Beyond the Gate

Chapter 9

Orick stepped through the opal wind between the worlds and found himself in a clearing surrounded by a lush forest, thick with undergrowth. A cool dawn breeze whispered through the trees. Overhead in a sky full of lavender, twin suns rose above the forest, weaving shadows in the woods, while white birds swirled among the trees calling out in creaking voices.

Thomas was staring up with mouth open, and Orick remembered his own sense of awe upon first visiting Fale. “‘Tis a sight to behold,” Maggie whispered. And Thomas nodded, too dumbfounded to speak.

Orick looked behind him and suddenly a glowing white form appeared, like a mist streaming through the jungle, then Gallen strode into view, his face rigid and worn. The gate could not be seen from this side.

Orick waited, hoping that his bear friend Grits would come through, but the female had stayed behind. Orick gave a little bawl, and weaved his head back and forth as he tried to catch a scent of her.

“I’m sorry, Orick,” Maggie said softly, coming to his side. She knelt by him, touched his brow. “She seemed so nice. And you’ve been looking for love so long. I had hoped she would come.”

“That’s all right,” Orick grumbled. Maggie seemed so distraught that he wanted to calm her. “I couldn’t hope for any better from a she-bear. I left her alone with those sheriffs. How could I have hoped she would be more true to me?”

“She wanted to come, Orick,” Gallen said. “But she was afraid. Don’t blame yourself.”

Maggie scratched behind his ears, and Orick licked her hand in gratitude.

Thomas stared about at the skyline. His lute case was strung over his shoulders, and he held to the strap with both hands, a gesture that showed his insecurity. Tall creepers climbed some of the trees, and a few orange birds began chattering loudly as they fed on berries.

Gallen knelt on a clump of grass, pulled out his map of worlds-a thin piece of film that showed a three-dimensional representation of Fale with tiny red gates displayed at various points. “We’re not far from a gate to Tremonthin,” he said, a tone of relief in his voice. “It’s about two thousand kilometers. We’ll need to go into town, hire a vehicle.”

“What is a kilometer?” Thomas asked.

“Just a stupid way to measure things,” Orick grumbled.

“It’s a little less than half a mile,” Gallen said.

“Do you think it’s safe to go into town?” Maggie asked. She had put down her pack-for they’d just walked with them for an hour-and she was looking to Gallen.

Gallen shrugged. “I’ll not lie. It has been only a week in this time-line since you and I defeated the Lord of the Swarm. The dronon should have abandoned their military installations here or Fale, but that doesn’t mean that we’re safe.”

“Well, now, you’re the optimist today,” Orick said.

Gallen hung his head, downcast. Maggie knelt next to him, touched his knee. Orick looked into Gallen’s pale blue eyes, and for a moment he felt as if he were looking into the eyes of a stranger, there was so much pain behind them.

“See here, lad-” Orick told Gallen, “just because you’ve got kicked off your own home world, you don’t have to wilt. Things can’t be worse than last time we were here.”

Gallen smiled up at him. “Aye, you’re right, Orick. But we must take care. We have enemies here-men who were evil before the dronon ever set hand to corrupt them. Lord Karthenor and men of his ilk may hold power, for all we know.”

“Och, well, if he does,” Orick said, “I’ll bite his butt so hard he’ll never want to sit on a toilet again!”

Yet Orick’s playful threats could not brighten the mood. Karthenor had been a powerful servant to the dronon rulers, perhaps powerful enough to wrest control even after the dronon retreated.

“So, Gallen, you’ve taken my money and led me astray, have you?” Thomas said. “I thought you said this was a decent sort of place, where folks live forever?”

“I also said there were great dangers here,” Gallen reminded him. “Some folks here do live a mighty long time, but you still have to take care.…”

“Ah, don’t listen to him,” Orick said. “It’s good enough for the likes of us. You’ll never taste better food, and they pass it out free to strangers as a courtesy. Why, it’s so easy to grow here, that they esteem food as nothing. That’s why they give it away.”

“Really?” Thomas asked, his face showing that he doubted Orick’s every word. Now, some bears have a reputation for stretching the truth, but Orick had never been that kind of bear, so Thomas’s raised brows got Orick riled.

