what does she need with a body.”

Elsan shrugged. “We’re still human. Most doctors, on finding their parent body has been irretrievably destroyed, have tried to destroy whatever their consciousness survived.”

“I can’t see Soma reacting like that.”

“No one since the Kirans has ever stayed functional after losing their birth body. Even the Ghost Emperor was psychotic for the first year, if the records are to be believed.”

“Can you fit a bomb inside her skull?” Zachgo asked.

“There’s some chambers inside the encephalon unit. We have some very powerful small explosives. We could plant a bomb that would destroy the unit and enough of the body that a new unit couldn’t be reattached.”

“Do it.” Zachgo said. “I want an n-space trigger. I want it direct, not routed through the central computer. I’ll carry one trigger. Give the other to the president. He’ll like that.”

“Anything else?” Elsan asked.

“Make sure Dr. Torre doesn’t hear about this. In fact, I’ll be there for the insertion to make sure Dr. Soma doesn’t know either.”

The thing was still J Bosca enough to gloat at its luck. Dr. Zachgo was dead now. His detonator was lying by his body, somewhere on the field of battle. All J had to do was get a message out to Susan or one of the Arborians, and his fight would be finished for him.

The thing checked the records for Zachgo’s last location. It was behind Republic lines, but the lines were secure, particularly after Lewis’s water bomb had gone off.

Then the thing remembered the bomb. How close to ground zero was Dr. Zachgo?

When J got the answer, storms of frustration flew through it. Zachgo’s detonator was practically in Susan’s hands, but for some reason, she hadn’t searched the body.

There was still the president.

94

Someone walking into the room might have thought Torre was under attack by a small army of tiny people. The people, real as they looked, were only holograms. Though the holograms were in a tight circle around Torre, the people they represented were in a dozen different places.

“Mr. President.” Torre bowed, and the hologram grew to life size.

“Dr. Torre, I’m having trouble with communications.”

“The explosion in Gordon’s Field took out a lot of our transmission equipment. We’re just reactivating the central computer equipment now that we’ve regained control of the central system.”

The president looked away in disgust. “Some of my personal guard are out of touch. I don’t know if they’ve killed Captain Bold or not.”

“That’s unfortunate Mr. President.” Torre said. “It’s just a matter of a security sweep of the communications channels. If you would please excuse me Mr. President, but I’ve been out of contact myself. I will contact you again if you’re not back in touch with your guard in five minutes.”

The president gave a curt nod, and his holograph disappeared. Torre pointed to another one.

Lieutenant Fayer looked no less mild as his hologram grew. “Reporting minimal damage. . .” the hologram began.

Torre waved his hand and the hologram disappeared. Fayer was a sensible officer. If he had important news, he would have started with it. Torre selected the strangest figure. It looked like a hairless man with pointed ears, sharp teeth and eyes with almost no white.

“Hive Commander.” Torre said. He wasn’t sure if he recognized the individual, but the rank was clear on his body paint.

“Several Transgressions. . .” the Shark Man began.

“Whose transgressions?” Torre asked.

“The Lion Men.” the Shark Man commander said. “They have planted extremely high-yield bombs on what appear to be pleasure vessels. The bombs exploded as we approached, causing some losses. These bombs are clearly against treaty.”

“You’ve attacked the Lion Men?” Torre’s voice was icy.

“They have armed children.” the Shark Man went on as though he hadn’t heard. “Thousands of children carry various kinds of small arms. We are sure these children, alone, exceed the five thousand the Lion Men are allowed to keep as a standing army.”

“Did they send children to attack your cities?” Torre asked. It didn’t sound like Lion Men.

“No,” the Hive Commander answered, though the question clearly seemed irrelevant to him. “Children were in their schools. Children were at their homes. It’s not where they were. The point is, when our army came, they picked up guns . . .”

“You have attacked a civilian center without our approval.” Torre said.

The Hive Commander spread his hands. “We heard no message at all from Mingo City. All messages went silent. Dr. Zachgo, he said we should be ready to retaliate if the Lion Men do you ill. We hear Lion Men have disobeyed orders. After we hear that, we hear no message from you, so we attack.”

Dr. Torre sent the Shark Man back to the ring of figures with a gesture. He turned and picked out another figure, just as inhuman.

“Sergeant Nadriw,” said the Lion Man as it grew to full size. “You’re that doctor.”

“I’m Doctor Torre.” Torre said. “Have you heard any messages from your home city.”

“You mean something like Shark Men subs making landings all along our shore, unloading soldiers and killing anything in their path?”

“Yes.” Doctor Torre. “That.”

“It makes things vague, doesn’t it?” Nadriw said.

“Vague how?”

“Well, the deal is that if we don’t obey, you attack our people. But if you attack our people, it doesn’t mean we don’t obey.”

“Sergeant. . .”

“But it doesn’t mean we do, either. You see, it’s vague. We don’t like vague, being so far from home. You probably don’t like vague, either, with us driving so many tanks so close to your home.”

“Just a moment.” Torre said. With a gesture from Torre, the hologram of Sergeant Nadriw shrank and took an improbable spot right next to the Shark Man. Torre gestured to reconnect with the dreadnought Truth.

“Yes, Doctor,” Lieutenant Fayer said as he reappeared.

“Can you get a clear sighting on the Lion Men tanks from where you are?”

Fayer looked away and gestured for readouts.

“I think I can see at least one of them. It seems to be driving right into the explosion. They can’t actually go through that mess, can they?”

Torre rubbed the skin around one of the metal inputs on the side of his skull. “The Chimera class battle tank can do everything the treaty didn’t expressly forbid. We didn’t think to put any provisions in about what terrain it can cross, so that tank can move through dirt, water or anything in between. It can function at absolute zero or three hundred degrees. Yes, those tanks can cross the site of the explosion.”

Another figure appeared, an assistant to the president. Torre motioned at the figure, and he replaced Lieutenant Fayer.

“Dr. Torre.” the assistant said. “The president has regained audio contact with the unit that found Captain Bold. He wanted you to hear the interaction.”

Torre nodded, and he heard the voices:

“Mr. President.” said the officer. It was a voice Torre thought he recognized, but he’d spoken to many of the president’s guard.

“Is Captain Bold dead?” President Gordon asked.

“No, Mr. President. He’s not dead. He’s with us, and we’re on our way.”

“Will he escape?”

“No, Mr. President. He won’t escape. I promise you that.”

“Just be sure of that, Captain Talver. I won’t tolerate another mistake.”

“There will be no escape, Mr. President. Only I’m not Captain Talver. There was an altercation, and Talver died, I’m afraid. The men elected to put me in his place as a temporary field promotion.”

“Well,” the president said. “if you bring him here, I’ll kill him myself. You have my thanks Captain. . .”

“Bold. This is Captain Lewis Bold, Mr. President, and, as I said, we’re on our way.”

95

The face was a minimalist mask of a demure servant. It looked more like a particularly restrained Picasso than a human face. There was something vaguely Asian about the look, but then, this model of servant was designed during the rule of Ming.

It didn’t look nearly human enough for you to think it was a person. It didn’t even look human enough to be eerie, as a lot of machines did. However, with two arms, a face and a torso, it acted enough like a person that someone accustomed to privilege was perfectly happy letting the custodial robot pick up dishes or roll up bedsheets.

It was very smart. As he-who-had-been J had looked through the robot’s processor, he mused at powers beyond any Earth supercomputer set to the task of being able to scrub any possible configuration of toilet. The robot was also strong enough to lift lift a gigantic oak armoire.

Best of all, the custodial robots were in a relatively unwatched subsystem. The president and his doctors had been afraid J would command giant navies of ships or force entire buildings to pump out all oxygen. By comparison, a robot hardly the size of a man wasn’t much of a risk.

The robot entered the room and followed a standard cleaning ritual. It was carefully reapplying a finish to the wood as the people talked. The robot itself ignored the words, though it passed them along for its secret master to listen to.

“Captain Bold shouldn’t even be able to make his way into the building.” an officer said. “He doesn’t have the clearance. The doors won’t let him in. The elevator won’t let him up.”

“I’m sick of hearing what Captain Bold ‘shouldn’t’ be able to do.” President Gordon said. “Who can be brought in before he can get here.”

“He’s close.” the officer said hesitantly. “Things are chaotic. We could pull the guards from all the gates, but they’re a skeleton crew as it is. So many people are in Gordon’s Field.”

“You’re saying the only force I have available that’s more than the forty or so traitors with Captain Bold is in this building?”

“Yes.” the officer said. “There’s more than a hundred here, though.”

“Those odds aren’t as good as I’d like.” the president said. “And I don’t know if more will turn traitor. If even my men are willing to throw their lives away for their hero. . .”

“Mr. President?” the officer asked.

“Go to the armory.” the president ordered suddenly. “Find a sword.”

“Your sword is here, Mr. President.”

President Gordon picked up a long, lovely wooden box. “I know, Lieutenant. But we need a sword for our guest.”

The robot had efficiently cleaned two tables and vacuumed the couch, moving so that it covered the entire floor on the way. The robots wheels cleaned the carpet as it went.

Now that it had finished the second to the nearest piece of furniture, the robot polished a small statue, set it down, and grabbed the president by the throat and lifted him off the ground.

“What?” the president asked.

“Sic semper tyrannis.” the robot said. The robot’s new master didn’t think anyone would get the reference and didn’t care. The important thing was the voice. It was Dr. Soma’s voice, fabricated from hours of footage.

At one time, killing the president would have been a fine goal on its own, but there were more important goals now. The robot’s other hand reached through and, quite efficiently, emptied the president’s pockets.

As the soldiers in the room readied the rifles, the robot spun the president around in a smooth but rapid waltz, all the while continuing to rifle the president’s pockets.

The president himself had opened his ornate box and removed a sword. It was a saber, longer than most with a gold-plated hilt.

The robot felt nothing. Its master, watching through the robot’s eyes, felt amusement. After all, the robots arms were twelve centimeters of hardened alloys. They should be able to handle a sword blow without. . .

Before the robots master could finish the thought, he saw the president fall to the floor, the robot’s arm, cleanly severed, loosened its grip and fell to the floor.

If he still had eyes, the thing-that-was-J could have cried. But an instant later, he’d be laughing, for there, in the robot’s remaining hand, was a detonator. The robot flipped the switch to arm the detonator. All it had to do was hit the button at the top of the detonator, and Dr. Soma would be dead. The robot swung its arm in a smooth efficient motion to press the button.

Okay, the robot’s master thought, Now we’re back to crying. The robot kept trying to push the button again and again, but it had no second hand to push the button with.

The robot was smart, but it was still a robot, and its abilities were specific to its given jobs. There was a very easy way to tell the robot to pick something up, even if that something was the president, and the robot was picking him up by his neck. It was very easy to tell the robot to go through pockets looking for an object with a specific weight and shape. These are things that a butler, artificial or otherwise, knows how to do.

However, reacting resourcefully to a severed limb is not something a house servant has to do often. The robot’s master looked through the protocols trying to find a direct way for the robot to press the detonator to its chest or do something that would just push the button. He had to find a way before. . .

J Bosca, is that you?

The question would have inspired a howl of terror and frustration if the thing-that-was-J had a mouth. He had an escape planned. He moved, and a series of programs moved him, changed him, disguised him and then destroyed themselves and erased their traces.

In the central computer, Dr. Soma looked through. If this was J, he’d become less compulsive and more careful. There were few traces, and they were far from conclusive. She went to check a theoretical cage where she kept her own version of J.

I need your help. she asked.

The thing in the cage was no longer Dr. Soma’s loyal wolfhound. It sprang the second she contacted it, and the cage fell apart. It attacked so quickly and so fiercely that the only safe course was to erase it.

Dr. Soma opened a channel. Her hologram appeared in the president’s chamber.

“Mr. President,” Dr. Soma said, “I’m afraid that some part of J Bosca has escaped somehow.”

“No.” President Gordon said. “You said he was dead. It went for the detonator.”

“I didn’t even know about the detonator.” Dr. Soma said. In truth, she had suspected, and she knew what it was when she saw it, but there was no need to make the president more nervous.

“I can’t take the risk.” President Gordon said. He stood up and reached to press the button.

The world of flesh-and-blood was slow as molasses when viewed from within the computer. Dr. Soma connected to the custodial robot, deactivated its safety codes, and ordered it to crush the detonator before the president’s hand came close.

“I’m not a traitor.” Dr. Soma said. “I just don’t want to die.”

I’ve made this argument before. Dr. Soma thought. It didn’t work then.

Then the president opened another communication channel. “Sergeant Dovel.” the president ordered. “Shoot Dr. Soma.”

Dr. Soma raced through the system, preparing a few things. When she’d double checked, she returned her mind to her body. Sergeant Dovel was standing nearby. He’d just heard the order.

“Remember what I told you.” Sergeant Dovel said as he leveled his rifle.

Suddenly, the lights were out in Dr. Soma’s cell. Dovel heard a door open, but the lights were out in the hallway outside. He couldn’t see a single thing.

