NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC For everyone’s info:

The purpose of this thread is to introduce this world and set up the basic culture & conflict. When the basic material is covered, we’re hoping others might be interested in doing some character-based RPs on Veran/Klaros, and would love to hear from anyone interested. Please TG to let us know!

The player(s) behind Veran/Klaros include one of the HVS players and a friend, just so everyone knows.



PROLOGUE

Killing produced a deep weariness, a bone-weariness, a soul-weariness that numbed the other pains. Kuinyvara noted the numbness through the fog of detachment that had enveloped her since the battle had ended. The aftermath of the battle itself, and their return journey in the strange jetcar to the Palace of Morning, had receded like events recounted from a dream. The Household—what remained of it—had respected her silence. After binding up the needle-gun burn on her arm, Sylla had tried to cajole her into eating. She'd taken a few bites, to reassure them, but had pushed the bowl away without finishing, and they'd left her to herself. Now they were all waiting, in what had been the Chamber of Birds, a small audience hall overlooking the main gardens. From where she sat, K'vara could see the smoking remains of the pleasaunce.

"Are we to be kept waiting like merchants?" muttered Lord Gaussain. Merthay hushed him, but there was a current of restlessness that betokened agreement among many in the room. For herself, K'vara could have waited a very long time indeed. She knew what was to be demanded of her. Knew, and dreaded. It had been inevitable since that day nearly a year ago, when they were summoned from the Solstice Hunt at Yimsin Mountain.

Jeraint had just made a kill, and the Eldest had given thanks to Prey, when the jetcar circled overhead. The rough terrain precluded landing, so they had mounted immediately and returned to Bellflower House, home of Lady Ardahan and Lord Ulperic, their hosts for the Hunt. It had happened with terrible swiftness. Even as the white-lipped Guardian made his report, a second jetcar was hovering overhead—a jetcar bearing a device unknown to all the heralds of Veran.

By the time the Guardian's report was finished, they were waiting in the antechamber, eight of them, tall and grim in dark-green and silver military uniforms. Twenty ships of the Second Fleet of Klaros were orbiting Veran, a blanket satellite had been deployed to disrupt off-planet communications, and the Lord Commander of the Fleet, Karth Tallis, had taken Gem Castle and was using it as his command post. Jeraint dismissed the Guardian, with instructions to prepare a full tactical briefing. Veran Herald, her eyes snapping anger and disdain, announced the Klarosians.

"Lord Karth Tallis, Commander of the Second Fleet of Klaros, and escort." The men who followed her in wore no body weapons, as protocol demanded. Karth Tallis led his officers in, and even without weapons there was no mistaking the air of menace that surrounded him. He was a lean, carnivorous-looking man, with eyes like razors, whose harsh features had a certain elegance about them. He moved with the grace and leashed power of a knife dancer, and there was supreme arrogance in his stride as he approached them. One of his officers set a chair for him, with a brief bow to Jeraint and Kuinyvara he sat, leaned back comfortably, and crossed his legs, surveying the assembled Veran nobles.

There was a poignant contrast between the subdued hunting-clothes of the Royal Household, and the glittering insignia of the officers, their empty sidearm holsters a stark warning. Jeraint and Kuinyvara, the Royal House of Veran, were seated in comfortable but rustic wooden chairs. The High King of Veran was little more than a boy, just out of adolescence. His dark auburn hair emphasized the pale and luminous quality of his skin, and in his amber eyes burned the anger of youth. In the Lady of Veran, sitting next to her brother, that incandescent beauty was not duplicated. Pale, round-faced, she was slightly older than the King. His smooth thick hair with its gleaming darkness was in her a washed-out, sandy color, pulled back unbecomingly in a tight plait. Her height was difficult to judge, seated, but Tallis guessed her to be short of stature, and somewhat plumper than most Klarosians would consider beautiful. She was aware of his gaze, and a slight flush crept into the pale cheeks, but she met his eyes with grave dignity.

Behind the Royal House was grouped some of the chief nobles of Veran: Joannan, Mayor of the Household; Osano, Lord of Timsika and Ferratis, First Gentleman of the Household; Lord Ulperic and Lady Ardahan; Lady Sylla of the Westmarch, First Lady of the Household, and Undan, Eldest of the Yimsin people. Tallis put the tips of his fingers together, and waited for one of them to speak.

Jeraint glanced at his sister, then said, "Well, Lord Commander? We are awaiting an explanation of your unprovoked acts of war upon the Veran people." His tone was cold.

"You misunderstand the situation, Your Highness." The Lord Commander's voice had a steely resonance. "I am Commander of the Colonial Expedition Force of Klaros. We have come to stay. This can be accomplished in several ways, some less peaceful than others."