“It is indeed the truth!” Orick said. “And I’ll you something else: there’s wonders here that a pudding-head like you couldn’t imagine-”

“Tell me about them as we walk, then.” Thomas laughed, and with that laugh, Orick looked up. It seemed to him that Thomas was somehow a younger man, less weathered and worn than he had been just hours before, and Orick began to tell Thomas of the things he’d seen on his last trip here.

Maggie donned her own mantle and the cinnamon-colored robes of a technician. In moments they were off, striding through the forest. Gray lizards skittered from their feet, and as they marched, Orick used his keen nose to follow the trail they’d blazed on their journey here two weeks earlier.

Orick told Thomas of the wonders he would behold here of Fale-of starships and men who wore wings, of teaching machines and ancient merchants who lived for ten thousand years, of machines that let one speak with the dead or breathe underwater, and of horrifying weapons that could burn worlds to ashes. He described the armies of insect-like dronon that had infested the place and boasted of the heroic efforts of common people who sought to end their tyranny. He told how Gallen had defeated the dronon Lords of the Swarm in single combat, when even the brilliant Lord Protector Veriasse had failed the challenge, and Orick minimized his own part in all these affairs. For a long while he described the Tharrin woman Everynne, who now reigned as Maggie’s regent, as far as the dronon were concerned, over the ten thousand worlds.

From time to time, Orick would pause along the path to eat a slug or a large wood snail. In two hours he had just begun to fill in the details of what Thomas should know when the group reached a small cliff that looked out over Toohkansay, a sprawling purplish-green city grown from a coral-like plant. It stretched like beach foam across the hills, spanning a wide river. They climbed down the cliff and walked to the city along a ruby road, past rich farms. Hovercars and magcars sped past them, much to the wonder and dismay of Thomas.

And when they reached the outskirts of the city, little had changed. They could still smell the sweet fragrance of foods from a roadside cantina, music swelled from the city walls, and within the shadows under the city gates they could discern human-looking inhabitants from various stock (the impish Woodari with their large eyes, tall bald men out of Bonab who wore nothing but tattoos), along with gold serving droids that still reminded Orick of men in armor.

Several Lords of Fale sat together at one table in the shade of the cupola outside the inn. They wore the multicolored robes of merchants, with masks of palest lavender.

Thomas stopped and surveyed the scene, his mouth gaping in wonder, as if he’d just reached the gates of heaven and feared that Saint Peter would come out and wrestle him for the right to enter.

And as the group approached the archway that led into the cantina, one woman looked up from her table and gasped, “Gallen? Maggie? Orick?”

Orick had never seen the woman before, of that he was certain, but immediately the diners at all the tables turned to stare. Here and there among the crowd, people shouted, “It’s them!”

“They’ve returned!”

“Welcome!”

And suddenly a human tide surged from the inn, people shouting, hugging them, giving thanks. A Lord of Ethics, wearing her purple robes of office, rushed to Maggie and fell at her knees, kissing them and then kissing Orick’s paw, thanking them all for their part in ending the long siege by the dronon.

As the cry went up, a clamor issued from the city, and soon there were hundreds upon hundreds of people shouting the good news, their voices swelling and blending together in a roar.

When Gallen had first defeated the dronon’s Golden Queen and her escort, he’d received accolades from the ambassadors of ten dozen worlds, but Orick had never witnessed anything like this, not this overwhelming, spontaneous outpouring of gratitude.

Someone picked Gallen up on his shoulders, and for one moment Orick saw his golden hair limned in the morning light. Orick suddenly envied the man-a hero on ten thousand worlds-while Orick didn’t even know if he’d won the title of Primal Bear of Obhiann and Morgan counties. Only two days before, Orick had been reading the parable of the talents in the Bible, and he wondered if he himself was progressing as God would have him. So often, Orick was content to be-well, just Orick. And somehow that didn’t seem enough. He silently vowed to do better.

But just as suddenly, Orick too was lifted by strong hands, and he and Gallen and Maggie and Thomas were carried upon human shoulders into the city.

Orick bawled out for the people to let him go, for it was rather precarious for a fat bear to be carried by humans, but to his delight, they ignored his pleas.

