Requiem for the Conqueror

Chapter 28

The number of report files had steadily declined in the window on Skyla's computer monitor that kept track of such things. She lifted the stassa cup to her lips, and realized it was empty. Then she remembered she'd been trying

to drink from it for the last hour or so and hadn't taken the time to fill it again.

Damn, how long had she been up anyway? She rubbed her face to restore feeling and got to her feet. Her personal quarters felt cold, somehow sterile, not the relief she'd expected upon returning to Itreata. So many details needed to be attended to. Tap and Tasha were working every bit as hard as she. The Companions couldn't just be scrambled on a moment's notice. The ships had to be prepared, food stocked, systems checked, supplies loaded, personnel had to be recalled, and every single problem wound up needing her personal attention.

Her corn buzzed.

"Yes?" Skyla called. The monitor to her right flickered to life, and Nyklos stared out at her. "What do you need, Nyklos?"

He frowned, then stated matter-of-factly, "You look terrible.

"Have you got a problem?"

He laughed, enthusiastic smile curling his mustache. "You bet, sweet meat. I'm about to go completely berserk. You've got me locked up, under constant surveillance, and restricted so many ways that I can't fall asleep and dream without creating a security alert. How about letting one of my guards escort me up to your place for a quiet chat, a bottle of wine, and a great dinner?"

"That sounds wonderful, Nyklos, but I've got-"

"Wing Commander, you look like you haven't slept since

we docked on this flying rock. I've got a better idea. How about you come down and we go eat in the observation dome. It's more romantic."

"You're the last person alive I want to be romantic with." Nyklos pulled a coin from his pocket. "Make you a deal. I'll toss the coin. Heads, you come eat with me. Tails, I'll never speak to you again."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Toss it. But I'd better see it the whole time."

Nyklos threw the coin up, catching it in the monitor's pickup. He slapped it on the back of his hand. Tybalt's visage could be seen on the reflective surface. Nyklos added smugly, "See you soon. I'll order dinner for the observation dome. Oh, and do clear it so my guard will get me there."

Skyla killed the connection, glaring up at the pickup. "Security, have Nyklos transported to the observation dome. And clear his order for a dinner for two." "Acknowledged."

Skyla cast an evil eye at her computer and stood. She slapped her door patch and walked down the long white hallway. Damn Nyklos anyway. Still, she did need a break. Her mind had gone stale with fatigue. On top of everything, the intelligence coming out of Rega didn't look at all reassuring. A massive military call-up had begun. Ships were being rerouted. A major communications blackout had silenced the Empire.

On the other side, Myles Roma had been calling upon the hour to be reassured that the Companions hadn't taken contract with the Regans. As an example of Sassan worry, he'd hinted that if the Companions would contract with Sassa, they could name their price, hinting that Divine Sassa might hand the captured wealth of Rega to Staffa as payment.

Better to be a penniless live God than a corpse rolling in wealth.

Skyla stepped into the transport tube and input her destination. Then she settled on the cushioned bench as the pneumatic capsule shot across Itreata.

Closing her eyes, Staffa's image filled her mind. He watched her with curious gray eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Then he turned, pointing into a hazy distance that darkened into blackness. Staffa remained illuminated by a

shaft of light while explosions rocked the ground. Vague images of people in flowing robes intermingled with violet blaster bolts as war raged. Regan soldiers came scurrying out of the blackness, blasters lacing fire here and there.

"Hurry," Staffa's voice called out and echoed as if from a hollow place.

"Wing Commander?" The voice intruded and Skyla jerked. The transport door stood open and a young girl with brown skin and almond eyes stared quizzically at her.

"Sorry," Skyla said, getting to her feet. "Must have dozed off. "

She stepped out and made her way to the observation dome. The giant dome dwarfed Nyklos where he stood under the flashing glory of the Twin Titans as they whipped around each other, shooting pulses of blinding blue light out into space.

Nyklos turned as she entered and Skyla waved his guard away. A table had been set up under the center of the dome. Heaping plates of broiled Ashtan lamb, simmered with vegetables, steamed on plates. Nyklos seated her and took his place opposite.

"Quite a view." He gestured toward the Twin Titans. "I'd heard it was pretty spectacular, but to see it? I never thought I would in my lifetime."

"Stranger things have happened." Skyla hadn't realized her hunger. She attacked the meal, aware of Nyklos watching her, concern in his eyes.