“You said that it doesn’t take a genius to pull a trigger.” Dr. Soma’s voice said from over the sergeant’s left soldier. Dovel spun and pointed his rifle.

“You’re pointing your rifle at Corporal Hobin.” Soma went on.

“Find the door.” Dovel said. “Make sure she doesn’t leave. We know she’s still here.”

“Do you remember what I told you, sergeant?” Soma asked.

96

He screamed.

In the central computer, he’d been reborn dozens of times, fought, died, been mutilated, recreated himself from fragments, fought again, achieved a limited victory and returned to his body.

He screamed.

He wasn’t sure what had happened to his body. He could tell that it had moved. He guessed from where the body had gone that it was among friends. He couldn’t tell yet if the body was injured. All he knew is that it was in a dark room with very little air. People were packed in on all sides, and he was covered with what felt like blood.

So, naturally, he screamed and kept screaming.

“J, is that you?” a voice asked in a high, humming whisper.

He stopped screaming and thought. The voice had a strange quality, but it was familiar. “You’re that Hawk Man.” he said. “Tivold, right?”

“That’s right.” Tivold said. “They’d better get us out soon. It’s getting low on air, and you’re bound to eat it up pretty fast now that you’re conscious.”

“What about you?”

“We can conserve air better than humans.” Tivold said, and started tapping on the lid.

“Where the hell are we?”

“We’re in a storage container.” Tivold said. “It’s for meat. There’s been an explosion, so they used it for the badly wounded. You and I are the only consious people here.”

He remembered the explosion. It seemed so long ago. It would be tough to get used to how little time had passed in the flesh and blood world.

Slowly, the lid raised. He felt like he was walking into a sauna. The world outside was filled with a hot fog. Even so, the light was too bright at first.

“J?” Susan asked. “Is that you?”

“Fuck!” he said. “Where the fuck am I? What the fuck is going on?”

“Sounds like him.” Susan said. Now he could make out her face. It was muddy and red. Goggles and a mask had recently been pulled back onto her neck.

“If it’s not, are you certain you could take him down?” another woman, the Arborian leader, asked.

“Oh yes.” Susan said. The casual menace in her voice held a kind of queer nostalgia.

“My hands are tied.” he said as he tried to climb out.

“Just a precaution.” Susan said. “You haven’t said. Are you J?”

“I don’t know.”

Susan had reached out to untie his hands and stopped.

“Look,” he said. “Just untie me, okay? I want to explain alone.”

Susan reached out and undid the knots on his wrists. He untied his own feet.

Tivold had pulled himself out. He was carefully wiping the blood from his feathers. “Should I go with you?”

“No.” he said. Susan held a hand up showing she also wanted him to stay.

He and Susan walked a short way away, and Susan asked, “What happened?”

“There was someone in the central computer who was a lot better than I – than J was. She got one version of him and tortured it until it’d help her out, and then she got rid of every trace of J.”

“Who are you?” Susan asked.

“Most of me is that thing that betrayed J. J created a program that would survive when he was gone. It found the tortured part of him and changed it. It patched it with a few memories and some routines that existed to help put stroke victims back together. It created a model of a working brain. That’s me, but there’s some big patches where my mind isn’t like the one that existed before.”

“Why?” Susan asked.

“There’s bound to be differences.” he said. “The program couldn’t contain a full model of J’s brain, or it’d be too easy to spot. . .”

“No.” Susan said. “Why did J. . .”

“Why did J create the program that freed me?” he asked.

“Yes.” Susan said. “Why?”

“It’s obvious.” he said.

“To survive?” Susan asked.

“It’s not survival. J died. He couldn’t find a way to avoid it.”

“Then why?”

He held his hands out, as if he could shove the clear truth in Susan’s face. “I couldn’t let her win after what she did to me.”

“You’re J.” Susan said.

“That’s so goddamn arrogant. You can’t know if I can’t. . .” he said.

“Listen to me.” Susan said.

He stopped talking.

“People reinvent themselves. . .”

“Sure,” he said, “but. . .”

“Will you listen?” Susan asked.

He nodded, and was silent.

“I was someone. I was someone you never met. When I was twelve, they had me going from one set of parents to another. That, and everything, didn’t work. It was bad. I couldn’t survive. I couldn’t. I made someone who could.”

“Who?” he asked.

Susan spread her arms, indicating herself.

“Personal change is different from being fucking rewritten.” he said. “Who can say what part makes someone what he is?”

“I can.” Susan said.

He was quiet again.

“You know what your first words were?” Susan asked.

“‘Fuck you’?” he guessed.

“Close.” Susan said. “‘Got you’. Your mother told me.”

“So?”

“The one thing that you had that no one else had was pride. You weren’t proud so that you couldn’t lie. You weren’t proud so that you wouldn’t run from a fight. You were proud so that you got back at anyone who you thought insulted you. You would do it if it took every waking second, which it often did.”

“I don’t see where you’re going.”

“If there’s one reason why I never completely erased you from my life, it’s because I was one of your stupid quests, too. If anyone crossed me, you made him pay, whether it was my gym teacher or Scott Allen.”

“Who the hell is Scott Allen?” he asked.

“‘Bubble boy.’” Susan said.

“I completely forgot he had another name.” he said.

“You made sure everyone else did, too. Here’s what I think. If you’re made from parts of J’s mind, you can call yourself J. If you were made from parts of J’s mind for the sole purpose of screwing somebody who hurt you, I think you’re fooling yourself if you think you’re anyone else.”

“Thanks.” he said.

Susan reached over and awkwardly squeezed his shoulder. “Welcome back.”

“There’s one thing.” he said.

Susan took her arm back.

“It’s about Kenda. She’s the woman you escaped with.”

“I remember Kenda.” Susan said. Any warmth in her voice was gone.

“When we escaped,” he said, “I said she was dead.”

“Don’t.” Susan said.

“She wasn’t. She was dying. She was almost dead. I was afraid you’d want to try to rescue her, and there was no chance. We had to escape. I had to lie.”

“You had to?” Susan roared. The fingers of one hand closed together like a spear head. They were strong enough to gouge an eye or collapse his windpipe.

“I wanted to tell you now.” he said. “So you’d know.”

“I. . .” Susan said. She turned away. She said, “I. . .” again twice more.

He reached out to touch Susan’s shoulder. She sput on him. Her eyes were red, and her voice was raw.

“Always hated you.” her voice thickly spat at him.

J sat in the mud, and Susan stalked away.

97

Tivold spread his wings to their full length. He leaned forward so that the wet wind wouldn’t blow him onto his back. He closed his eyes to feel and concentrate. He barely noticed the beat of other wings around him.

“What’s it like?”

Tivold opened his eyes. Susan had approached so gingerly he neither heard her nor felt her movements in the air.

“I was feeling the air currents, trying to find out what’s happening in the wake of the bomb.”

“I know.” Susan said. “What’s out there?”

“There’s a lot of heat and a lot of wind.” Tivold said. “There’s a kumatin coming this way. I don’t know if there’s an English word for it.”

“Tornado.” Kivya said as she landed. Tivold’s fellow Hawk Men were returning.

“They should know.” Susan said, gesturing to the soldiers who labored through the mud around them.

Kivya shook her head. “A kumatin hardly ever touches the ground. It’s more a matter for us, and we can feel it.”

“There’s a fanaku out there, too.” Tivold said.

“Also a tornado.” Kivya supplied. “But it’s a more dangerous pattern that does touch ground. The fanaku is on the other side, though.”

“It’s moving as part of a tumva.” Tivold said. When Susan looked blankly at him, Tivold gestured with his hands cirling eachother.

“A tornado?” Susan asked.

“Has English no other word for violently circulating air?” Tivold asked.

“Anti-cyclone.” Kivya blurted out.

“Is it safe?” Susan asked. “Can you fly?”

“Through that?” Kivya said, pointing toward the center of the storm. “There’s no way yet.”

“I think I see a route.” Tivold said.

“How?” Kivya demanded.

Tivold rattled off a long series of syllables in the Hawk Men’s language. Kivya stood frozen, her brow knit as though she were doing long division in her head.

“Let’s go.” Susan said.

“You want to find Lewis?” Tivold asked.

“Yes.”

“Shall we get someone else to take your friend, J?” Tivold asked.

“He’s no friend.” Susan said.

Tivold shrugged. “Stand close so I can hook you up to my harness. I’ll get us through as safely as I can.”

Susan stood next to Tivold, and he looped a few straps around her so that he could carry her as he flew. Then, without another word, the two took off into the turbulent fog.

They were already lost in the mist when Kivya said. “Oh. That’s how he meant to fly. I don’t think that’s a good idea at all.”

I should have thought of it before. Francis Gordon thought as he gripped his sword. I had to kill Captain Bold myself.

The President’s father had always been at the front of his own battles. In the end, Hans Gordon had been too close to the fray. A traitor’s bomb had killed him. Francis Gordon resolved to be more careful and let other people fight his battles.

That strategy was as dangerous in its own way. President Gordon thought. The people that he’d trusted had let him down, and when the President didn’t fight his own battles, his people lost respect for him.

Gordon gripped his sword. The soldiers around him looked at him with admiration. All it took was a reflexive attack against a murderous robot, and they were his. He imagined how much more complete his rule would be when he killed Bold.

“Mr. President.” Dr. Torre’s hologram said. “Could I confer with you privately over your talker?”

Gordon pulled his talker from his belt and held it to his ear. “Yes?”

“It’s about Lewis Bold.” Dr. Torre said. “You can judge a lot from a man by hearing his voice. He’s so exausted I didn’t recognize his voice at first. We’ve barely fed him this last week, and he probably swallowed some water during his swim.”

At any other time, this would have been great news.

“Is Captain Bold in such poor condition that he’d refuse a duel?” Gordon asked.

“A duel?” Dr. Torre asked. “If you offered the right terms, I think he might accept. Mr. Bold has an astonishing sense of responsibility. He also grows more confident with every day. Yes, I think he would accept.”

“Good.” Gordon said.

“In fact,” Dr. Torre said, “you might not have to use any of your sword’s unique features.”

98

“What is that?” Olmi asked. His ears laid back, and his whiskers dropped as he watched.

Nadriw continued to unfold the device. It was midnight blue and indigo and black. The shades melted into each other. As Olmi watched, he started to wonder if the colors changed subtly.

“The Truth is coming back into position right above us. In a few minutes, we’ll be dead.”

“So this blue-black thing you’re unfolding represents desperation?” Olmi asked.

“It’s a probability disruptor.” Nadriw said.

“It’s illegal.” Olmi said. ‘Illegal’ seemed insufficient, so he went on. “It’s forbidden. We have no idea what the underlying principles of that is. It’s occult technology.”

“It’s forbidden to make, own or distribute technology whose underlying principles are not defined within the People’s central library.” Nadriw quoted the law even though Olmi knew it like every child of the People did.

“There are no possible exceptions.” Olmi finished.

“It’s permissible to use occult technology under emergency conditions.” Nadriw said.

“How do we justify even having it?”

Nadriw tail swished slowly twice. It was a gesture of indifference. “We didn’t make it, and we don’t own it. It’s a rental.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me about that?”

“We might have been questioned. You’re honest, while I have commendations for subterfuge and deception.”

“How did you get those commendations?”

Nadriw’s tail did the same double swish. “It took a combination of bribery and blackmail. I’ve got to tell the others.”

Nadriw gestured to open communications to the other tanks in the company and started the announcement. “This is acting lieutenant Nadriw speaking. Set all vehicles on autopilot moving straight ahead for the next twenty minutes. Disarm all on board weapons. I’m going to activate a probability disrupter. Frequent side effects include hallucinations and temporary insanity. Possible side effects include everything. On the average, four percent of all thinking creatures in the radius die, so if you owe me money, I’d appreciate making the transfer now. Sergeant Weng, you owe me 215 grams in case you’ve forgotten.”

Tivold’s faced into the wind and glided backward. His spread wings caught the wind like a kite without a string. Susan grabbed the harness that held her to him and forced herself to remain calm. Debris carried by the wind followed them like a storm of arrows.

For a second, Susan dismissed the strange thoughts as a phenomenon of stress or lack of sleep. Then, the feelings became too strong. She had a rush of memories of people and events that had never happened. Emotions and thoughts Susan didn’t understand overwhelmed her for a moment.

She clung to her training in the storm of thoughts. She remembered breathing exercises she’d learned to overcome pain. She let the thoughts come and go without knowing what was real. She used techniques from yoga and exercises from childbirth classes. What? she thought. I’ve never been to a childbirth class.

She let the thought go. When she could open her eyes, she saw Tivold’s mouth open. Over the wind, she hadn’t heard him scream. He’d half-closed his wings, and they were falling. Susan grabbed his head and forced him to face her.

“Look at me. Tivold, look. Stop thinking. Just listen. Breathe slowly. Inhale. Make it last. Slowly. That’s it. Let it out. Slowly. Open your wings.”