Orick looked forward, and Gallen smiled, pleased but embarrassed by this show of affection, and Orick felt glad for him. Gallen had been cast off from his own world, but it appeared now that he’d won back more than he’d lost.

Maggie, for her part, looked resplendent, a huge grin on her face that you couldn’t clean off with lye soap. And Thomas shouted to Orick in glee, “Some welcome, eh, Orick?”

They entered the city of Toohkansay with great fanfare and were treated to feasts. And that night, painters decorated the sky with incandescent clouds of plasma in Gallen’s and Maggie’s honor. A band of twelve people from various worlds played beautiful instruments that could sing as sweetly as birds or cut a man to the heart, and Thomas took up his lute and played and sang with them, astonishing the people of Toohkansay with his prowess. Upon hearing a ballad that Thomas had composed, a Master Musician honored Thomas by giving him his own mantle, as “just recompense” for the performance. As soon as Thomas had placed the silver mantle upon his head, his eyes began to water as he learned the music of the universe.

Shortly afterward, Thomas was forced to ask Gallen to take him to his rooms for the night, for he needed seclusion.

“I think it’s time for all of us to make a night of it,” Gallen said. The mayor of Toohkansay himself offered to escort them to an inn that had the finest rooms in the city, and when they reached the door, he asked Gallen if there was anything he needed for the night.

Gallen said, “I need access to an ansible. I must talk with Lady Everynne.”

“Even with an ansible, it takes several hours to send messages so far,” the mayor said. He was a tall, bald man whose skin shone as if it were oiled. “Is there a question you have, so that we can ask a response?”

“She set me a task. Tell her that I would like more direction. I’ll want to review her response in private.”

“As you wish,” the mayor said, then he departed.

Gallen and Maggie took one room as man and wife, and they went in.

Orick and Thomas were each given separate rooms across a wide hallway, and they stood for a moment. Thomas closed his eyes and whispered, “Ah, Orick, have you heard the fine music here?” And Orick knew that Thomas was listening through his mantle.

“I’ve heard some,” Orick said.

Thomas shook his head, as if words could not convey what he wanted to say. “I can hear the music of ten thousand worlds, composed over the past thirty-eight thousand years … All of my life has been so … cramped, so stilted.” Hot tears were flowing from his eyes, and Thomas was weeping bitterly. “How could I have been so blind? There is so much to explore!”

“How do you mean?”

“We’re babes, Orick! On Tihrglas, I thought I was at the end of my life. But I’ll need an eternity to perfect my skills as a musician, and another to compose my songs!”

Orick looked up at Thomas, at the gray streaks in his hair, and he could see that the aging man was at the beginning of his own incredible adventure. At this very moment, Thomas had his foot stuck in the door of heaven, and he was set to put his shoulder to that door and force it open.

“Well, then,” Orick said, for lack of anything better to say, “it’s good night to you.” Orick went into his own room, and he sat and thought. Thomas, right now, Orick was sure, was in his room getting his head crammed full of knowledge, probably weeping his eyes out for joy. Gallen was hailed as the hero of ten thousand worlds and was most likely frolicking with the woman he loved most in life.

And Orick, well, Orick tried to sleep on a soft bed, but found it to be too odd. It was large enough, but it hadn’t been made to hold a bear, and he sank so low into it that he kept having a spooky feeling that he might drown. So instead he lay on the floor beneath an open window, watching the galaxies pinwheeling overhead, and skyships streaking through the night like meteors. He wondered if he would ever find happiness.

When Orick had been a cub, his mother once told him a tale. She’d said that the hummingbird was the sweetest-tasting of all fowl, for it alone of all birds fed upon the nectar of flowers. She’d said that the sweetest honey tasted bland in comparison.

And so Orick had taken to hiding in a thicket of summer lilies, leaping up after hummingbirds whenever he heard the trill of their wings. But no matter how well he hid, or how quickly he leapt, the hummingbirds would always lift themselves just out of his reach.

Orick drifted asleep, dreaming of jumping, jumping, leaping impossibly high to catch honey-scented hummingbirds, which he held gingerly in his teeth, savoring them.

He heard a chiming noise as Gallen’s door opened across the hall, and Orick got up groggily, stepped out into the dark arching corridors of the inn, where gems in the ceiling lit the dim way.