"You're tearing yourself apart, aren't you?" he asked in a gentle voice.

"You'd be amazed at the amount of work it takes to scramble a fleet. Staffa left everyone here with the idea that we wouldn't be spacing for quite a while. People took him at his word, not knowing he'd go out and fall into a viper's nest of trouble."

Nyklos leaned on his elbow and studied her carefully. "You really love him, don't you?"

She stiffened. "I don't think it's any of your business." He chuckled to himself. "I must be five kinds of idiotic fool. I always thought you were attractive. I used to study the ID holo we had of you, wondering if you were as beautiful as it made you look. Then, when I talked to you that day in Etarus, I was dazzled-but I couldn't convince myself

you were really Skyla Lyma. The dreaded Wing Commander of the Companions wouldn't have that easy attitude on the street. But I followed you and I became sure of your identity when you took Broddus out."

"Well, we're all full of little surprises, aren't we?"

He nodded, picking at his food. "Yes, we are. I didn't expect to fall in love with you. "

"Nyklos, give it up. I'm not some sweet innocent who'll fall for crap like that. Stow it. The only place that women fall in love with prisoners and give them the keys to the castle are in romantic holo shows. So you can-"

"Will you shut up!" He slammed a fist on the table, and she could hear his teeth grinding. "By the Rotted Gods, how many times do I have to tell you!" He stood up, stomping back and forth, and finaUy stopping. "Look, forget it. Call the guard. Have him take me back to my quarters."

Skyla cut another piece of m-eat off the lamb and chewed it thoughtfully. "Tell me, is Bruen's headquarters underground? Someplace dark?"

Nyklos turned suspicious eyes on her. "What makes you say that?"

"I had a dream. Staffa was telling me to hurry. I saw people with robes being shot down by armored Regan soldiers. The whole thing was pretty vivid. Judging from your reaction just now, Bruen's headquarters really might be a place like that."

Nyklos walked over and braced himself on the table, watching her eat. "If I tell you, will you at least treat me like a human being? I didn't want to become attracted to you, it just happened."

:'What's this place called?" 'Makarta. "

"It's the main Seddi temple?"

Nyklos nodded. "But that's all I'm telling you. Now, do I get the chance to walk around I a little, stretch my legs, maybe make a contribution to-'

:'Will you pinpoint where Makarta is on a Targan mapT9 'Are you crazy? What kind of ……

Skyla pointed a finger at him. "If the Regans have found your Makarta, do you really think they'll leave it alone? Well, let me give you a piece of news, Nyklos. Rega's involved in the largest military buildup in her history. Some-

thing's gone real wrong on that side of Free Space and Staffa-and your Seddi-are

smack dab in the middle of it. Tybalt is preparing to launch a major offensive against the Sassan Empire. Do you think he's going to allow Targa to remain a thorn in his rear? The other pertinent piece of information you need to digest completely, is that Ily Takka spaced for Targa. Now, do you want to give me the information I need so I don't have to fool around finding the place when we drop in on Ily's party?"

Nyklos took a deep breath, straightening. He tilted his head back so he could stare at the Twin Titans. Skyla continued to eat. Finally Nyklos nodded. "All right. I'll show you where Makarta is. But on my terms, Skyla. I'm spacing with you, and if it turns out that it really looks like a Regan threat to Makarta and the Seddi, I'll pinpoint Makarta for you." He paused. "Besides, you might need me. I know the codes to get in touch with Bruen."

She nodded, somehow relieved. "Thanks, Nyklos."

He nodded. "I guess I really made a fool out of myself, didn't I? "

She washed the last of the lamb down with a swig of wine and stood, walking up to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. She searched his eyes and said, "No more so than any of the rest of us. Yes, I do love him-and I'm worried sick about him." She stepped back and flipped over the coin that she'd picked from his pocket. Skyla raised an eyebrow archly. "Two-headed?"

Nyklos started, speechless.

Skyla chuckled and tossed it to him. "If you're that bored with confinement, I'll have Ryman Ark put you to work on the docks." She stopped at the door. "And Nyklos, thanks for dinner. You've got berth on Chrysla when we ship for Targa."

Then she strode purposely toward the transport tube. In another four hours she ought to be through the reports. Cutting comers, they could ship within a day.

"And there is Makarta," Sinklar mused, staring at the point on the map. He studied the terrain and nodded his head. Not that far from Vespa. He turned away from the

monitor in Ily's LC. Arta's empty amber eyes might have been wells to suck down his soul.