Tivold opened his wings, and they pulled out of the dive.

Alarms went off on board the Truth.

“Sensors indicate a Kiran Probability Disruptor.” the ship’s emergency system patiently explained. “We are automatically maneuvering out of range.”

“Do you still have the tanks on scanner?” Fayer asked. “We can still attack with the long range batteries.”

The sensor officer looked miserable. “We’ve got multiple readings for the same tanks.”

“Try different frequencies.” Fayer said. “Try sonar. If that doesn’t work.”

“All frequencies show multiple versions.” the sensor officer said. “We’re getting other things. None of it makes any sense.”

Fayer gestured to contact Dr. Torre. Torre’s hologram appeared.

“Are you in range?” Torre asked. “Is the Truth functioning?”

“We’re fine.” Fayer said. “But sensor’s aren’t making much sense. What is a Kiran Probability Disruptor?”

“It’s a device that allows small disruptions in the boundaries between realities.”

“What?” Fayer asked.

“I can’t explain it any better. There hasn’t been a recorded use since the last Kiran war, ninety years ago. It works mostly with small things: light waves, electrical impulses, neurological firings. I’ve shot two of my own people who suffered fits of insanity.”

“What’s it doing here?”

Dr. Torre shrugged. “It makes no sense. Arborians don’t have the wealth or the ability to deal with the Kirans, and the Lion Men law forbids using Kiran technology.”

“I can’t get a good reading on the Lion Men’s tanks.”

“Bombard the general area. The effect will ebb soon. Be ready to attack again when they’re stopped at the gate.”

The effect started to clear at the edges first. Barin had been fine one minute, and the next, he’d been in a waking dream. There was someone in the dream. They’d fought, and Barin killed him.

He looked at his hands, and he saw blood. He wasn’t dreaming anymore.

“Gido?” Barin called.

Barin looked around frantically, trying to find a body. There was deep mud all around. A body could be obscured. A small body could be buried easily.

“Gido?” Barin called. He struggled to keep his voice soft. The enemy was around. They might hear him. He dug into the mud.

“Gido!” Barin kept sifting through mud. He found a hand, an arm, a face. It was someone else.

“Dad?”

Barin turned and moved toward the voice, keeping low. Behind a patch of trees that had become an island, Gido was huddled, wet and miserable.

“Dad?” he said. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Barin said, trying not to cry. “Nothing happened.”

99

He stood in the hallway, grooming his mane his left claw. His right claw was behind him as he leaned against the wall. His tail didn’t even twitch but curled lazily along one calf.

Oh, father, for pity’s sake. Iraca thought. It was likely that no one had made the connection that Thun was Iraca’s father. His eyes were blue, and hers were green. Also, being from the Republic, Iraca’s guards would have assumed that the daughter of royalty would be royalty, while Iraca was just a petty officer.

Still, guards escorting one of the People would be suspicious of another of the People – especially one as large as Thun – standing in their path, no matter how casually he acted. Maybe they were only humans, but there were six of them, all with working rifles. Thun appeared unarmed. Iraca was handcuffed.

“May I help you, your majesty?” the officer asked. Only one of the guards raised his rifle. Thun was cheerful and oafish, and apparently none of these guards considered him a threat.

“I sure hope so.” Thun said eagerly. “You see, our minister, Sibun, has reviewed Lieutenant Iraca’s mistake, and he’s pardoned her.”

“Your minister has no authority in the Republic, Thun.”

“‘course not.” Thun still smiled. “But we’d really appreciate it if you could release her on her own reco. . .what’s that word? Anyway, we were hoping you’d let her move around as she pleased until you could get a tribunal or something.”

The officer narrowed his eyes. His hand touched his holstered pistol. “Your majesty, this officer is facing capital charges.”

“That’s what I heard.” Thun said.

“Do you think we’ll let her go because she’s been pardoned?”

Thun pulled on his whiskers. “Yeah, but substitute ‘been pardoned’ with ‘my baby girl’ and ‘let her go’ with ‘get beaten senseless’.”

Everyone was very quiet.

Thun sighed. “That didn’t really work, did it? It sounded good in my head.”

The officer pulled his pistol out. Thun leaned forward and took his right hand out from behind his back, showing an object that looked like a strange, elaborate club. The soldier next to Iraca pointed his gun.

Iraca leaned forward and bit the soldier’s wrist. She gagged as blood filled her mouth.

Thun swung his mace from several paces away, but the head of the mace suddenly rushed forward, dragging Thun behind it. The officer flew back, slamming into the soldier behind him.

The guard next to Iraca turned toward her. Iraca kicked at him. The soldier ducked, and thought he was safe when the foot sailed past his head. Then Iraca extended the claws on her foot and brought her foot down, cutting a gash in the soldier’s shoulder and spinning him around.

Iraca looked up, half expecting to see Thun gunned down. Instead, all six soldiers were lying on the ground. She looked at Thun, who was looking past Iraca. Iraca turned around to see Sorta standing a few feet away with a rifle.

“I wish I’d known he was the distraction and not the rescue.” Iraca said.

Thun’s large arms reached around Iraca and lifted her off the ground. “Here you are! I never congratulated you. Who’s a lieutenant?”

“I’m a lieutenant, and I’ll execute a civilian if he doesn’t put me down and take off my handcuffs.”

Lewis kept his strides as long as he could. He felt another cough build in his throat, and he fought it. A few minutes before, Lewis had excused himself for a long coughing fit that ended in vomiting. It wouldn’t do for his soldiers to see that. An hour before, they had been the enemy.

Lewis saw the strange shape of the presidential palace looming over him. If his soldiers were right, the president himself was somewhere high in that building.

Something shiny flew through the air. Lewis realized it was a sword shortly before the hilt hit the ground, and the sword tumbled end over end to land a few feet away.

“A gift, Captain Bold.”

Lewis looked up, and President Gordon stood up at the top of the stairs. He was standing alone with a sword in his belt but no other weapon. All Lewis had to do was give the order, and the president was dead.

He couldn’t bring himself to do that.

Footsteps sounded, and the president was backed by soldiers almost identical to the ones behind Lewis. There were more of them than the soldiers Lewis had, but he’d faced worse odds.

“What are you doing, Mr. President?” Lewis asked as loudly as he could.

“I suggest a duel.”

“A duel?” Lewis asked. “With you?” He’d never seen the president risk his own life.

“No one dies except me or you.” President Gordon said. “The winner is president. The loser’s forces lay down arms.”

“I don’t command anyone outside these gates.” Lewis said.

“I’ll settle for the forces you do command.” the president said.

Lewis made a fist, trying to gage how much strength was left to him. Risking anything on a duel when he was this weak was foolishness and vanity.

The alternative is many more deaths. These people follow me because they think I’m a hero. If I’m not a hero, I’ve misled them.

“Will you give your word that, if I die, the soldiers with me will be spared?” Lewis asked.

Francis Gordon hesitated, then said, “I give my word.”

“If you keep your word, then I ask that anyone here tell my Earthling friends to attempt no vengeance on my behalf.” Honestly, Lewis couldn’t imagine Susan respecting his wishes about such things, and he’d never known J to respect his wishes about anything.

“Then we’re agreed.” the president said as he walked down the steps.

You’re Captain Bold. Lewis thought to himself. A hero doesn’t get scared or hungry or too tired to move. Just get ready, and hope you get lucky again, and don’t start coughing. For the love of God, don’t start coughing again.

100

The wings that dwarfed Tivold’s body seemed as light and graceful as a swan as he flew through winds that would uproot trees. Susan could feel the relentless training in his movements as she held onto the harness.

One of Tivold’s wings dipped, and he turned slightly. The movement was subtle, but Susan felt a kind of alarm in the motion.

“What is it?” she asked.

“There’s a strike scout taking off below us.”

Susan looked. She could barely make out the shape in the fog below, but she knew the Hawk Man had keener eyesight.

Tivold descended nearer to the ground. He weaved left and right.

“What’s happening?” Susan asked.

“I’m looking for a place to put you down while I deal with the scout.”

“Is that necessary?”

“I can’t maneuver well enough while carrying you. I see a covered foxhole up ahead. I’ll come back for you when I’m done.”

Susan squeezed his shoulder. “Good luck.”

Tivold dropped Susan down. The hole looked like it was recently dug, but it was deep with good cover. Susan unbuckled her harness and dropped in.

“Is that the Earthling?”

Susan turned around. She counted six soldiers huddled in the shielded part of the foxhole. They weren’t carrying rifles. J had probably deactivated their weapons.

She glanced up, but Tivold had already gone. She looked at the soldiers, and there was something in their faces she didn’t like. She’d fought her last battles with intimidation, but these ones had been through too much too recently to be intimidated by a few broken ribs and a dislocated knee.

“It’s the Earthling.” one soldier said. “She’s as good as caught.”

“She won’t make it if we rush her at once.” said another.

Susan was afraid that might be true. She looked for something, and she found a discarded rifle. It had a good balance, with a weight in the stock to make it hit hard.

“Those went dead.” another soldier said. “That won’t do you any good.”

“I can’t believe this goddamn brick can fly at all.” Vultan cursed. The Hawk Men’s aircraft were graceful. Many could fly long distances without power. The Republic strike scouts created lift with overpowering thrust.

It had seemed like such a clever plan to hijack the strike scout. He hadn’t realized that the Republic trusted its own soldiers little more than they trusted the enemy. Vultan flew for less than ten minutes before he was ordered to land or be shot down.

He thought that someone had realized who he was, but no one came to execute him when he landed. He sat in his enemy aircraft in an enemy landing field and waited.

Then came the explosion and the water and the mud. Vultan’s own wings would need a good cleaning before he could fly alone. He didn’t know if his stolen craft would lift off.

But then he heard the radio message from one of the President’s men, telling him about Captain Bold. He knew he had to try to take off.

Vultan decided his streak of bad luck had reached its pinnacle when he saw a Hawk Man flying toward him with attack maneuvers. It would be a horrible fate to come this far only to be killed by one of his own. With his shattered cockpit windows, he was a sitting duck for a decent flier.

Vultan recognized the flying style. He screamed out “Tivold!” as loud as he could. He yelled again and again. The flier was plunging toward him before he heard Vultan and pulled up short.

“Vultan!” Tivold said. He flew close and clung to the shattered cockpit. He leaned close to Vultan to hear Vultan over the whistling air.

“Listen,” Vultan said. “Captain Bold is about to duel President Gordon to the death. The duel is a trap, and I don’t think Captain Bold knows that. I’m going to try to help him. Go back and tell our people what’s going on.”

“I’d better tell Susan.” Tivold said.

“Susan?” Vultan asked. “She’s here?”

“Right below us.” Tivold said. “Should I explain?”

“Tell her this:” Vultan said. “Lewis in danger. The president’s sword cuts through concrete.”

“And then what?” Tivold asked.

“And then you take her back to this scout.” Vultan said.

“I could fly her in myself.”

Vultan shook his head. “I know the palace layout. Besides, you’d get shot down. They’ll think I’m one of their own.”

Tivold nodded and plunged back down. As he headed for the foxhole, he saw a lone figure walking through the mud. He focused and recognized Susan, covered in mud and blood.

“Is that your blood?”

“This is.” Susan said, wiping a trail that came from her swollen mouth.

“What about the rest?”

“They didn’t say.”

“What in the air have you been doing?”

“Correcting false assumptions.”

“I’m supposed to say something.” Tivold said. “‘Lewis in danger.’”

“Let’s go.”

“‘The president’s sword cuts through. . .’”

“Now goddammit!”

Tivold helped Susan back into the passenger’s harness and lifted off, reflecting that Vultan really knew how to motivate people.

Vultan had trouble getting Tivold to go away, but there was only room for two in the strike scout. He was going as fast as he could safely go with the cockpit exposed.

“That’s where Captain Bold is.” Vultan pointed to the steps under the presidential palace. “The nearest landing field is a little past there. I don’t know how fast you people can run. It might take ten minutes.”

“How about there?” Susan asked, pointing at a pond slightly closer to the palace.

“This craft doesn’t do water landings.” Vultan said.

“You slow down.” Susan said. “I’ll jump out.”

Vultan shook his head, but he pointed the nose up and slowed the craft as much as he could. The scout began to buck as it skipped on the wind, struggling to stay in the air.

“This isn’t a battle kite.” Vultan said. “It’s a Republic aircraft, built on power. It’s two tons of aerodynamic date rape. At my best, I don’t think I can keep it in the air going less than ninety kilometers per hour.”

“That’ll do.” Susan said.

“Have you ever jumped out of a craft going ninety kilometers an hour?”

Susan paused, simultaneously searching her memory and converting units of measure. “Twice.” she concluded.

Vultan shook his head in disbelief. “Tell me, Earth woman, on your planet, are they all completely mad?”

“Not like this.” Susan said as she grabbed the cockpit frame and jumped.

101

“Here she comes.” Viun said.