Gallen was standing in the corridor, fully dressed in the black of a Lord Protector.

“What are you about?” Orick asked.

“Shhh …” Gallen signaled for Orick to follow him, and they crept down the familiar streets. It was soon obvious to Orick where Gallen was heading: to the quarters where Lord Karthenor dwelt with his aberlains.

But when they reached those offices where Lord Karthenor had enslaved Maggie and dozens of other workers, the buildings were stripped bare. The Dronon guards were gone, the machinery removed.

Gallen walked through a dozen dark rooms, until he reached the last, then stood, staring into nothingness.

“Couldn’t sleep, thinking about him?” Orick asked.

“I wondered if he was still here. He would have heard that Maggie and I were back.”

“From the scent, I’d say he’s been gone a while,” Orick said. “The aberlains probably left the day the dronon pulled out.”

“Maggie says that the women on this world will conceive children built in the image of the dronon hive,” Gallen said distantly. “Some women will have swollen bellies, and they will be breeders, giving birth to six or eight children at a time, as if they were hound bitches.

“Other women will be born to labor, never able to give themselves to a man in love, barren except for an irresistible craving to work from dawn to dusk.

“Some men will be thinkers and planners.

“And some men will be born to war, bred to fight and hate and bully others into worshiping the dronon Golden Queen. And all of this happened because people like Lord Karthenor were willing to sell mankind’s secrets to the dronon.

“In all probability, we will suffer for a thousand generations for what Karthenor and his aberlains have done.”

Orick didn’t understand much about how Karthenor and his aberlains manipulated unborn children into becoming something so strange, but he knew that Karthenor had done unmentionable evil. He’d known it from the moment when Karthenor had placed his Guide upon Maggie’s head, enslaving her so that she could be his worker. “Aye, no beating would be great enough to suffice for that man,” Orick grumbled.

Behind them, someone cleared his throat, and Orick turned. A man stood in the shadows in a comer, a man wearing the robes and mantle of a Lord Protector. His robes had so blended into the night, that Orick had not seen him. And Orick could still not smell his scent. “Perhaps he is already paying a penalty,” he said.

Gallen turned and studied the stranger.

“I’m Laranac,” the man said, “a Lord Protector for this world.”

“Do you know where Karthenor is?” Gallen asked.

“He left in great haste, I believe, when the dronon evacuated, taking many of his creations-and his slaves-with him.”

Gallen frowned. “How can that be? I’ve been in a dronon hive city; the stench of their stomach acids fills the air. And the acids dry into a fine powder that blankets everything. A closed ship would be-impossible to bear.”

Laranac nodded. “Their kind and ours were not meant to live together. Karthenor knew that. Yet he will suffer for his choice, constantly burning from the acids on the dronon hive ships. The nanodocs in his blood will keep him alive, but at what price? I suspect his exile is a great torment to him.”

“A fit ending for the man, as far as I’m concerned,” Orick said. “Death would have been too nice.”

“No, this is not his end,” Gallen whispered, “only a reprieve in torment. Such a painful exile will only madden him, make him want to return that much more quickly.”

“And so I keep watch on this place,” Laranac said, “hoping for his return. I found a cache of weapons and credit chips hidden in a secret room behind that wall. If Karthenor returns, he will come searching for it, but all he will find is me. I will give him death, when next I see him.”

“What of the law?” Gallen asked. “Will you give the man no trial?”

“His memories were on file, along with his gene samples, so that the dronon could rebuild him if he died. Those memories were all the evidence we needed. Karthenor has already been convicted and sentenced to death. I wait now only to mete out his punishment.”

Orick considered this bit of news on how evil men were tried here on Tremonthin, and he thought it much better than what had happened with Gallen, back home.

Gallen smiled up at Laranac. “You’ll not mete out his punishment, if I get to him first.”

“That is unlikely,” Laranac said.

Gallen mused, “I am Lord of the Swarm. If I asked the dronon to turn him over, they would do it on a moment’s notice.”

Orick did not like the idea of having to deal with the dronon. He never wanted to see one of their black carapaces again.