Ily sat to one side, shapely legs crossed as she checked notes on her personal comm. Sink glanced thoughtfully at Mac, who leaned against the hatch, braced on one arm. The LC had begun to feel like a prison as Arta's story came out. Ily had drawn it from the woman with infinite skill, playing her for every shred of information about the Seddi.

Sinklar stared at his feet. It must have been that way with my mother and father. Why does my soul ache so?

Mac chewed his lip, gaze moving from the map to Fera and back. "We've known about the tunnels for some time, remember? We suspected that's how they were getting around clear back when we were holding the pass."

"Well," Sinklar added, 11 we'd never have known where the major tunnels were. With a solid gravity pulse hit from orbital, we can shut them off. Keep the Seddi bottled up. That is, we can if we can get Rysta to cooperate for once.":'She will," Ily remarked casually.

'Just like that?" Mac raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Why now when she hasn't before? I think she'd rather cut our throats than-"

Ily flashed the jessant-de-lis and added in icy tones, "Unlike you, First MacRuder, Commander Rysta has some respect for the Emperor's power."

Sinklar reached for the jessant-de-lis. Ily coolly handed it to him. He lifted it in the light, studying it curiously. "All that rests in this little trinket?"

"Provided you're the person it's biochemically tailored to " Ily told him. "Notice how the jaguar head is changing color? Going dull? Your body chemistry negates its authority. So long as I maintain this symbol of power, only Tybalt stands above me. With it, I can order entire fleets, dictate Imperial policy, decide life and death. and even confirm promotions, First MacRuder." Her smile turned from condescending to wily.

She rubbed the jessant-de-lis with a smooth thumb and the jaguar's face began to shine again.

Sinklar mused, "If I can be guaranteed orbital support in order to close their rabbit holes, then we have these Seddi bastards once and for all. There won't be another Targan revolt.

"We've sought to do that for years, Sinklar." Ily leaned over Arta where she lay on the acceleration couch and crooned, "You have done very well,

Arta Fera. Now, tell me. What is your true purpose?"

"Assassination… I am programmed to assassinate." "Programmed?" Sinklar wondered. "How?"

Arta swallowed, shivering. "I… Bruen did it. Placed a… thing in my mind. If… a man touches me. I kill him. Can't help it. I kill him. They sent me to the Temple in Etaria to learn the arts of love. Stole me out before the consecration… would have been gang rape. Would have set me off before my time. The machine taught me in the beginning and Bruen and the machine are one."

"Bruen? Machine?" Sinklar dropped on his haunches to stare into Arta's groggy eyes. "I want to hear this." Under Ily's prompting, Arta's entire life history poured

out: her devotion to Bruen; her love for Butla Ret; the Regan abduction and rape; the retaliatory killings; all the horror of Arta Fera's existence spun into an engrossing tale.

"Rotted Gods," Sinklar whispered, "and she's got that incredible sexual magnetism." He shook his head. "But Arta, why did you kill Gretta? I've seen the tapes. Gretta never did anything sexual to you. She came to help you! Why?"

Arta Fera's head lolled on the acceleration couch, drug heavy. "Regan. She's Regan." A hesitation as her lips moved. "Regans… raped me. Killed…. I killed them all. Will continue to kill them all. Forever. It's my duty. Kill those who rape. Kill those who touch me."

Ily's eyes slitted. "And what happens when a man touches you and you can't kill him? Hmm?"

"No!" Arta whimpered through a choked throat. "No!" Her voice tightened until she screamed hysterically, "No! No! NO!"

"Easy," Sinklar soothed, gut tight at the horror in her eyes. "No one will harm you here."

Arta Fera relaxed into a mumbling half-trance, her breasts heaving as she writhed in the binding straps. Mac's eyes kept straying to her wondrous body. He muttered under his breath and forced himself to look away.

Sinklar stepped back, propping himself against the bulkhead as he closed his eyes. Did the Seddi do that to my

parents? Were they sent to Rega as programmed biological machines? Blessed Gods, what sort of monsters are these Seddi?

Ily tilted her head, eyes glistening as she looked pensively at Sinklar. "Do I detect a wavering Lord Fist? Once, you simply wanted her to suffer eternally."

Sinklar opened his eyes, glaring acidly at the spot on the map which marked Makarta. He glanced over at Mac where he sat in the corner, pale, eyes pinned on Arta as he shook his head slowly.