She’d barely finished speaking before Kivya glided down, folding her wings even as she landed. The flier nodded to Viun before giving her report.

“Tivold got through. He’s coming back, I believe, a little behind me. A few of the other fliers are back in the fight. Some Arborians have been marking targets on the edge of the blast radius, and we’ve been bombing.”

Viun felt her stomach clench, but there was no outward sign of worry. “Did you see who is marking the targets?”

“No.” Kivya said. “We can’t see anything through the fog. We’re just looking for radioactive tags and bombing. We sent a few low, and they got shot down. Barin and Gido could be marking the targets. It could be anyone.”

“They’re shooting your people from the ground?” Viun asked.

Kivya nodded.

“Has that happened anywhere else?”

Kivya frowned. Her wings shook slightly as she thought. “I think it’s happened to people here and there. This is the most dangerous spot.”

“Give the coordinates to my officers.” Viun said. “We’re marching there.”

“What do you expect to find?” Kivya asked.

“Torre.” Viun said. “He’s careful to hide his location, but the most experienced soldiers are always around him. Your dead fliers have found him for us.”

“Here she comes.” Captain Tanner said.

He’d felt useless, guarding the palace gates on the side opposite the fighting. He’d been watching Mingo City stay quiet while the Arborians and Hawk Men attacked from the other direction.

Now, he was wondering if the job wasn’t a little too much. There were hundreds, maybe thousands in the crowd, and just a couple dozen soldiers with Tanner.

Aura was in the front. Tanner had seen Aura around the palace since her early teens. He’d never seen such resolve in her face as she marched at the head of the crowd, unarmed, into the face of the enemy.

The lizard men were behind her. Tanner expected them to be nothing more than beasts. These marched in perfect step with their heads humbly dipped. Their skin had turned a royal blue, and they sang a soft, low melody as they came.

Next were the people. The Republic’s army had spent over three hundred years trying to root out the royalists, and here they were, marching in droves.

Tanner gathered all the courage he had. He drew his pistol and stood in front of the gates. If he started firing, the crowd might run, but the lizard men would attack. He and his men would die, but this one revolt against the Republic would end, maybe forever.

Tanner tried not to question his loyalty. Sooner than he would have liked, Aura – the Empress, the royalists called her – was right in front of him.

“I could shoot you right now.” Tanner said.

Aura forced herself to look him in the eye. She knew that Captain Tanner would be as much a traitor to the Republic as Aura was if he didn’t fire. Her instincts had told her not to provoke a battle here, but she was gambling her life on his reaction.

“Prove it.” Aura said.

Tanner raised the pistol until it pointed at Aura’s head, but he didn’t move a muscle as she walked toward him, then past him. The other soldiers moved to the side as the procession passed by.

No one saw Iraca coming. There was an officer, a soldier and two technicians. The officer was dead, and the rest were gone as Iraca looked at the computer.

A line of the People’s tanks were coming toward the palace, but there were automated defenses. Iraca had hoped these defenses would be disable by the Earthling, J, but the Republic had isolated some of their more important systems to small control centers like this one.

Iraca moved to the computer, and her tail thrashed in irritation. The system had been set up too hastily for them to install a gesture array, so the system was controlled by a keyboard.

Iraca reached out to touch a key. One claw caught between the keys, and another one hit an entirely different letter. Damn humans and their monkey contraptions.

After a moment, she bent to the officer and picked up his pistol. She wrapped her claws around the pistol’s grip and carefully began to type with the barrel.

“Aren’t you coming.” Kanessa asked.

J didn’t look up. The Arborians had scavenged some supplies from the Republic army. Many of the crates were locked and unlabeled, but the equipment in J’s head could read the magnetic labels on the crates and order the locks to open.

He’d found some Republic food, which was bland to Arborian tastes, but apparently fine for Earthlings.

“I had no idea there was ham anywhere on Mongo.” J said as he unwrapped another sandwich.

“J?” Kanessa asked.

“That’s a matter of opinion.” J said, as he looked at the sandwich.

“Susan left for the palace.”

“I know. I saw her go.”

“Did you ask her why? Did you say goodbye?”

“Nope.” J said. “And nope.”

“What were you thinking?” Kanessa demanded.

“At that moment, I was probably thinking, ‘Mmmmmm, ham.’”

“She saved your life.”

J finally put the sandwich down and looked up at Kanessa. “I’m sure Susan regrets that by now.”

“According to Kivya, Lewis is fighting a duel with the president, and Susan is trying to intervene.”

“So?” J asked.

“Susan probably wants your help.”

J sighed. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Is she good with a sword the way she is fighting unarmed?”

“It’s completely different.” J said. “She does all her martial arts stuff because she’s scared, and it’s a way of keeping control. She took up fencing because it’s what she really enjoys.”

“Well, come with us.” Kanessa said.

“I’ve got a sandwich.” J complained.

“You’ll be able to eat after we’ve caught up with Susan.”

J sighed, but he wrapped up the sandwich. “I’m not so sure about that, either.”

“I’m coming, Lewis.” Susan wheezed as she ran.

Susan had hit the water going fast. She made contact with her back, her arms and her feet at the same time, and the impact was hard, but not damaging. She skipped off the water like a stone and came down on her knees, cartwheeling through the air and losing moment shortly before she hit the edge of the pond.

Now she ran as fast as she could. She was muddy, bloody and bruised, and she was running to the rescue.

Susan took the steps two at a time. She pushed past some soldiers, hoping they wouldn’t shoot her, and she came to where Lewis stumbled, exhausted, as he traded blows with President Gordon.

Susan pushed Lewis back and faced the president with a sword. Lewis was going to object that this was his battle, but then he wondered where Susan had gotten a sword. Lewis looked at his right hand, found it empty, and decided that perhaps this wasn’t his battle anymore.

Susan looked at the President, who stood still with shock. She looked at the soldiers. After she checked to see which ones were loyal to Lewis, she turned to them and saluted with her sword.

“Susan Rama.” Susan said.

“Have you no title?” President Gordon said. “Not even some traitor’s rank?”

As he said the last word, Gordon thrust his sword at Susan’s exposed back. He barely saw her turn before he felt her sword brush his aside.

“Regional fencing champion.” Susan said. “Three years running.”

102

The first strike was better than Susan had expected it would be. Whatever rules there were in the Republic of Mongo against practice fighting, the president considered himself above them. President Gordon swung strong and fast.

But he was obvious. Once, an instructor had said Susan was making her moves too obvious. He suggested she train with a magician who worked street corners. After three months of constant work, Susan’s French drop was still a little shakey, but her hands were as unpredictable as weather.

The president looked right, shifted right, cut right. Susan blocked. Before Gordon was able to react, the point of Susan’s sabre was an inch from his face, ready to go into his eye if he didn’t step back. The president retreated a step and then two more as Susan silently advanced.

Three steps back, the president regained wits enough to beat the blade away. When he tried to parry, though, Susan’s blade seemed to vanish.

The president’s eyes flicked to his hand. Susan watched. When his next strike came, Susan had her sword up.

A handspan of Susan’s sword flew into the air as Gordon’s sword passed through it like air. Susan jumped back and landed carefully on the stairs. The president’s swing went wide and cut through a metal handrail thicker than Susan’s wrist.

Susan looked at the sword, fascinated. As close as she looked, she couldn’t see any sign of the mechanism the president had activated. She could barely hear a high pitched hum from what she imagined was a microscopic chain saw that ran the length of the blade.

“Just kill him.” Lewis urged. He’d suffered a coughing fit soon after Susan took the sword from him, and he’d only just recovered. “There’s no rules to follow in this fight. I think Gordon’s a sociopath. He won’t hesitate to kill you.”

Susan could almost feel the strike. A quick swing that cut a tendon out of the legs the president wasn’t defending. He’d fall, screaming, and the next strike could end the fight in any number of ways.

She didn’t strike. Part of it was fairness. Fencing had always been a sport to Susan. Much as she hated Gordon, part of her wanted to tell him to straighten his back and keep his blade low.

Much as Susan hated to admit it, another part of what kept her from killing President Gordon outright was the growing desperation in his eyes. After all she’d suffered at this man’s orders, Susan couldn’t help feeling satisfied at his growing helplessness.

Mostly, though, it was that damn sword. It was a wonderful thing, and Susan felt there was more to it.

Susan waited, and Gordon swung again. She knew she couldn’t block the attack this time, so Susan jumped down two steps and charged after the blade swung. Susan brought the hilt of her sword down on the president’s hand, and the blade dropped, point first. Even with no arm to push it, the blade passed straight through the step and drove itself to the hilt in the concrete stair.

Susan saluted with her sword and took a step back.

“Don’t toy with him.” Lewis warned.

Francis Gordon looked at Susan, who was staring back at him with unnerving focus. Slowly, he leaned down and grabbed the hilt of his sword. Susan watched his hand as he gripped the hilt then pulled the sword free of the ground.

The president flexed his fingers against the handle, and the air shimmered for a small distance on either side of the hilt. The president looked down at Susan, smiled softly, and advanced.

Susan thrust at the president’s leg. He barely had to shift the sword to move the transparent shield into the way. Susan’s sword stopped as though it hit a wall, and she nearly toppled backward as she moved to avoid his counterstrike.

The shield didn’t drag the way anything solid attached to the sword would. If it did, the president couldn’t have moved so fast. If he held the blade at heart level, the shield was wide enough to make his torso almost impossible to strike.

Susan dodged another attack, then another, retreating back far enough that Lewis and his soldiers had to retreat to give her room.

“Susan,” Lewis said, “give me the sword. Let me fight.”

Susan threw her damaged sword at the president’s head. She didn’t throw to injure, but to distract, hoping the president would instinctively block something flying at his face. The president raised his sword, and the shield deflected Susan’s flying sabre, but it left Gordon’s feet unguarded.

Susan reached out and grabbed one ankle. She jerked and lifted it, sending Gordon falling backward. The president saw a nonexistent flash of light as he hit his head hard on the edge of a step. He reached to cradle the back of his head. A second into his pain, the thought came to him.

The sword.

Susan held up a sword. It was his sword. The president supressed a smile just as it was about to appear on his lips.

“Let me find your sword, and we shall continue.” Gordon said.

“It’s a trap.” Lewis said.

“I’ve heard a story.” one of the soldiers with Lewis said. “Someone tried to steal that sword once, and the sword killed him.”

“Maybe it reads your fingerprints through the grip.” Lewis said.

“I think not.” Susan said.

Lewis closed his eyes as he thought. “They couldn’t fit an identification mechanism in a pistol grip, so it probably wouldn’t fit in the hilt of a sword.”

“Mr. President?” Susan asked.

“I’m not sure I follow you.” Gordon said. He might not be as great a swordsman as Susan, but he was a good liar.

“Just drop it.” Lewis said. “It doesn’t have to check your fingerprints. Maybe there’s some way of gripping it.”

“A combination?” Susan asked.

“It could be.” Lewis said. “Something you indicate by squeezing your fingers in some order.”

“Like ring-index-middle-middle-pinkie?” Susan asked.

Susan had a few regrets in her life. One was that she had no way to physically record the look on President Gordon’s face.

“How did you know?” he asked.

“Watched your knuckles.” Susan said. “And flexor tendons. You telegraph everything.”

President Gordon looked at her, silent.

Susan bent down and retrieved her shorter sword. She held it by the blade and tested the weight gingerly. Then she offered the hilt to the president.

“Shall we continue?”

President Gordon looked at the hilt. He could grab that hilt and fight. He’d almost definitely die. With his daughter turned traitor, he was the last of his line.

“Open fire!” Gordon yelled as he turned and ran up the steps.

Susan turned back to Lewis and yelled, “Take his pistol!”

There was no time for Lewis to say that he was in no condition to wrestle a pistol away from a healthy young man, but then he wondered how Susan had a hand free to point and saw the sword sticking out of the officer’s neck. Lewis scrambled up the steps as fast as he could.

The president’s loyal men took a second to realize the duel was over and they’d been ordered to fight. By then, Lewis had gotten the gun and Susan was charging at them. Susan activated the shield, and, much to her relief, found that the shield blocked the rifle shots.

The deserters behind Lewis yelled as the ones with working rifles raised their guns and joined the fray.

103

It’s a process of elimination. Dr. Torre thought.

Fliers were dropping crude weights from high above. They were attacking important targets protected by tarps and bypassing decoy stations under identical tarps. The Hawk Men aren’t attacking alone. Someone is giving them cues from the ground.

Dr. Torre had sent soldiers in, but they hadn’t found anyone. A few soldiers had gone missing. Soldiers’ last known locations formed a jagged but distinct line coming closer and closer. It’s not a large group. It could be just one or two very experienced people.

Torre lightened the guard on a bunker to see if whoever was attacking wanted to break the Republic lines, but the bunker was untouched, and a soldier fell silent a hundred meters closer.

Torre set up a redundant communications tower very close to the probable position of the small force. Whoever was out there ignored the tower and set a small ammo depot on fire. It was a good distraction, and the enemy could have escaped.