Laranac smiled back at Gallen. “Then do it. Karthenor is a dangerous man, and the fact that he is on a dronon starship hardly hinders his work. He must be stopped.”

“Soon,” Gallen said. “I’ll make arrangements. But I’ve urgent business elsewhere for the moment. If it takes a week for him to be delivered, I’m afraid I can’t be here to meet Karthenor at the spaceport.”

“I can,” Laranac said. “Send for him.”

“I will, first thing tomorrow. Until then, keep watching this place,” Gallen said. “And I shall sleep better tonight.”

Gallen turned to leave, but Laranac caught his arm. “Be careful,” Laranac whispered fervently. “A new government is forming on this world, one that recognizes the Lady Everynne as Semarritte’s heir and as a rightful judge. They are eager to join once again in the Consortium of Worlds. But there are other voices crying to be heard on the councils. There are other Karthenors on the loose-brutal people who lost profit and prestige when the dronon evacuated. Such people would not bear you into the city upon their shoulders. They would rather trample you under their feet.”

“You think I am in danger?” Gallen asked.

“The mayor of Toohkansay is protecting you now, the best he knows how. But if you left soon, you would be doing him a favor-and perhaps you would save your own lives.”

Gallen nodded almost imperceptibly. Gallen and Orick returned to their chambers, and when Orick was alone, he offered up more than his usual nightly prayers.

The next day dawned bright and clear. Gallen sent a message to Everynne to be relayed to the dronon Vanquishers, asking that Karthenor and any other such humans carried away in Dronon ships be returned to their home worlds for judging and sentencing.

For a bit in the morning, Orick was edgy, watchful, but the mood soon vanished like the morning mists burning off the wide river. The celebrations continued all throughout the day, and Orick found it difficult under such circumstances to believe that anyone would wish Maggie and Gallen harm.

On the contrary, at every turn people sought Maggie and Gallen out to offer favors. The finest clothiers arrayed Gallen, Maggie, and Maggie’s honored uncle Thomas in their best wares, and perfumers brought their most exotic scents. Musicians and actors played before them, while chefs plied them with fine food and technologists brought tokens of knowledge for Gallen and Maggie to place in their mantles.

Those who were poor came and told tales of woe, describing the horrible tyranny they had suffered under the dronon. Those who were weak, or deformed, or belligerent, or brave had been annihilated under dronon rule. Their bodies were processed for fertilizer by unfeeling dronon overlords.

And so the poor people of Fale told unending tales of woe, then thanked Gallen and Maggie. From all across the planet, the grateful people of Fale came to give honor.

The whole affair was dizzying and extravagant beyond anything that Orick had ever dreamed, and all through the day he watched Gallen, gauging the look upon his face. He seemed worn, worried, and not until that evening when the brewers of F ale convinced him to try their dearest vintages of wine did those lines of worry begin to ease.

That night, as they returned to their rooms, the mayor of Toohkansay walked with them once again, and he was laughing, smiling. Thomas had his lute out, and he sang softly as he walked.

Outside the door to Maggie’s apartment, a large, intricately carved crystal vase held a perfect white rose with petals so lustrous they shone like pearl. A note beneath the flower said, “A Token of Our Esteem.”

“Ah,” the mayor said, “it looks as if the hotel has left you a special gift.” Thomas cooed in appreciation, and reached down for the vase, but the mayor said, “Let me get that for you!”

As he touched the vase, the rose petals suddenly whirred and spun like a pinwheel, blurring into the air, striking him in the face. Blood and flesh spattered across the hallway, and there was cracking as the rose cut through his skull, then rose petals exploded outward.

The mayor’s head seemed to implode, the broken skull sagging in on itself, and he fell face first to the floor.

Maggie screamed and backed away, and Orick looked up. Thomas stood in shock, holding his wrist. A delicate-looking petal of rose had lodged in his wrist, like a knife blade.

Gallen spun, looking down the hallway, as if expecting attackers to come, and in seconds, four men rushed down from both ends of the corridor, all of them with weapons drawn. They looked at the mayor, watched down both sides of the corridor.

One of them was shouting into a tiny microphone at his lapel, “Security breach, code one! Man down!” The men took defensive postures on either side of the corridor, placing themselves between Maggie and any would-be attackers.