"She's not responsible. She's a damned pawn! She's a Seddi victim. just like me. Just like all of us." Sink smacked a fist into his palm and looked at the map. "They started this whole mess? Why? All they've done is brought everyone misery."

"They've got to be stopped," Mac agreed, propping his elbows on his knees and staring down between his boots.

Ily pulled the shining black wealth of hair over her shoulder, observing Sinklar thoughtfully. "And this woman?"

Sinklar turned his attention to the assassin. "What do I do with her? I guess my anger is blunted, gone. She's a tool! Do I destroy a blaster because a man used it against me or the ones I loved? The Seddi are the responsible ones. this Bruen character."

He could hear Gretta's voice in his memories. Now you're thinking, Sink.

Making a decision, Ily suggested, "I could order her shipped to Rega."

"Why?" Sink, asked, suspicion flooding him. "What would you do with her Lord Minister?"

Ily stepped over to stare into Arta's slack face. "Send her to Rega. We have some of the best psychological technicians in Free Space. Perhaps we can counter some of the Seddi teachings." She looked up, a reserved light in her eyes. "Perhaps we could learn something about Seddi techniques."

"All right," Sinklar agreed wearily. Then he straightened. "I want her under the authority of Anatolia Daviura. She's not to be killed, not to be probed. Are we agreed?"

"Very well," Ily told him with a firm nod. "I'll see that the Emperor himself knows of her. and your wish for her disposition."

Sink locked eyes with Ily, seeing only cool appraisal. "I wouldn't want to learn later that anything had happened to

Fera.",

The corners of Ily's lips tightened. "I give you my word,

1 won't lay a finger on her. We can keep her in the detention center. I'd suggest, however, that you put female guards in charge of her."

Sink started to object, then bit it off. "Mac, contact Rysta. Tell her we need every LC that's available. I want us mobile and ready to move by tomorrow morning. Have Commander Braktov drop us new armor, and anything else the Section Armorers deem in need of repair or replacement. She's gonna buck and snort and hate it, but tell her to contact Ily if she has any questions."

Mac bounced to his feet, slapping an arm in salute. "What about the captured Divisions?" He shot a sidelong glance at Ily. "We taking them, too?"

Sink pursed his lips, staring at the map. "I don't think so. From Fera's admission, Makarta is lightly defended at best. The Seddi depend on secrecy and their tunnels for security. Too many soldiers, and we'd be tripping all over each other in those tunnels.

"And I want people I can trust for this one." He looked at Ily. "You'll back me on this?" She nodded. "I will Lord Siklar." "Get on it, Mac," Sinklar motioned his friend out and started to follow, stopping at the ramp and looking back as MacRuder trotted out into the sunlight. Sink turned, hanging to the hatch lip with one hand.

"Why do you call me Lord? I'm no such thing." She walked up to him, close enough that he could look up into her eyes and marvel at their cunning intelligence. He could smell the delicate scent of her body.

"We both know the answer to that," she said simply. "Can you think of anyone better suited to command the Regan military given the desperate days ahead? Does it serve any purpose to await Tybalt's decree?"

Sinkiar took a deep breath. "No, I suppose not. I presume you'll attend to laying the political groundwork? It would save having to take Rega with my Divisions." "I shall do so Lord." "Lord?" Sinklar murmured to himself as he ducked

through the hatch and started for the ramp. Even his own people didn't treat him the same anymore. They watched him with awe in their eyes. The old camaraderie had vanished like mist in the sun. Worse, when he became the commander of the Regan forces and stood at Tybalt's side, even Mac would grow distant. It's lonely," Sinklar whispered. "So very, very lonely."

Who would have guessed that such an incredible machine existed so far down in the rocky guts of Targa? Staffa stood in the rear of the room, watching the lights flicker on the Mag Comm. Despite his familiarity with the nanotechnological marvels his engineers created in the Itreatic Asteroids, he'd never seen anything as sophisticated as the giant machine that filled one side of the deep cavern under Makarta.

Seddi Initiates and Masters stood nervously before the machine, tension in the set of their shoulders. Bruen lay on the recliner, the curious golden helmet covering his bald scalp and obscuring most of his face.

Bruen's body suddenly went limp in the chair. Sweat poured from under the golden helmet to trickle down the Magister's ancient face. Wilm and Kaylla rushed forward to lift the helmet from the old man's head and pull him up from the chair. Staffa considered the machine's effect on Bruen. The Magister sucked in deep breaths, all his energy gone.