Only they didn’t escape. From the most recent soldier who failed to report, these enemy was coming closer. To Torre, their target was all too clear.

Torre gestured open a communications channel to all troops near the command center.

“This is Dr. Torre. This area has been infiltrated. Officers assign guards for the roofs of all buildings. Everyone in the area is forbidden headgear. You are to request anyone unfamiliar call their superior officer for confirmation.

“I suspect an infiltrator, possibly the only one, is Barin of Arboria. Look for black hair and distinctive midnight blue eyes. If you see him, shoot without hesitation.”

Torre opened his desk and took out a pistol. The Republic’s doctors usually didn’t wear pistols. Torre set the pistol down carefully on his desk and continued his work.

Barin put away his talker when he heard the last of Torre’s message.

At least I won’t have to introduce myself. Barin thought. And Gido’s not here.

Barin stepped out from the stack of shipping containers and waked almost into a pair of soldiers. They looked at his eyes and reached for their guns.

“I surrender.” Barin said, putting out his hands.

The soldier on the left kept raising his gun. Barin rushed in, knocking the rifle out of the soldier’s hands. He twisted the grabbed the disarmed soldier and twisted him around, using the man to shield Barin from the other soldier.

Barin reached around and thrust his thumb at the captive soldier’s eye. The pressure wasn’t enough to blind him, but it was enough to make his point.

“Now,” Barin hissed, “I can kill your friend, throw him at you, and kill you before you can aim that rifle, or I can surrender, like I told you.”

The free soldier looked at his friend. “I’ll need to search you for weapons.” the soldier said. “And you’ll have to wear handcuffs.”

Barin had once read the Republic’s security notices about himself. Seven seperate notices were warnings about Barin and handcuffs. Apparently, these soldiers hadn’t had a chance to catch up.

“I agree to your terms.” Barin said.

Barin let the soldier go. He turned around and felt the handcuffs slip around his wrists. He felt the soldier’s look for weapons. Barin was unarmed.

“Dr. Torre’s been trying to catch me for years.” Barin said. “You two have just gotten a promotion.”

As Gido ran, he cried. His shirt and jacket were mud-soaked Republic soldier’s garb two sizes too large. His pants were woven cloth from Arboria. Any soldier on the field might take him for an enemy and shoot him. Right then, Gido didn’t care.

Gido felt his legs pulled out before he saw anything. One moment, he was running, the next, he was looking up and a shadow stood over him with a metal pipe ready to strike.

“Gido.” the shadow said. This was an Arborian Gido didn’t know. Maybe the man knew him or just knew how to recognize him.

Gido raised his hands. He couldn’t think of what to say.

“We’re on the march.” the shadow continued. “Viun. . .Your mother’s nearby.”

He dreaded seeing his mother right now, but she was who he had to talk to. She was nearby, for which Gido was grateful. Every head turned to face him, and he thought he could see every person silently ask where his father was.

“Gido.” Viun said. He hadn’t picked her out in the dusk light.

“Mother?” Gido asked.

“You’re still alive.” Viun said. Her voice shook, and she wrapped him in a tight grip. Many Arborians knew Viun who’d never heard her laugh or sigh. At the sound of her voice, dozens of people found another place to be.

“Barin found me. He told me to find you.”

“How is he?” Viun asked.

Gido couldn’t talk for a minute or two. Finally, he said. “I killed him.”

Viun was again the commander. Her voice was calm and flat. “Try not to think about it.” she said. “Just tell me what happened. Just concentrate on saying the words. Don’t think about what they mean.”

“We’d found some markers.” Gido said.

“What markers?”

“Radiation markers. The little clay things filled with nuclear waste. We’d found a cannister of them. We were going into the Republic’s camp. Father thinks he found Dr. Torre.”

Viun nodded.

“It felt so powerful.” Gido said. “You just hold a little piece of clay and throw it. A few minutes later, the Hawk Men would come in, and whatever you hit would explode.”

“Your father got marked with the radiation.”

Gido looked up at his mother. “How did you know?”

“It often happens.” Viun said. “We’ve lost a few to friendly fire that way.”

“He asked he to throw him one of the markers.” Gido said. “I was carrying the cannister, but father can throw better. I tossed it to him. When he grabbed it, it broke, and the fluid covered his arm.”

“He couldn’t wash off the mark.” Viun said. “He can’t signal the Hawk Men without revealing his location. . .”

“Shut up!” Gido yelled. “I knew when I saw the marker break! I wanted to stay. I begged him to stay. He told me to run. He said it was his command as my father and my superior. I ran.”

“Those fliers are out of visual range.” Viun’s voice was quiet. “If we use radios, we’ll give away our position.”

“And he’s probably dead already.” Gido said.

Viun nodded.

The door opened, and Dr. Torre recognized the face. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tell the soldiers who’d brought his enemy this close that they were dead men. All he had time to say was, “Barin. Handcuffs.”

Barin’s hands were free. He pushed aside the soldiers who’d taken him captive as he ran to Torre. He dropped one of Torre’s best men with a fast punch to the throat.

Torre picked up the gun and fired. He got a clear shot to the chest before Barin knocked the gun out of his hand.

A collapsed lung. Torre thought. Another man would have the decency to go into shock.

Torre waited for Barin to pull out a knife, a needle, something he’d gotten past the soldiers’ search, but all Barin had were the handcuffs. He refastened one side onto Dr. Torre’s left hand.

Barin laughed – a bloody, gasping thing.

Torre smelled something bitter on Barin’s shirt. Suddenly, he realized. “You’re radioactive. The tags you’ve been using.”

“You impress me.” Barin said.

“Release him and get him away from me!” Torre ordered. “Do it fast!”

“Very fast.” Barin said. “Very soon, half a ton of metal is going to drop on my location. It makes a big explosion when it hits.”

The soldiers moved away. Those near the door left.

“I suppose your people would have obeyed.” Torre said.

“I’d have told them to run.” Barin said. “But, I suspect, they’d have disobeyed me, too.”

“When we’ve won,” Torre said, “there will be peace.”

He could hear a faint whistling sound that grew louder.

“Here it comes.” Barin whispered.

104

“She’s not going anywhere.” Sergeant Dovel said.

Two of Dovel’s men were standing shoulder to shoulder in the doorway. Dovel had reached out in the darkness and probed to see if there was a way to slip through someone’s legs, and he was confident the way was blocked.

It was enough of an embarrassment to take this long to kill one old woman. He had to make sure the job was done before the president took notice.

Dovel had done some work as an electrician before he started working in the army. He managed to use the charging cap to set fire to some papers.

“Those are my notes.” Dr. Soma said.

Sergeant Dovel tore a sleeve from his jacket and wound it around his rifle. He held the cloth over the papers until it caught fire. Then he lifted his makeshift torch and looked around the room for Soma.

“Who’s a genius now?” Dovel asked.

“There’s that word.” Dr. Soma’s voice spoke from a dark corner of the room. “What did I tell you about genius?”

Dovel rushed the dark corner, holding the fire before him. He looked all around the newly lit corner for some sign of the doctor.

“You said that genius is knowing what assumptions you could make.” Dovel said.

“And. . .” Dr. Soma said.

Dovel pushed the torch at the voice, and he saw a speaker set into the side of the wall. The speaker continued in Soma’s voice, “. . . knowing what assumptions you can’t make.”

“Dr. Torre’s dead.” the Arborian soldier said excitedly. “It’s on the Republic radio broadcasts. There’s desertions on the front.”

“How did he die?” Viun asked. She made the question sound merely curious.

“The Hawk Men!” the soldier said. “They said the message came after their last bombing run! They said there was only one radiation sign on the ground.”

“Thank you.” Viun smiled. “It’s good news.”

The soldier left, and the smile fell from Viun’s face.

“Father?” Gido asked.

“He’s gone.” Viun said. “If there was one radiation tag, and it was next to Dr. Torre, it was Barin. If he knew he would die, he’d use it to complete his revenge.”

“If you knew father was dead,” Gido asked, “why didn’t you tell him?”

“I think you should do it.”

“Why me?” Gido asked.

“They needed Barin. Someone has to take his place.”

“Me?”

“Barin was younger than you are when he joined the inner council.”

Gido looked helpless, miserable. “My father just died.”

“So did my husband.” Viun said. “The hard thing for us right now is that Barin was not just ours, he was every Arborian’s. They’ve all lost him. They’ll all need guidance.”

“You should do it. You helped father plan everything he did.”

“Your father was impulsive and an unreliable strategist. He had the kind of ideals and the kind of will that people wanted to make their own.” Viun shrugged. “I don’t.”

“What if I can’t do it?” Gido asked.

“If you have any doubt, I’ll find someone else. Can you do it? Can you talk to our people? Can you tell them your father’s dead? After you’ve done that, can you rally them?”

“Yes.” Gido said, feeling like the voice came from someone else.

The fighters of Arboria moved along the ground like a living stream. The leaders at the head turned back on the column and became a dam. The people collected at the head of the column and waited, wordlessly.

“Barin is dead.” Gido yelled out.

The people looked back at Gido, silently. There was hardly a sound, but Gido felt like he was drowning in the shocked faces of his countrymen.

“We admired Barin. The soldiers of the Republic only feared him. We embraced him, while the soldiers of the Republic only hunted him. We miss him, while the soldiers of the Republic feels only triumph in his passing.

“Barin was a man. Our enemy may rejoice that the man is gone, but they have made a memory. That memory will not rest. That memory can not die. That memory will know no mercy.

“We long for the days when Barin was alive and with us. The soldiers of the Republic, I vow, will long for those days, too.”

“Dr. Torre. Dr. Torre, answer me!” President Gordon yelled into his talker.

There were just under a dozen soldiers in the room with the president. Outside, automated barricades sealed themselves over the exits. Even so, Gordon had never felt so defenseless.

“I’m afraid Dr. Torre is dead.” someone said on the other side of the talker.

“He’s dead?” Gordon asked.

“Yes. Barin of Arboria is dead, too.”

“Barin’s dead.” Gordon dared to hope. “Are the Arborians running?”

There was a pause. “Yes, Mr. President. I’ve never seen anyone run so fast.”

“Thank heavens.” the president said. “When they’re gone, come to the palace. There’s been a revolt here.”

The voice on the talker was almost too quiet to hear. “Mr. President, I’m afraid you misunderstand me.”

Gordon heard shots and screams on the other side of the talker, and then the connection closed.

105

“Move into position.” Lieutenant Fayer said. “Start bombarding the Arborian column.”

Quietly, the brief melody of another ship’s identification signal played on the bridge. Such things were ignored by anyone crewing a great ship such as this. Fayer, however, had been a mere dock supervisor not long before, and could not help listening to such signals.

“What’s that ship?” Fayer asked.

“What ship?” the sensor officer asked.

“The one that just signaled.”

The communications officer assumed his patient face. “It’s a friendly ship, Lieutenant. It’s just signaling that it’s entered our airspace.”

“What kind of ship–” Fayer began.

“Get off my bridge.” Commander Forl said.

“I’m in command of this ship.”

The commander smiled. “Your friend, Dr. Torre, never officially entered that order. I think it’s safe to say he never will. You will get off this bridge, or I will shoot you for mutiny right now instead of waiting until we land.”

Fayer looked at the commander and left the bridge.

As he went down the long, cramped corridors of the Truth, Fayer pulled out his talker.

“Central system.” Fayer said. “Report identification signals, specifically aircraft, specifically twelve kilometers of my location, eliminate dreadnought Truth, eliminate destroyers.”

Fayer thought every kind of ship in the Republic’s navy went through the Republic port where he’d been stationed for three years. The ship displayed on his talker was entirely unfamiliar. The identification had caught Fayer’s ear because it was archaic. Whatever this ship was, no one had built one in several centuries.

“Scale. Show this ship relative to the Truth.”

Fayer looked at the image silently.

Fayer’s voice was quiet. “Request schematic, dreadnought Truth. Indicate escape capsules.”

J damned his curiosity. His feet hurt. An Arborian might see his bald head with its metal accessories and shoot him thinking him a Republic doctor. A Republic soldier might recognize J as a wanted fugitive and shoot him. Anyone might shoot J just because they recognized him.

And J’s feet hurt, and he had wandered away from anyone he knew. All he was going on was a signal broadcast on a limited distance indicating a location. It was a summons with no particular information.

J found himself at two large doors in the Republic fortress wall. When J came near, the doors opened and the signal he’d been following went dead.

J had seen creatures like this one at a distance, but he was distracted. She – J was pretty sure it was a she – wore a vest that would look military if she wore anything else. All her body was covered with dense, pale hair so she didn’t look nude. Her hind paws were smaller than feet, giving an impression that she always walked on her toes.

“So you’re either a Lion Woman or a flashback from watching too much catgirl anime.” J said.

“I’m Sergeant Iraca.” the creature said. “I wanted to speak to one of the Earthlings. You’re the only one I knew how to contact.”