In another minute, a dozen more soldiers arrived, including several of the green giants like the “demon” that Thomas had displayed at the inn. The sight of those creatures dismayed Thomas more than anything, so the soldiers were forced to rush Thomas and the others into their own room, where they waited for a medic, who used clamps and nanoware to begin healing the cut ligaments in Thomas’s wrist.

Thomas just sat on his bed during the whole procedure, cursing the folks who had done this.

“It was nanoware,” Maggie said to herself once in the room. “They were after me and Gallen.”

“Aye,” Thomas said, “it looks as if you’ve made some enemies here, while collecting worshipers.”

“But I don’t understand,” Maggie whispered. “They could have found so many easier ways to kill me-a bomb, a poisoned scent in the flower. Even if they’d wanted to use nanoware, there were so many things they could have done. They could have stripped every atom of copper from my body … torn away my ability to remember-any one of a thousand things. So why the rose?”

“They weren’t just trying to kill you,” Thomas suggested. “Perhaps the saboteur wanted to do more than kill you. He wanted to send a message.”

“Of course,” Gallen said. “Whoever put the flower there believed that killing Maggie would be pointless. Her memories could just be downloaded into a clone. So the flower was a message from her enemies.”

“But what does it mean?” Orick asked.

The medic who was attending Thomas’s wound looked up. “Beware of beautiful appearances,” he said, with almost too much certainty. “Things are not as they seem.”

“Are they warning us away from the Tharrin?” Gallen asked. “Lady Everynne?”

“That may be. Not all people trust the Tharrin. Though they are beautiful, they are not truly human. On the other hand, perhaps the rose was not meant as a message to you,” the medic said. “Perhaps it was a message to the rest of the world. This weapon was intended to kill Maggie, and she too is beautiful. Perhaps the killers were trying to warn the people of Fale away from her.”

“You’re talking gibberish, man,” Orick said, certain the medic was on the wrong track. Maggie was not a leader on Fale. No, the rose had to signify the Tharrin, but Orick knew the Lady Everynne well. The Tharrin were good folks, and only a person with a warped mind would fear otherwise.

The medic shrugged. “I’m only making wild guesses. The only person who really knows what the message meant is out there somewhere.” He waved toward the city.

He applied some nanodocs to the wound, then bandaged it, and left.

When they were alone, Gallen took an object from his robe-a white metal triangle with a lens set at each corner. “You’ve a message?” Maggie said, taking the contraption from his hand. “The mayor gave it to me earlier. It’s from Everynne.” Maggie set the thing on the floor, and asked the room to lower the lights. “Everynne,” she called softly, and suddenly the image of Everynne appeared in the room, her dark hair gleaming, resplendent in a pale blue gown. Thomas gasped at her beauty, and Orick studied the fine bones of her jaw, the keen intellect behind her eyes. In the brief weeks since Orick had last seen her, he found that time had blurred her image, so he tried to burn the Tharrin woman into his memory.

“I had suspected that you would call me, Gallen,” the holoimage said, “and I will give you what little help I can. I need you to go to Tremonthin, a world like yours where mankind has rejected most technologies, with one exception: in the City of Life the Lords of Tremonthin have dedicated themselves to developing life-extending technologies. There they download memories into clones of those worthy for immortality. There, they fight disease and suffering. And for twenty millennia the world has had but one export-children who are engineered to live on worlds that other humans cannot inhabit, or who are engineered to fulfill roles that other humans cannot. Many of these altered people live on Tremonthin still, for the Lords of that world do not force their creations into exile but give them their choice of staying or leaving.

“My ancestors, the Tharrin, were created on Tremonthin eighteen thousand years ago to be judges and rulers of mankind, and for this reason Tremonthin was one of the first worlds that the dronon sought to conquer. It appears that they murdered all of the Tharrin there, but one survived with the help of technicians from the City of Life. And she has been hunted by a thing called the Inhuman.

“I have no information on the Inhuman. It seems to be a secret society, formed by the descendants of genetically upgraded people. We lost ansible contact with Tremonthin years ago, but rebels working on a ship that visited the City of Life in the past three months were able to smuggle out the small recording that I sent you, along with a request that the rebellion send a Lord Protector. They must have known that Veriasse and I were traveling between the world gates, for the message says that someone will meet you at the gate.