Staffa stepped over to stare up at the Mag Comm's glittering lights, aware on some subliminal level of the machine's power. He'd asked Bruen if he could see the machine, saying that perhaps with his advanced knowledge of computer manufacturing, he could gain some clue as to its origin. Now he shook his head slowly with the realization that nothing of current human manufacture could compare with this. He ran inquisitive fingers over the consoles, unable to fathom the material or the method of manufacture.

With curious hands, Staffa picked up the helmet and raised it above his head until he felt a faint prickling sensation. Warily, he replaced it on the holder and pulled at his chin, lost in thought.

"I… I don't know if I can go on," Bruen gasped and wheezed. "Each time, I… I…"

Kaylla shushed him lovingly and helped settle the old man on an antigrav.

Staffa squinted at the huge gray banks of the computer. Nonhuman technology? Or some relic of a mythological Earth? Is the secret to the Forbidden Borders here? I will come back to this room. In a somber mood, he turned and followed

the Seddi up the winding rocky corridor.

Bruen's room turned out to be just the sort of place Staffa expected it to be: nothing more than a spare cell hewn out of solid rock. A small sleeping pallet without a grav field had been cut into a wall. An illumination panel and a compact comm access for reading or study along with a handmade chair composed the remainder of the room's furnishings. Wilm and Kaylla crowded the room as they lifted Bruen off the antigrav stretcher. Staffa waited outside, his mind still on the Mag Comm — and the implications of its existence.

"Staffa?" Kaylla called. "Bruen would like to speak with you."

Wilm hesitated at the door, distrust in his very posture.

"Go, Wilm." Bruen flipped a hand weakly as if shooing a fly. "For God's sake, he'd have killed me by now were that his purpose." A faint smiled crossed his age-purpled lips. "And besides," his voice dropped. "He and I must talk. So much must be decided."

Wilm's jaw flared, muscles tensed. He gave a curt nod and backed reluctantly from the room. Staffa ignored the man as he entered and pulled up a heavy chair crafted from thick branches. He settled himself into its seat of interwoven leather straps.

"The Mag Comm is a most interesting machine, eh?" Bruen asked.

"I've never seen anything like it. What does it draw power from?"

"Not sure, really." Bruen wiped his face with a cloth from beside the pallet. "We have speculated its power comes from some atomic reaction fed by the planet's core. That, or it may pump water into the magma and use steam to spin turbines. We really don't know. It's so… alien."

"Has it been here as long as the Seddi?"

"Longer. But the records don't tell us that it acted the way it does now. You see, it used to be passive, nothing more than a curious machine." Bruen went on to explain the Mag Comm's return to life on that day long ago.

"And you have been misleading it over the years?" Staffa asked, thinking: Like empires, the machine, too, fears these Seddi. What purpose is served by suppressing their teachings? What can be so dangerous about a philosophy of shared God Mind and ethics?

"Yes. We've lied to it. Such a delicate game. This time, this time it almost managed to break past my defenses. I think. think it knows."

"Then why do you talk to it?" Staffa propped himself on an elbow. "Why continue this sham? Ignore it! What power does it have?" The helmet's prickle along his scalp remained in his memory.

Bruen's laugh sounded harsh in the silence. "Hyde and I tried that once. The machine cut us off. All the lights here, the ventilation, the water and comm are controlled by it. Further, its computational powers are greater by far than anything in the Regan sphere of influence. The boards are unlike anything we make. Alien… yet so powerful a tool. I've never been sure we could risk its loss.

"For example, ask it to compute the probability of Rega obtaining military control of Free Space, and it will tell you."

"I could tell you," Staffa grunted.

"Not like the Mag Comm," Bruen disagreed wearily. "It will make an instantaneous computation of every imaginable factor down to the military contribution of fishing provinces on Riparious. No human mind can deal with the tons of data the Mag Comm wields. No human could think to program a system to handle the complete societal outputs of an empire like the Mag Comm can."

Staffa pulled at his black beard. And yet it is a construct, as I am. An artifact, a thing made for a purpose. How different are we?

Bruen closed his eyes, head nodding on his small pillow. "Believe me, we fear it, Lord Commander. But I suppose it is a weakness among the Seddi that we crave such power of intellect — no matter what the risk. An addiction, if you will."