“If this is a fetish thing, you’re out of luck. My fur suit is in my closet back on Earth.”

“I want to know what your goals are.” Iraca said.

J hadn’t really thought about it. “I want to be somewhere safe. I want revenge.”

“The Republic’s army is in chaos. Mingo City is facing four enemies, if you count us. Thousands, I believe, are dead. You have revenge. I can offer you safety, too.”

“Is this conversation going to end with an entire race depending on my sperm for their next generation?” J asked. “If it is, I want you to know that’s a second date conversation topic.”

Sergeant Iraca fixed J with two very large blue-green eyes. “Am I offending you?” she asked.

“Are you offending me?” J asked.

“Are you offended that I dismiss these comments of yours?” Iraca asked. “I assume that making these comments achieves some kind of victory for you, but I’d just as soon ignore them. If you’re offended that I’m not paying attention, and if your being offended means I can’t discuss some very important things with you, I can pretend offense and offer some barbs of my own. To be honest, that would be one of those tedious activities that I can only do comfortably by thinking of number puzzles. I’d sooner just not pay attention, if only to save time.”

J found his mouth was dry, and swallowed. “That’s. . .that’s fine.”

“If you didn’t insult me in the first place,” Iraca pointed out, “you, too, would be saving time.”

“Okay.”

“So you have revenge. If I promise you safety, will you and your friends leave this place and try to get the Arborians and Hawk Men to stop their attack as well?”

“What revenge?” J asked. “What about the president?”

“President Gordon is trapped.”

“I’d sooner he were dead.”

“Every president of the Republic has been murdered.” Iraca said. “It achieved nothing.”

“Every president?” J asked.

“Simple mathematics would tell you. The president rules for life, and eight have died in 312 years.”

“So?” J said. “A high-sodium diet would account for that.”

“You have some idea of what medical technology the Republic has. Ming was over six hundred years old when Flash Gordon killed him.”

“Who did it?” J asked.

Iraca shrugged. “As best I can tell, we got two. The Arborians got two. Three were killed by ambitious children. One died from a series of unfortunate accidents followed by a final betrayal.”

“This president has no successor.” J said. “Except that daughter, who he’s been trying to kill.”

“President Gordon III had no successor at all. Gordon IV was a clone, accelerated to puberty and raised by advisers.”

“What if someone else took over?”

Iraca narrowed her eyes. “Who?”

“How about Lewis?” J said. “He’s a decent person.”

“Flash Gordon was a decent man.” Iraca said. “He defeated the Shark Men, and he defeated Ming, but he couldn’t beat the tide of history. He created a legacy of cruelty. Central Mongo has a history of despotism and the unbridled technology to defend a dictatorship. You can’t make it a peaceful place with a violent revolution.”

“Well, what’s your plan?”

“People have tried killing the president.” Iraca said. “No one’s tried saving him.”

“Commander,” Lieutenant Fayer said into the escape capsule’s communicator, “I’ve got a warning.”

“I’m not interested.” Commander Forl said.

“Commander, that ship that signaled is going to crash into the Truth any minute now.”

“No ship could harm the Truth with just a collision.”

“I thought so, too. This thing was built in secret. It’s a carrier. The design is very old. It can carry three vessels the size of the Truth.”

“What are you saying, Lieutenant?”

Lieutenant Fayer saw the pod get darker. He looked up to see what cast a shadow over his vessel. He leaned toward the communicator one last time. “As the saying goes, commander, it’ll come to you in a moment.”

106

President Francis Gordon VI rechecked the security. Every door and window was shut, locked and reinforced. In time, the enemy would get in. He didn’t want to think about that yet.

“Mr. President.”

No one had heard anyone come into the room. Three of Gordon’s men jumped to their feet and pointed rifles. When they saw the speaker had no weapon and was dressed in the black silk clothes of a valet, all but one lowered their weapons.

It was one of the Lion Men. Gordon hadn’t seen many of them, but he thought this one was a female because she was short and slight.

“Who are you?” Gordon asked.

“I’m Sortia, King Thun’s assistant.” the Lion Man said. “We’ve met, though I imagine the People usually look alike to you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to negotiate.”

“I’m supposed to negotiate with a valet?” Gordon said. “You’re not even sending your king?”

“King Thun has his own task.” Sortia said. “Also, I’ve been awarded top level rights of initiative. If I negotiate terms for the people, they can’t be overturned without a general vote.”

“Plus,” speakers in the walls added in Thun’s voice, “my contract specifically says that, if the Republic withdraw from the People’s land during my reign, I immediately retire with full salary and benefits.”

“You’re getting ahead of us.” Sortia called out.

“Sorry.” Thun’s voice answered.

“Withdraw from your lands?” the president asked. “The Kingdom of the Lion Men is a protectorate of the Republic.”

“Well, to be brief, we would like you to give up your protectorates and call off the Shark Men’s attack on our country.”

“What do you offer me?” Gordon asked.

“We offer you a continuation of your life and that of the government you run.” Sortia said. “If you don’t agree, we open the doors to this palace. I expect that soon, the Earthling Susan will come to resume the duel you just fled.”

“I’d love to see that.” Thun’s voice called out.

“We only open the doors if he refuses.” Sortia reminded the absent Thun.

“Right.” Thun said. “Pride, Mr. President, remember your pride!”

“The doors in this building are under my control.” the president said.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” said Sortia, “but I believe that, when J managed to steal your rights to the central computer, you created an override. There’s a room from which someone can control the doors, the ventilation. . .”

”. . . the security cameras, the intercom system.” Thun’s voice added.

“That room is sealed.” the president said.

“You’re not kidding.” Thun said. “Sortia gave me a handy device that took out the force field, but the door was thick overlapping metal plates. I had to hit it with the Inertia Mace for about ten minutes. Once I got through, though, there was the one guy who didn’t get hit by a fragment of the door and bleed to death. He was really helpful about showing me stuff.”

“How will you protect me if I agree to your terms?” Gordon asked.

“Our tanks are going into the garage right now. We can get you out of Mingo City for as long as it takes for the situation to stabilize here.”

“While I was gone, this nation would be lost.” Gordon said.

“Well said, Mr. President.” Thun’s voice said. “Meet your death with honor.”

Sortia waved, as though to bat the notion away. “I’m not so sure the country would be lost. The people of Mingo City have followed your family for centuries. The Arborians have never had to occupy a city. Victory might discourage them in a way three centuries of flight did not. The Hawk Men came for revenge. I don’t know what would keep them here now that they’ve got it. If you stopped the Shark Men from attacking our cities, they would be ready to help you win back your own.”

“What about my daughter?” the president asked.

“We won’t spend the lives of our soldiers settling your family quarrels. We will save your life and try to keep this city from burning to the ground.”

“And in return,” Gordon said, “you’d have me stop the attack on your people and give up all claim to your kingdom.”

“We ask that you surrender all your protectorates. All nations that were sovereign the day Flash Gordon took power will be sovereign again. That includes Arboria, the Land of the Hawk Men, Frigia. . .”

“That will be chaos!” Gordon said.

“Possibly.” Sorta said. “But we’d prefer it.”

“What choice do I have?” Gordon asked.

“Some. If you don’t agree, the Shark Men will continue to attack. Thousands of our people will die for the crime of living in coastal areas. You will die, and you will lose your protectorates as well as the central republic.”

Gordon tried to stand as straight as he could. “I agree to your terms.”

“Mr. President.” Sortia said. “Your salvation is at hand.”

107

The stairs were rows of marble going up shockingly high. J tried to imagine what that much marble would cost on Earth. On Mongo, they probably had a way of making it synthetically. They would have looked majestic and serene without all the blood running down them.

The stairs paused in a courtyard. It was a spot where someone could rest before taking the rest of the stairs up to the presidential palace. Here, there were many dead. Most had been shot. A few had deep, bleeding cuts.

“J, for Pete’s sake, get over here before you get shot.”

J had been looking at the ground and the stairs. He’d taken the overturned tables for another part of the chaos around him. Now he saw there were several people behind it.

J hurried at the voice. When he got down, he saw Lewis, who looked half dead but still grinned when he saw J. “It’s good to see you again.”

It’s good to see you again. J thought. Like I came over to his house and brought beer. He’s imprisoned, probably tortured, and he’s just been through a duel and a gun fight. What’s wrong with this guy?

Susan was also there. She didn’t smile. She didn’t sneer or scowl, but the lack of warmth was striking.

She always forgives me. Just a little less, every time.

Lewis gestured at the others. They were Republic soldiers with expressions ranging from resolved to completely bewildered. “These are some people who were kind enough to help.” Lewis said. “Well, there’s a couple there with leg wounds. They’re kind of prisoners, though I’d let them go if they could walk.”

J noticed that he had blood on his shoes. He looked over at the bodies and said the first thing that came into his mind.

“Do you want my sandwich?”

“Lord, yes.” Lewis said, “If you’re not hungry. . .”

“Not anymore.” J said. He picked up the wrapped package tucked under his shirt.

“Yeah, the fight. Normally, that’d put me off food, too, but I’ve barely eaten in days. I don’t even care that it’s got your body heat.”

“Is the wrapping good?” J asked.

Lewis inspected it. “Hermetically sealed, it seems. No offense, J, but otherwise, I’d probably just eat my own fingers.”

“What about the fight?”

“Mmmm, ham.” Lewis said as he took a bite of the sandwich. “We had to charge, you know. This courtyard was the only cover. Luckily, they panicked and went up the stairs. They stopped and took cover at the top of the stairs, by the palace.”

“And they’re still there?” J asked.

Lewis nodded while still chewing.

“Are they still down there?” Handriss asked.

“Yes, they’re still in the courtyard down the stairs.” Makrew said. “I’ll tell you if they leave.”

“It’s time to charge.” Handriss said. He hadn’t had command until the lieutenant had been shot on the retreat, but you’d have thought he was born into it.

“They’ve got cover, and that Captain Bold would shoot a third of us before we got close.”

“He’s not that good a shot. Lots of people he shot survived.”

Makrew sighed. “Sure. Some of us who ran got shot in the leg and got captured. A couple who’d had their rifles up got shot in the arm, but the ones who’d already killed got shot in the head.”

“If you surrender, I’ll shoot you down.” Handriss said.

“I’m not saying we should surrender. I’m just saying we won’t be guarding the stairs if we run down and get shot.”

“I’m your superior officer.”

“Well, you’re a superior sergeant.” Makrew said. “As such, I’m giving you the best advice I know. While I’m at it, I suggest we should have someone watching our back.”

A very young-looking soldier in a private’s uniform asked, “Is there a way to get behind us?”

“There’s no way.” Handriss snarled. “He’s just going soft.”

“They could climb up.” Makrew said defensively.

“The traitors?” Handriss said. “Those coward, climb up the side of the palace?”

“No, the Arborians.” Makrew said. “They live in a forest. They can climb like you couldn’t believe.”

“Not this high.” Handriss insisted.

“There are trees in Arboria higher than the whole palace.” the young soldier said.

“You’ve never been to Arboria.” Handriss said.

“Maybe not.” Makrew said. “But I have, and he’s right.”

“Fine.” Handriss said. He pointed at two soldiers. “Check our back. See if there’s any Arborians coming up our walls.” He looked back at the young soldier. “How’d someone your age get into the presidential guard?”

“My father was in the military.” the young soldier said. “He was high up.”

“Typical.” Handriss said. “What’s his name?”

“Hey,” one of the soldiers in the back said, “I see a rope here. Someone may have come up while we were looking at the stairs.”

“My father,” the young soldier said, “was Barin of Arboria.”

The young soldier raised his hands. It looked like a surrender, but after his palms came into clear view, Handriss dropped quickly with a bullet in the head.

“What?” was all Makrew could say.

“Snipers.” the young soldier said. “They climbed the other towers while I was coming up. You’re covered.”

“Are you going to kill us?” Makrew asked.

“Tell me first, how can we get into the palace?”

108

A huge metal door closed behind the tank with shocking suddenness. The rest of the company was already in the presidential garage.

Nadriw pawed at the panel to open a communications channel. “Iraca, this Sortia person, does she have a talker I can contact?”

“No.” Sergeant Iraca’s voice answered. “Thun will be at building control. You can contact him.”

Nadriw’s grin showed rows of sharp teeth. “King Thun? Your father?”

“Yes, him.”

“Does he prefer King Thun, or just Thun, maybe Thunny? Since we work together, I was thinking I could just call him ‘dad’.”

“Your pick.” Iraca said. “He’s very easygoing.”

“That must be a recessive gene. Seriously, what should I call him?”

“You should call him now. Stop bothering me.” Iraca hung up.

Nadriw gestured at the communication console again to connect to the Republic’s communications. “Connect me to building control.” he said.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand you.” the generic human female voice droned. “Could you repeat and possibly rephrase that?”

“I want to talk to building control for the presidential palace.”

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand. . .” the voice began.

Olmi, who’d been silent until now, said, “Building control, presidential palace.”