“Gallen, this will be no easy task. Those who are genetically upgraded and who choose to remain on Tremonthin are often banished from human lands, and in those lands the fiercest variations of mankind thrive.

“I would come with you if I could, Gallen,” Everynne said, and her voice caught a little as she said it. “Since I don’t know the dimensions of this problem, I fear the worst. Certainly, the rebels on Tremonthin were desperate, for they sent their plea knowing that the dronon would almost certainly discover the recording. Still, they hoped that one Lord Protector, alone, could handle their problems-as I also hope.

“Be strong, but be wise,” Everynne said. “Come back to us alive.” The message ended, and Gallen stood looking at the holograph thoughtfully.

“Well, we’d better get going,” Orick offered after a moment of silence, hoping to prod the others into immediate action. It would feel good to be back in Everynne’s service, to be doing something important.

“The mayor spoke with me earlier,” Gallen said. “He’d readied a flier. We can leave in the morning.”

“But folks are waiting for us!” Orick said.

“They’ve been waiting for months,” Gallen countered. “We’ll need our rest. They can wait one night longer.”

Thomas had been sitting quietly, watching the holograph, and he cleared his throat. He was waxing the tips of his moustache, twirling them thoughtfully. “Gallen, Orick, Maggie-you may do as you please. But I’ll be staying.”

“No you won’t,” Gallen said. “There are only four people on this planet who know where Maggie and I are going-and all of them are in this room. And sometime in the next few weeks, at least one dronon hive queen will come hunting for Maggie, and I’ll have to be at her side to protect her. I’d rather they didn’t find us, so I can’t leave any witnesses behind. So, you see, sir, that I can’t let you stay!”

Gallen’s jaw was set, his eyes stony. Orick knew that look. It was the same look that hill robbers always saw just before Gallen pulled his knives and gutted them.

“I’ll not have you talking down to me in that tone,” Thomas said. “I’ve got my own dreams in life, my own path to take, and I don’t fancy that running off with you will get me where I want to go. It appears to me that you three are just targets for trouble: you bring it down on yourselves wherever you go, and I’m not a fighting man. If I stay long in your presence, I’m sure to get killed.”

Thomas quit twirling his moustache and tentatively held his bandaged wrist, clenching and unclenching his fingers experimentally. “You’ll be under my protection,” Gallen said forcefully. “I’ve never lost someone who was under my protection.”

“Well, it’s mighty convenient that you weren’t hired by that fellow who is lying dead out in the hall, isn’t it?” Thomas grumbled. “We wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”

Gallen frowned at the haughty tone in Thomas’s voice.

Orick realized that this argument was beginning to escalate. As a bear studying for the priesthood, he felt it his duty to calm these folks.

He rose up on his hind feet, catching their attention. “I’m sure that Thomas is no coward, Gallen. After all, he’s smarted off to every mayor and usurer in Tihrglas for forty years. So, if he doesn’t want to come, he must have his reasons.”

“I know what he’s after-” Gallen said, “he’s after a comfortable retirement!”

“I’m sure you misjudge the man.…” Orick soothed, but Thomas began laughing, deep and hearty.

“Oh, Orick, Gallen has judged the man right! I’ve earned my rest. The food here is good, the people gracious.…”-he flexed his fingers experimentally-“for the most part. And, frankly, I’m a paying customer. I paid to come here-not to go to someplace worse off than Tihrglas!”

“Nevertheless, that’s where we’re going,” Gallen said, as if the discussion were final.

“Look,” Thomas said. “I’m an old man. You can’t be ordering me about!”

“You were quick to order me about when it suited your fancy!” Maggie countered.

Gallen was staring icily at Thomas, and he took the older man by the collar. “You’re coming with us,” Gallen said. “I’ll leave no witnesses behind-at least not live ones. This isn’t a game I’m playing, Thomas. If you stay here, you put us at risk, and I’ll not be looking over my shoulder because of you! Once this is all over, I’ll bring you back here, if you want, or send you to any other planet!”