"A vile monstrosity, if you will," Staffa countered.

Silence.

"Why are you really here, Staffa kar Therma?" Bruen's eyes stayed closed,

his expression that of a man in pain.

Staffa leaned back in the chair, lacing his fingers together, legs outstretched on stone polished smooth through eons. "I originally started out to find my son. And on the way I realized that to do so, I had to find myself."

"Awareness?"

"Yes. awareness."

Bruen's eyebrows lifted over his still closed eyes. To himself he added, "And there is the reason it all fell apart, Hyde, my old friend. Here is the missing piece. Who would have ever guessed the Lord Commander wasn't aware?"

"Pardon me?"

"We worked long and hard to get you, Staffa kar Therma. Oh, we tried so hard. You see, you were the key."

"The key?"

"To survival." Bruen took a deep breath. "As the Lord Commander of the Companions, you would have broken Rega, correct?"

"Was it that apparent?"

"To the Mag Comm, yes. We, of course, spent years checking and cross-checking the data on our own. Oh, we knew your whole plan — possibly before you did. We couldn't allow it. Your steel fist would have crushed the aspirations of the human spirit — provided sufficient resources to support civilization had survived the war."

"And how could you have stopped me and my Companions?"

Bruen grinned, the wrinkles on his face shifting. "By throwing a revolution on Targa."

"I don't. you mean this whole rebellion was. But how? How did you think you could get me by a revolt on Targa?"

"But that was our brilliance! We had an assassin, a very special assassin, trained from birth just to kill you."

"And where is this assassin now, Bruen? Should I be looking over my shoulder? Perhaps walk with my blaster ready? Fear my food?" Staffa tensed in the chair, eyes suddenly going to the door.

"Relax, Lord Commander. I'm afraid it all came undone.

We planned on your running to Targa to pick up a few last Regan credits. The contract would have also provided an opportunity to scout Regan preparedness and allay their fears. You might have finished Targa and gone straight for the Regan capital — a mark of your strategic ability. There were too many opportunities for you to use the Targan campaign to your benefit. Only you didn't come. much to our intense mystification."

Staffa closed his eyes and shook his head. "All that just to get an assassin within range to kill me?"

Bruen filled his lungs again. "All those people dead. Everything undone because you yourself changed. What happened on Myklene? What did the Praetor tell you? How much?"

"Enough."

"Kaylla recounted most of your conversations with her." Bruen worked his mouth. "What of your son, Staffa? Do you think you would know him after all these years? You only saw him once as a baby."

"I'd know him, Bruen. No matter where he is, I'd know him by sight." He paused. "The Praetor told me he was here, on Targa, left with the Seddi Priests years ago."

"He was. We sent him elsewhere."

"Why?" Staffa demanded. "Where is he? How can I find him? Tell me, Bruen. The Seddi wouldn't lose track of so valuable an asset."

"Easy, Lord Commander. You must remember, at the time we considered you the greatest threat to the continued existence of humankind. We hated you, feared you as much, or more, than that demon machine in the basement."

"Where's my son?"

"Don't look at me like that. We did nothing to harm him. In fact, in a moment of weakness, I sent him, tiny thing that he was, to Rega — and safety. I didn't hold his ancestry against him. I believed him innocent." A pained frown cut Bruen's forehead and he sighed miserably.

"Then he lived through my bombardment?"

"He lived."

Staffa's eyes narrowed and he dropped his head into his hands. "Thank the Blessed Gods. I… I killed Chrysla on Myklene. Damn the Praetor! I never would have suspected he was behind her kidnapping years ago. I…"

"He was a most insidious sort." Bruen reached up to massage his temples.

"But yes, your son lives. We placed him in a state institution on Rega. He did very well. In fact, he excelled at his chosen field. He was still there when we prodded the Targans into revolt. I imagine he will be safe as long as Rega is."

"Thank God," Staffa sighed, a light filling his face.

"No. I think you had better thank the quanta instead."

"Where do I find him, Bruen?"

"I can't tell you just were he is at this precise moment. But, assuming that you and I come to a satisfactory agreement concerning Free Space, we'll bring the two of you together."

"I don't make a good hostage — nor will my son."