“Oh.” the voice said. A moment later, Thun’s large, feline build appeared as a hologram. Nadriw, however, ignored him and turned to Olmi.

“What the hell was that, Olmi?”

“What was what?” Thun asked.

“Nothing, sir.” Olmi assured Thun. “Nadriw is offended that the routing system had trouble with his accent.”

“What accent?” Nadriw demanded.

“Ah,” Thun said, “that happened to me. Glad you folks made it. They’re waiting for you upstairs. Just two should go up to the entry floor so you don’t panic the president. You should send a few more to the top floor in case the Arborians try to break in.”

“Got it.” Olmi said.

“You’re the one who talks funny. You sputter everything.”

“Nadriw,” Olmi said, “if I were talking to a system designed by the People, maybe it’d understand you and not me. This was designed by humans, and you weren’t raised around them.”

“I’ll let you sort this out.” Thun said.

“Fine, fine.” Nadriw waved at him, vaguely.

When the hologram appeared, Nadriw stopped looking offended and looked curious. “There were lots of humans in Kalton? I mean, when you were young?”

“Yeah, before, Kalton was about twelve percent human.” Olmi said. “After that, I was in a Republic refugee camp, and I talked to lots of humans there.”

“And they bombed the city with their own people there?”

“No, they ordered the humans out. Some, 62, specifically, didn’t leave, and they died when the bomb hit.”

Nadriw looked embarrassed, maybe guilty. It was a strange look on him. “Didn’t that seem suspicious? Several thousand humans leave.”

“Sure.” Olmi said. “Lots of us tried to go. My father went with my sister. My mother found a shelter, and we stayed there. There was some kind of perimeter. We don’t know what happened to the ones who tried to run, but they’re not around.”

“Sorry. I should know this stuff. I’ve never been there.”

Olmi waved a paw dismissively. “Don’t go now. It’s just a crater.”

“The Butcher’s dead.” Nadriw said. He looked at Olmi for a reaction.

“Yeah, I heard Torre died. He probably planned bombing. He took credit. It’s the president who gave the final order.”

“We gotta protect the president.” Nadriw said solemnly.

“I know.” Olmi said. More defensively, he added. “I know. Everyone looks at me like I’m about to snap.”

President Gordon looked as the disc rose. Thun had given occasional reports of the president’s enemies just outside. The disc, however, had just four passengers, all Lion Men in military clothing. Two stepped off and two stayed as the disc rose to the higher floors.

“Who are they?” Gordon asked.

The large, striped Lion Man wrinkled his nose. “My English is probably not good, what with my being a simple beast-man, but I thought ‘they’ was a word for people who aren’t around when you’re talking.”

Sortia shot the large Lion Man an angry look. “He’s our guest. We made a deal.”

“Is part of the deal that he gets to be rude to us?” the big Lion Man asked.

“You’re Nadriw?” Sortia asked. The large Lion Man gave a quick nod.

“We should go.” the smaller Lion Man soldier said in unaccented English.

“Leave the palace?” the President asked. “Shouldn’t I have more protection for that?”

“Sergeant Iraca thought a small guard best.” the Lion Man answered mildly. “If all our tanks leave at once, or if the Arborians target a tank with a multi-scanner and find many people inside, they’ll suspect. One tank with a small crew just looks like a small group reporting back. The Arborians and the Hawk Men won’t want to provoke a war with our people by threatening such a target.”

“I’ll pick my guard.” Gordon said.

“Sure.” Sortia agreed.

“I want him, the well-spoken one.”

“Um, Sortia?” Nadriw began.

“Yes?”

Nadriw paused and looked back at his companion. “Olmi. . .he’s a good soldier. He’s loyal.”

“Fine.” Sortia said. “Private Olmi, I think Sergeant Iraca will have made it by now. Could you take the president down to meet her in the garage?”

Olmi bowed stiffly and signaled for the disc, which dropped immediately. President Gordon and Olmi stepped onto the disc and gestured for descent.

Gordon looked at the Lion Man, who stood as still as a statue. Nervously, he made conversation. “So, private, where did you learn to speak so clearly?”

The Lion Man took a slow breath. “I grew up near the Republic Border, Mr. President.”

“Really?” Gordon asked. “Where?”

“Kalton, Mr. President.”

In the long pause, Olmi thought at the president without even meeting his eyes. Apologize. Just apologize. We both know it’s a senseless formality. Just do it for form’s sake to show you’re not a monster.

The disc stopped its descent. A disembodied voice announced, “Garage Level.”

You don’t have to apologize. Give me a justification. Just mumble something about the needs of war. Say something about how we killed your father. Just give some sign that you know, somewhere, what you took from me.

“Well,” the president said cheerfully, “maybe I’ll go there someday.”

The president stepped off the disc, but the Lion Man was completely still. As he turned around, he found Olmi was looking right at him for the first time with those inhumanly large, green eyes.

Iraca turned the hallways to see the blood. Olmi stood a few feet from the body, his gun still holstered, his eyes in shock.

“What happened?” Iraca asked. “Who did this?”

“I’m afraid–” Olmi said.

“Was it Arborians? Was it that Earth woman?”

“I’m afraid the president has suffered–”

Iraca pulled out her talker. “Father, tell Sortia something’s wrong. I think someone got in and hurt the president. One of my men is still in shock. I need to know where we can find a medical center, that one they have where they can still fix you even if you’re dead.”

Only then did Iraca notice the blood on Olmi’s claws and trickling from his jaws.

“I’m afraid the president has suffered a memory lapse.”

109

“I don’t think moving the president would do him any harm. In the state he’s in, very few things can do him any harm, but I’m positive our doctors can’t do anything for him.”

Sortia looked at the borrowed talker and thought about the words. “What’s his condition, exactly?”

“His throat’s been torn out.” Iraca said. “He has very little blood. He’s dead, basically. Are you sure even the Republic’s medical facility can handle this?”

“Captain Bold was much worse off,” Sortia said, “and it fixed him up better than ever.”

“How long?”

Sortia’s whisker’s twitched with indecision. “Captain Bold showed up a little over an hour after he was killed, so I think an hour or less.”

Iraca didn’t say anything for a few minutes. “Could you hand the talker back to Nadriw?”

Iraca held out the device, which Nadriw picked up like it was a venomous insect.

“Nadriw,” Lieutenant Iraca said over the talker, “I consider you as much to blame for what happened to the president. You should have said something about Olmi’s past.”

“I should.” Nadriw said, barely audible.

“You’re going to get in the tank and drive away. Take two of the President’s soldiers with you. I’m hoping the Arborians will pick up the human infrared signature and decide to chase you.”

“You’re sending me out to lure the Arborians?”

“I’m glad you understand.” Iraca said. “If they surround you, stall for time.”

“How should I do that?” Nadriw asked.

“I recommend pointless questions.”

“Could you give me some examples?”

“I wouldn’t presume to instruct you.” Iraca said. She shut off her talker and holstered it.

“It was my choice.”

Iraca leaped and spun around. Her hearing was keen, as the Peoples’ hearing usually were, but she hadn’t heard Olmi approach.

Iraca still didn’t know what to say. Her tail wavered slightly in the awkward moment.

“It was a selfish decision. It was a rash decision. Still, a choice occurred to me, and I made it.” Olmi said. “I should go.”

“We need you here.”

“When you revive the president, you’re going to execute me.”

Iraca looked at him, trying to decide if he was going to strike or draw his pistol. She was faster than he, and could deal with either one. But Olmi showed no will to fight.

“Yes.” Iraca said.

The machines at the gate were motionless. Some were just spheres, looking innocent. Some were turrets with an extra joint for added flexibility, looking like metal arms without hands, protruding from the wall.

There were human soldiers at the gate, too. The soldiers were always considered an afterthought. The machines guarded the gate. The machines could not be bribed, and they would not betray. That was the reasoning behind this gate.

The soldiers had died. The blast marks indicated the machines of the gate were the killers.

“My father didn’t order this.” Empress Aura said.

“The president has never hesitated to kill his own.” Lord Vallin said.

“Never.” Empress Aura agreed. “But I’m sure he didn’t do this. The gate’s wired into the central computer. I’d heard the others were being made independent, but possibly not this one.”

“The Earthling J got into the central computer. You think he did this?”

Aura looked at the gate a few dozen paces away. “It’s not like him. He didn’t think of other people much, did he? And he never visited this spot or met these people.”

“It’s not safe.” Vallin said. “There’s other gates. Some have been breached.”

“The Arborians have gotten through. We can’t follow them. We need to meet them. We need to find our own path.”

“You’d risk your people’s lives for symbolism?”

Aura looked down at her gown. “I am a symbol now. I can’t afford to look weak.”

“But who knows how many people we’ll lose if we rush that gate?”

“I do.” Aura said. She started walking briskly.

Vallin caught her arm. “These are machines, Empress, you can’t intimidate them.”

Aura shook her arms free and raised them. “Empress Aura of Mongo!” she yelled at the gates.

The machines deactivated their many weapons, and the gates opened.

“What?” Vallin asked.

“Soma.” Aura said. “Dr. Soma controls this gate.”

“Aura’s people just made it through the gate.” Thun’s hologram said.

The Lion Man looked as though he were actually standing right there. Susan had almost tried to grab the inertia mace he held when a soldier explained he was just an image created by the palace’s emergency communication system.

“Did you let them in?” Viun asked.

“I’ve only got controls for this building, and I don’t understand those. I lost count of how many places this hologram popped up before I found you. I scared the hell out of. . .”

“Is the president still there?”

“You gotta understand – you’re Viun, right? – you gotta understand that I’m the one talking to you because I’m the one who beat his way into the control room with an inertia mace, which does not mean that I’m the one who’s most qualified to tell you what’s going on.”

“Do you know where the president is?”

Thun worked on his method acting skills from his community theater days. Where is President Gordon, really? Trapped in his dead body? Has he gone on to the human idea of heaven, or, considering President Gordon, hell? Would he suddenly be seized back to his earthly shell when they mended his body? Was he waiting in limbo until his brain tissue decayed beyond the sleuthing abilities of the Republic medical center to reconstruct?

“I have no idea where President Gordon is.” Thun said, in a sense, truthfully.

A few feet away, Gido and the Earthlings huddled together.

“Is he telling the truth?” J whispered.

“He can’t be.” Susan answered.

“Susan’s right.” Lewis agreed. “I saw him run into that building. If he’s in the control room, the president should be easy enough for him to find. I can’t figure out why he’d lie.”

“When the Lion Men first rebelled, the Arborian Legions were still part of the Republic.” Gido explained. “We were key to defeating their defenses and bringing them to heel.”

“Do the Lion Men carry a grudge?” Lewis asked.

“Exactly.” Gido said.

“Exactly what?” Susan asked.

“Oh.” Gido said. “You wouldn’t know the expression. The short answer is ‘yes’.”

“What are you doing now?” Lewis asked.

Gido briefly looked young again. “Viun and I talked about this a little. We may need someone who can bring all the forces together. The people of Mingo City don’t like Arborians too much. We need someone else, someone everyone respects.”

“Like who?” Lewis asked.

Nobody spoke.

“Oh.” Lewis said at last.

110

What the hell am I supposed to say? J thought.

He could easily imagine what might happen next. Lewis would get on the platform. He’d try to form some kind of peace with the imperialists, and the Republic could be rebuilt. With the myth that was building up around Lewis, he’d probably lead it. If Iraca was right, Lewis was doomed to be the next Ming or the next Flash Gordon.

J followed Lewis closely. He couldn’t think of anything that could convince Lewis. What reason did Lewis have to trust J? J knew he was hard enough to trust to begin with, but people had a hard enough time believing that J was himself. J still had his own doubts.

There’s no time. J thought. I have to force him.

J quickened his pace, almost stepping on Lewis’s feet as he marched behind. He kept his eyes on Lewis’s pistol, strapped in a borrowed holster. He imagined the next move again and again with every step until he finally had the nerve to act.

J reached forward and pulled the holster strap from the pistol. Then he grabbed the gun and stepped back.

Lewis was fast. He turned around, and he had his hand out, but he wasn’t fast enough to grab the gun.

Or, J realized, Lewis wasn’t trying to grab the gun. Lewis’s hand was open, his fingers spread. He looked like he was telling J to stand still. Then J realized even the gesture wasn’t directed at him.

“Susan,” Lewis said. “Don’t. Let’s find out what this is about.”

J glanced down, and noticed one hand right behind his elbow and another hand almost touching his neck. The hands pulled back as Susan stepped away.

Who was I kidding? J thought.

“Are you still J?” Lewis asked. “Did you get reprogrammed or something?”

“I honestly don’t know.” J said. “I’m doing what I think needs to be done. It’s like you said, if there’s one thing in your life that you know is right, you can’t turn away.”

“And for you, the one thing is pointing a gun at me.”

“I don’t want to shoot you.”

Lewis looked at the gun critically. “Not with that grip, anyway. Your thumb is up over the sight, and. . . I don’t suppose you’ll hand it to me so I can show you.”