Thomas fixed him with a gaze, and Thomas’s own face took on a closed look. Orick suddenly found that he didn’t trust the man. “So, the ferryman has taken my money, and now he plans to row the boat where he will! Well, it sounds to me as if you’re cheating me out of my life savings, Gallen. I commend you for that. I admire a man who is willing to take what he wants.” He sighed, and his gaze turned inward. “All right then, Gallen, I’ll come with you to your damned world-but it is a comfortable retirement I’m after. I’ll find me a nice inn and settle down for a bit, work on my music. When you’re done with your task, you can come back and bring me here, if I so desire. Agreed?”

Gallen nodded, and the two men shook hands. Thomas stood taller, stretched and yawned. “Very well, then. I suspect that tomorrow will be a long day. Wake me in the morning.” Orick sighed in relief, now that the matter was settled. Gallen, Maggie, and Thomas went to their rooms.

Sometime well before dawn, Maggie rushed back into Orick’s quarters, waking him. Orick had never seen her so mad; she had tears in her eyes.

“Orick, get up! We’ve got problems. We just got another message from Everynne. We’ve got to leave Tremonthin now! The dronon are here, and I just went to that lousy Thomas’s room. He left us a good-bye note, and ran sneaking off sometime in the night!”

“Oh, damn him!” Orick grumbled, realizing that Thomas had only made a pretense of being reasonable. She held a note in her hand, and Orick read it quickly.

Dear Maggie:

Now, don’t be cross at me, darling, but by the time you read this, I’ll be off on my own adventures. I’m afraid I’m getting old and plump, and if you don’t mind, I’d rather spend some time on a nice, safe world like this. You go ahead and tramp down the dark roads, if that’s what your heart is after, but for me, I want nothing more than a warm mug of whiskey by the fire, some soft music, and a woman who loves me just for warming her bed.

I know Gallen is worrying that I’ll tell someone about you folks going you-know-where, but I promise not to whisper a peep about it, even in my dreams. So don’t you fret. And don’ waste your time trying to hunt me down. I’ve eluded my share of assassins in my time, and I know how to disappear when I want to.

Now, I must say that I’ve been pleased to be making your acquaintance, Maggie. You’re a fine-looking woman, and I’m glad you’re a Flynn. But you do have your mother’s way about you. I sometimes think my brother drowned himself just to escape your mother’s vile temper. And if I know you, you’re probably so mad right now, I could fry an egg on your forehead. But someday, maybe you’ll thank me for leaving.

With no apologies,

Thomas

Maggie placed a holoprojector cube on the floor, then went to Orick’s pack, began throwing it together.

The holoprojector flared to life, and an image appeared-a dronon Vanquisher with a dusty black carapace and glistening amber wings. The insect-like creature squatted on four hind legs, and its forward battle arms were crossed on the ground. The dronon’s head was to the ground, so that his forward eyes looked at the dust while his backward eye cluster pointed upward. It was the dronon stance of obeisance.

“Oh, great Golden, admired by all,” a translator said in English while the dronon’s mouthfingers clicked over the voice drums beneath its jaws. “I bear messages of congratulations from the Tincin and Tlinini, Lords of the Fourth Swarm; and from Kininic and Nickit, Lords of the Fifth Swarm; and from In and Tlik, Lords of the Third Swarm; and from Cintkin and Kintiniklintit, Lords of the Seventh Swarm. All of these speak their adoration, and announce their intent to challenge you and the great Gallen O’Day to combat for the right to rule the Sixth Swarm of Dronon.”

The image faded, and Everynne stood in the creature’s place. “Maggie, I wanted to give you and Gallen time to prepare, to rest. But that time has been cut short. I received this message, and immediately afterward registered a power fluctuation to the Gate of the World. The Lords of the Seventh Swarm are coming, and they know you are on Fale. They may be there already. Flee.”

Orick’s heart began beating hard. He had imagined that in time, Golden Queens from within the swarm that Gallen and Maggie nominally controlled would grow and demand to battle for the right to govern, but he had not considered that lords from the other swarms of Dronon would seek them out.

“They’re all coming for you,” Orick muttered, in shock. “The dronon attack only those that they believe are weak. They must think that you and Gallen are the weakest lords of all.”

“We are,” Maggie said. And she handed him his pack.

* * *