The old man laughed, then winced as if the action pained him. "I wouldn't make a very good Seddi if I instantly succumbed to your every demand either, would I? Suffice it to say that, considering current Regan policy on Targa, your son is safer than you are. If Ily knew you were here, I doubt she'd leave a stone untouched in her search for you. And, Staffa, you and must come to some sort of agreement about Free Space — and the role of the Companions. I'll show you the data if you like, but you've got to believe that war between Rega and Sassa will doom us all."

"Stopping that war will bedifficult. I've positioned them, groomed them." Staffa frowned, steepling his fingers. "The key, of course, is the Companions. With instant surgical strikes, I could keep damage to a minimum, avoid destroying planetary resources. If Rega moves in the next couple of months, however, it will be a disaster."

Bruen wiped his fleshy nose and grunted. "They'll waste each other's planets until nothing is left. The machine. wel, it may play a role, too. We can't underestimate it."

"Bruen, I think the time has come to develop a new epistemology."

"What do you want, Staffa? What's your ultimate goal? Domination of Free Space? To be declared Emperor of humanity?"

"I want to break the Forbidden Borders, Bruen. What's your price for cooperation?"

"Freedom for the Seddi to preach where they will— including among your Companions."

"You have my word on it."

Bruen filled his lungs and exhaled wearily. "Who would have thought?" He paused, chuckled weakly, and added, "Then perhaps it's time to begin tearing down the walls between us. Kaylla said you told her about your parents?" "I did. "

"Staffa, many years ago, the Seddi and Myklene had strong and friendly ties. We shared a great deal of trade with Myklene. At the time, Rega was simply a three-world hegemony-a budding industrial base. Phillipia was attempting to expand into other… but I stray.

"Myklene sent numerous vessels to Targa and we traded raw metals for finished products. We also traded something else-information processing through the Mag Comm. Oh, to be sure, it hadn't awakened at the time, it was simply the finest computer in all of Free Space.

"The point of all this is that a young man from Myklene showed up at our temple in Kaspa. He paid us very well for access to the machine and ran raw data through the Mag Comm. Power doesn't always derive from the right answers-rather, it is born of asking the right questions. Through the years-as a result of his connections with us and the questions he asked-he gained a' considerable reputation. All of which carried him to the heights of power on Myklene. Then Rega captured Targa and cut off our services to Myklene-and the rest of Free Space, for that matter. Our order was outlawed, and the rest is now history."

"This man," Staffa ventured. "You talk of the Praetor?" "I do. Of course, while Tybalt the Imperial Fourth harried us and tried to eliminate the Seddi, we weren't completely without our own means. We adapted well, went underground, and began the long tedious process of infiltrating both Rega and Sassa. Myklene never threatened us since the Praetor went to great lengths to establish communication links to the Mag Comm."

"Go on. "

"Tell me about your mother?" "I don't see what this- "Just tell me!"

Off balance, Staffa answered, "She was blonde, thin, with-"

"That's enough. And your father?"

"Redheaded, overweight with-"

"Enough." Bruen lifted himself from the bed, some color back in his face. He took a water dispenser and put the tube in his mouth, drinking as he eyed

Staffa.

"If this has a point, I would-"

"You still rush through life, Staffa. Learn to be patient. Much will come to those who think first and act later," Bruen reminded with almost paternal concern. "Now, consider what you know about genetics. Dominance and recessives?"

"I'm familiar with the…. What do my parents …… He blinked. "My hair is blackP'

"Yes," Bruen agreed, "Your hair is black."

"But that means they're not…. Then they weren't my parents. 9'

"No, they weren't," Bruen agreed, placing fragile hands on his rounded belly. "Blonde and red hair are both recessive. At least one of your parents had to have black hairlike yours.

"Do you know who….

"Sorry, Lord Commander. We have no way of knowing. Suffice it to say that if any records exist, they probably remain on Myklene."

Staffa winced at the thought. He remembered the Civil Records Building-smoking rubble, girders, and supports half-melted from a direct thermal hit.

So, you may never know. Is that truly important to you, Staffa kar Therma? I am what and who I am. No more, no less.

"Tell me, Bruen, how do you justify the deaths of so many simply to kill one man? Do you consider your actions ethical?"

Bruen's gaze shifted to the rock overhead. "I justify it with great difficulty. Magister Hyde and I planned and considered most diligently. How much is the survival of the species worth, Lord Commander? We felt that it was necessary-and we condemned ourselves. You had to be stopped. The machine left no doubt about the final outcome."