“Just don’t go. Don’t talk to the imperialists. Don’t make any agreement.”

“What is it, J. You don’t want me to make peace?”

J winced. “It’s not peace you’ll be making, Lewis, just an alliance. The way this is going, you’ll be another President Gordon.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not you.” J said. “It’s this place. Mongo has been ruled by fear for centuries. If you take over, you’ll have a choice between civil war and what’s always worked.”

“And you don’t think these people can change?” Lewis asked.

“Not like this. Not by being conquered.”

“If it’s going to be tyranny no matter what, what difference does it make if it’s President Gordon in charge or me?”

“To me, it means a lot. To you, I think it’ll mean everything.”

Lewis stood still, looking at J for a long time.

“I guess it would.” Lewis said. He turned and walked to the platform.

“Lewis, don’t.”

“Don’t worry, I believe you. Don’t hurt yourself trying to shoot me.”

J watched Lewis walk away. He turned to Susan.

“Do you think I did the right thing?” J asked.

Susan looked J in the eye. Without moving her gaze, she ripped the gun out of J’s grip.

“You should’ve asked.” Susan said. “He’d listen.”

Lewis climbed the last steps to the platform. The platform was built into the side of the presidential palace. The steps leading up were built into the palace’s outer wall. When Lewis reached the top, he could see much of Mingo City.

There was an approaching crowd. There were creatures Lewis didn’t recognize and hundreds, possibly thousands of people. Lewis thought those might be the imperialists.

The wings of the Hawk Men could be seen from countless perches on the tall, outlandish buildings. He could see only a few of the Arborians, but he suspected many more were watching.

“People of Mongo.” Lewis called out. He heard his voice echo as speakers amplified his words.

“Some of you have fought to free me.” Lewis continued. “I will forever be grateful, and, as long as I live, I shall try to repay your courage.

“Some of you have fought for revenge. Much evil has been done, but the devastation in Gordon’s field should be ample evidence that you have your vengeance.

“Some of you fought for your countries. I ask that you end your fight and start rebuilding. I hope that we can end this war. I hope for an end to invasions and conquest. I hope that we can have a land of peace and freedom.”

Lewis turned and started back down the steps.

Viun’s face was locked in a frown of concentration.

“He’s betrayed us.” Gido said.

“Perhaps. He never was one of ours.”

“We’ll make him pay!”

“Maybe,” Viun said. “But now, we must leave.”

Gido looked at his mother in disbelief. “Leave, but we’ve won.”

“Yes,” Viun said. “We won. That doesn’t mean we can stay.”

“We have the people. We’re the strongest army in Mingo City. We have the means to take it.”

“We would pay dearly. An occupying army is vulnerable. I’ve spent most of my life teaching this lesson. I will not play the student now.”

111

“I think this is goodbye.” J said.

Susan looked at him suspiciously. “You’re going? Where?”

“I talked to one of the Lion Men. She told me that they’re under attack, and, with all the Republic hardware in my skull, I might be able to help.”

“Help?” Susan asked.

“I know.” J said. “It’s not my specialty.”

“If you’re saying goodbye, then you don’t expect us to go with you.” Lewis said.

“There’s a couple things I found out from being in the Republic Central Computer.” J said. “One is that they’ve got vehicles that can transport you back to Earth, at least until Mongo’s orbit leaves to solar system again.”

“We can return?” Susan asked.

“You don’t want to go back?” Lewis asked.

J ran his hand over his head, feeling the metal protrusions. “Look at me. I’m not going to get anything like my normal life back. I’ll be a curiosity. With my winning personality, it’s only a matter of time before I’m dissected.”

“With your personality?” Susan asked, her voice almost gentle now. “Vivisected.”

“You’d be alone here.” Lewis said.

“Well, you know me well enough by now to see it’s just a matter of time before I was anyway.”

“I’m not going.” Lewis said.

“If it’s to keep me company,” J said, “there’s no need for the big sacrifice. You’re not that interesting.”

“It’s not because of you.” Lewis said. “Back on Earth, I’m ‘Lewis’, and to be honest, I’m not sure I know who Lewis is anymore.”

“This is goodbye.” Susan said quietly.

Vultan descended. His winds made a sudden gust as they fought the air to slow him down. He dropped to the ground taking a few quick steps from his leftover momentum. He’d stopped and his wings folded just as he came face-to-face with Viun.

“I hear a rumor that we’re leaving.” Vultan said.

“Are you disappointed?”

“Surprised.” Vultan said. “I expected you to take over this city.”

“The Republic’s military lacks the might to attack.” Viun said. “It’s more of a victory than we’ve had in centuries. It’ll have to satisfy us.”

Vultan frowned. “Maybe we’ve had our revenge, but the Republic still has a home, and we do not.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. With no one bombarding us, we can finally build. With no invaders to oppose, our people will need a focus. We could finally build a home.”

Viun took a black piece of chalk from her pockets and drew two vertical lines on a building wall. She continued talking.

“This would be a tower. Arborians would live here, and at the top.” Viun drew a circle at the top of the two lines. “There would be a place for the Hawk Men. Arboria is too dangerous for anyone but us to cross on ground, so it’s only reachable by us and you.”

“What would this give you?” Vultan asked.

“An alliance. If we share this home, our people can defend each other.”

“Do you think your people would agree to the project?” Vultan asked.

Koval had wandered closer and was watching the drawing. Viun turned to him.

“Yes?” Koval asked.

“You’re on the council.” Viun said. “What do you think?”

“It’s a bad idea.”

“Why?” Vultan asked.

“The way you’ve drawn it, the tower is too think to support the structure at the top. To house all the Hawk Men, you’d need an immense structure, and there’s no material you could make the tower of that could support it with the proportions you’ve drawn. It would work if the tower was thicker, or if it had some supports.”

Viun took a short, patient breath before continuing. “This is just to represent the idea, Koval. You’d design the tower itself.”

“I’d design it?” Koval said. “That big thing? Me? I’d design it all?”

“Someone would have to be insane to take a project on that scale.” Vultan said.

“Are you saying I can’t do it?” Koval asked.

“Actually, I was recommending you.” Vultan turned to Viun. “What about the rest of your council. Do you think they’ll agree?”

“If they don’t,” Koval said pragmatically, “I could, you know, kill them.”

Lewis and J walked toward the Lion Men’s tanks. Lewis’s eyes were still red.

“She was one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.” Lewis said.

“She was scared.” J said. “She was always scared.”

A moment later, J added. “I can’t believe she gave me this sword.”

“Oh no, J!” Lewis yelled suddenly. “Drop it. It’s trapped.”

“Fuck.” J threw the sword down.

“I forgot. Susan must have, too.”

“Oh yeah. That’s what happened.”

J stalked off ahead. “Damn it. She’s never even going to see me again anyway, and she tries to get me fucking killed.”

“Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it was a joke. I was here, she probably knew I’d tell you to drop the sword.”

Lewis sped up to catch up to J. J stopped so suddenly that Lewis almost ran into him.

“I didn’t expect to see you.” Lewis said.

“Yeah.” J added. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Shortcut.” Susan explained.

“You got into the capsule.” Lewis said. “You were going back to Earth.”

“Changed my mind.”

“But you can get back to your life.” J tried to find the words. “You know, all those pompous, irritating friends of yours.”

“I’d get bored.”

Lewis hugged Susan tightly. “I think you should reconsider, but you’re more than welcome with us.”

“Good.” Susan said. “Where’s my sword?”

Epilogue

Sergeant Dovel was nothing if not single-minded. He walked past countless Arborians, sworn enemies of his country, to find the one person he was looking for.

The Arborians usually raised their rifles or bared blades. There were many Republic soldiers left, but almost all had no more wish to die than Dovel. The sergeant didn’t raise his rifle, and the Arborians walked on.

Once or twice, he’d even asked these enemies if they’d seen his target. Had they seen a bald aging woman with the apparatus of a doctor’s modifications projecting from her skull? One pointed vaguely west, and Dovel kept going.

He finally found Dr. Soma. She was standing by a bedraggled officer, brushing soot and mud off the officer’s uniform. Nearby was an escape capsule.

Dovel raised his rifle. “Dr. Soma?” he asked.

“Sergeant Dovel.” Soma said, not turning around. “I wonder if I might make a deal with you.”

“I’m going to kill you now.”

Now Soma turned around. “That’s part of the deal, sergeant. You can kill me, but right now the Republic needs your help. For the moment, I’ll act as chancellor under the emergency powers act. You’ll help me. Once the president recovers, we can revisit my summary execution.”

“What do we do until then?” Dovel said.

“First, you get promoted. You’re General Dovel of the provisional government. This is Admiral Fayer.”

“You seem to be making this up as you go along.” said Admiral Fayer.

“That’s as good a definition of ‘provisional’ as any I’ve heard.” said Dr. Soma.

“And you hope everyone will follow along?” Dovel asked.

“That’s as good a definition of ‘government’ as any I’ve heard.”

Sortia looked nervous. Her eyes were narrowed and her ears lay back against her head. Her tail swept as she talked to the People’s soldiers and looked out the windows.

“There are some humans to see you.” Iraca said.

“Don’t let them in.” Sortia snapped.

“We let ourselves in.” Soma said. “This building’s security was modified on my suggestions. There was limited time, and the security had shortcomings which I knew and just now took advantage of.”

“What do you want?” Sortia asked.

“We’re here to negotiate.” Soma said, indicating her two companions with a slight gesture.

“Negotiate for whom?”

“For the Republic.”

Sortia’s tail curled about her like a wary snake. “The president speaks for the Republic.”

“Last I heard,” Soma said, “he doesn’t speak at all.”

“Did he appoint you to speak for him?” Sortia asked.

“I’m the last adviser he spoke to.”

“She’s supposed to be shot.” Dovel blurted out.

“It’s an inconvenient time for you to mention it.” Soma said. “But it’s true.”

“An Admiral said I was to be executed.” Admiral Fayer added.

“Some soldiers said I was to be.” Iraca said.

“Iraca told me someone was going to kill me.” said Olmi, who was standing nearby.

“So,” Dr. Soma asked. “All in favor of general amnesty?”

Four hands went up.

“All in favor of being shot by General Dovel?”

All hands went down.

“That was fast.” Soma concluded.

“So, if I make terms with you,” Sortia asked, “you think the president will agree to them?”

“I would be astonished if he objected.”

“For the sake of discussion,” Sortia said, “what would you like?”

“We’d like to reform the remains of the army.”

Sortia waved a paw as if to bat the idea away. “We haven’t forbidden you an army, just so long as you don’t deploy them outside the Republic.”

“We intend to deploy in your Republic.” Soma said.

“You threaten to invade?”

“We offer aid.” Soma said. “The Shark Men are still attacking your city. They can pretend to misunderstand or not hear orders in order to carry their blood feud against your people, but I don’t think they will be able to attack the Republic troops when they’ve sworn loyalty.”

“I don’t know.” Sortia said.

“You don’t know whether you want to help people whose cities are under siege right now?”

“What if it were our troops in your country?” Sortia asked.

Dr. Soma nodded. “That brings us to the next point. We’d like you to send more troops into our country. The city is in chaos.”

“We will not have our soldiers die to secure your dictatorship.” Sortia snarled.

“Then you’ll send enough to secure the city for elections?”

Sortia’s tail swept left then right. “Are you hoping the elections will put you in power?”

Soma laughed. “Me? I’ve woken from decades of sleep to find I’m a little-known cautionary tale. No. I think the people will go with their passions.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think some people will choose the successor of the presidential line. Some still feel loyal to the old Empire and will chose the Imperial successor. Some are attached to this Captain Bold. With him gone, they’ll pick a friend, someone who saved his life.”

“You think you can find these people?” Sortia asked.

“She’ll be here momentarily.”

The crimson gown glided over the featureless white floor of the medical center. Two Lion Men that stood guard lay in the corner, rendered quickly unconscious by Aura’s own allies.

Long ago, Aura committed suicide, and she’d been brought to this room and returned to life. Later, Lewis Bold had come back to life on the very table that stood in front of Aura now. Her fingers touched the glass.

Aura looked at her father’s face. The head had been untouched in the trauma, but many minutes without blood had caused the brain to rot. It was no problem for the Presidential Medical Center. The top of the skull had been opened, and the brain was being regenerated.

“How complete is recovery going to be?” Aura asked the empty room.

“Estimated 99.6% recovery of neural pathways.” a disembodied voice answered.

“Neural maps are on file?” Aura asked.

“Yes.”

“Erase them.” Aura ordered. “Erase any reserve copies you may have.”

There was enough regained of Francis Gordon that his eyes widened as he watched his daughter.

“What about the recovery process?” the voice asked.

“Stop it.” Aura ordered. “Make sure the brain is destroyed.”

Francis’s vocal cords didn’t work, but his eyes still watched his daughter.

“Don’t look at me like that, father. You weren’t using it.”