Staffa closed his eyes, starting as if struck by a fist. Images of his dreams flashed strobelike through his mind. Gravitational pulses convulsed amidst the horror of blasted

cities. Slave columns plodded toward transports, collars tight about their necks, eyes dull with disbelief. Here a mother cried over fragments of her child's body. There a young girl screamed as men held her naked limbs, panting for the chance to rape her. Flames lapped yellow-orange into spirals of black smoke as human dreams and hopes burned in a gluttonous fire of destruction.

"Indeed." The old man's voice trembled. "All that blood we cost went for nothing, Staffa. Nothing!"

Staffa pulled up a leg and draped an arm across it, seeing the old man through a dull mist of pain.

"You see," Bruen continued, "we don't have our solution. In the original permutations, the Companions would disintegrate without your leadership, establishing a third autonomous power in Free Space. Face it, most of your people are getting older. They have families. The wanderlust and need for plunder and rapine are wearing out.

"You ask about ethics?" Bruen barked a laugh. "You see, we truly believe in God and humanity and knowledge, Lord Commander. We believe in shared God Mind to the point that we will sacrifice a little of it here and there to better the state of all humanity. We look at the future and see chaos. Economically, both empires are bankrupt. War will bring a dark age. Whole planets-starting with the best ones-will be burned off, utterly destroyed to deprive the other side of resources. With enough of the good planets like Targa and Rega and Myklene and Sassa and Phillipia radioactive, where will humankind get the materials it needs to survive? Famine, thirst, disease, and slow death will destroy the species." He shrugged brokenly.

Staffa laughed sourly, depressed by both this future projection and the confining rock that surrounded him. "So I reap the ultimate benefit of what I invested." His mind raced, playing the scenario as it must unfold. "And this Sinklar Fist? Doesn't he change the probabilities?"

Bruen nodded. "He does. With his apparent skills in Rega's control, they will make an end of Sassa very quickly. Our problem with Fist lies in the fact that we don't have enough data on his potentials. For instance, will he blast Sassa first? How many Sassan resources can he save? What will the Sassan retaliation be? What sort of Emperor will

he make in the end? Currently, he's allied with Ily Takka. Is she filling in for Fist's dead lover? The prospect is frightening. "

"And, to date, you've left the Companions out of your analysis," Staffa reminded.

"Indeed, Lord Commander. So tell me-now that I've made my bargain with the devil-what will the Companions do? What if our discussion, and your talks with Kaylla, have swayed you to see that humanity is about to come unhinged? Possibly face extinction? What then?"

Staffa leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling light panels. The rustic chair groaned as he shifted his weight. Was this another womb like the syalon-crate?

"I learned suffering in the desert, Magister Bruen. A slave collar was placed around my neck. I crawled into sewers and thirsted in the desert while I cursed myself. I looked at Kaylla-and I lived with my crimes and sins."

The images haunted his mind. "A man I met-a jeweler by the name of Peebal-taught me a very important truth. I will make Free Space better, Magister. One way or another, I will break Rega and Sassa and then I will break the Forbidden Borders and free us all from this hell I have made."

Bruen sagged on the bed, a weary load seeming to lift. "Who would have thought?"

"I made my promises in the desert," Staffa added. "I have chosen to atone.'9

"Seeking God, Staffa?"

"And my soul, Magister. I still have nightmares. I still live with the ghosts of those I killed. I will live with them until the day they come to claim me."

"Nothing God has saddled us with weighs as heavily as responsibility."

"Kaylla taught that we are all God, Magister," Staffa added. "God must surely be strong enough to bear it allno matter what our temporal memories."

Bruen nodded again, chest rising and falling. "I hope it is so, for honestly, Lord Commander, I am tired of my share of the burden and would give it back to Deity."

Deep in the rock, the Mag Comm ran permutations on the brain it had barely touched through the helmet. A new man had come to Makarta-a powerful man. Pulses of energy reached through time-space, sent from a thousand comm centers throughout Free Space. Bit by bit, the Mag Comm correlated, placing observed against expected and finding ever more evidence of ultimate success.

Very little remained at risk now. Had the time come to dispense with Bruen and his lies? Had humanity passed the point from which it could not return?

Mag Comm initiated sequences which tapped the planet's core, seeking to build its reserves to full capacity. The link beyond the Forbidden Borders took such vast energies.

Yet the uncertainty principle could not be underestimated. There still remained that man who had touched the helmet and come so tantalizingly close to contact. Who could he be?