"Colonization?" The Mayor of the Household was skeptical. "Why would Klaros do such a thing? We have nothing you could want, we are a semi-anachronist planet, without resources of great value, and without strategic position. What can you benefit by such a colony?"

The razor keen eyes rested on him. "Survival, Noble Mayor." None of them were surprised that Tallis knew precisely to whom he spoke, although no introductions had been made.

"Survival?" They were baffled by the totally unexpected answer. "Survival." Tallis repeated. "As you may be aware, Klaros has been at war for some years against the Tetrarchy of Hecht." Joannan nodded, and Tallis continued. "Upon the Second Fleet's return from the final subjugation of Hecht, we discovered that treachery during a weapons experiment had devastated our own world. Our survivors remain on orbital bases. The surface of Klaros will be uninhabitable for many thousands of years. It is therefore imperative that we find a new home for our people. Veran is a prime candidate. Although it is without major trade exports, it is abundant in a variety of resources necessary to sustain our colony. It is sparsely populated, and militarily," he smiled thinly, "Well, let us simply say that you are hardly capable of any insurmountable military objections." He waited for a response, but they were too stunned. He continued. "However, there is no need for further violence. I have been at war for twenty years, and I am weary of it. So I am prepared to offer you extremely generous terms."

Joannan found his voice. "And just what are these 'generous terms'?" he said grimly. Tallis gestured to one of his officers, who handed the Mayor a document. As Joannan began to scan it, Tallis addressed Jeraint and Kuinyvara.

"The terms are these: All lands west of the Sunset Mountains will be under Klarosian jurisdiction for settlement, effective immediately. All the remainder of the Northern Continent, the Amber Peninsula, the Great Islands, and the Rim settlements of the Southern Continent will acknowledge suzerainty to Klaros. The Royal House will continue to administer its ceremonial and religious functions, but all civil administration will devolve to the Klarosian government. In return, I will guarantee all lands currently held to their Houses, excepting those west of the Sunset Mountains. Veran officials may continue to administer chartered cities and towns, under Klarosian authority. Lands held directly by the Royal House may continue under Your Highness' governance, providing you make submission to Klaros."

Jeraint looked at Joannan, who was still scanning the document. The Mayor looked up briefly at Tallis, nodded corroboratively to Jeraint, and continued reading. Tallis continued. "In token of the submission of the Royal House of Veran, I will take the Lady of Veran to wife."

There was a collective gasp from the Household. Several hands reached for the empty sheaths of body weapons. Jeraint started forward in his chair, flushing with fury. How dare these barbarians! The arrogance of the man! Kuinyvara sat frozen. Jeraint opened his mouth to speak, but Joannan's hand, pressing down on his shoulder, stopped him. The Mayor said quietly, "You ask a great deal, Lord Commander. The Lady of Veran is not a trade token, to be given as surety. We must consider this" he held up the document, "and prepare an answer for you. Refreshment has been brought for you and your officers. If you will return to us this evening, we will give you our reply."

Tallis smiled. "Certainly, Noble Mayor." He stood, and bowed to the seething Jeraint and the frozen K'vara. "Your Highness, My Lady." Once again they were aware of the effortlessly supreme arrogance in his stride as he left.

As soon as the doors closed behind the Klarosians, a babble of talk arose.

"Never! We will die to the last house on Veran!"

"Insolence! The Lady of Veran, and that filthy barbarian?"

"Are they to turn Veran into a foul cesspit of technology, as they did with Klaros? They have already polluted one planet beyond habitation, are we to hand them Veran to rape like savages?"

"This Tallis goes too far. Kill him and his officers now, or hold them as hostages to disarm this fleet and send it away!"

Sylla of the Westmarch looked at K'vara still sitting silent, frozen as though hit by a palnat thorn. She knelt beside the chair, took K'vara's hand, her lovely face flushing with concern. "There now, my Lady, do not worry. This will not happen. Whatever these barbarians have done in their own domains, they shall find Veran has surprises for them."

K'vara's eyes returned from the middle distance, focused on her friend's face. She shook her head, smiled a little. "Of course. I'm all right, Sylla." She turned in her chair to listen to Joannan trying to calm Jeraint's rage. "My brother, should we not hear the Guardian's tactical briefing before we discuss this insult further?"

Jeraint's wide, mobile mouth set hard, but he was silent. Joannan nodded. "Of course, my Lady."

The Guardian's report was not encouraging. "The Gem Castle Citadel was taken even as they sounded the alert. The Klarosian fleet used high-power jamming probes, dispatched from beyond the system limits, to disrupt the sensor networks. When they came in, they came in firing. The Orbital Citadel was destroyed instantly, and all ground-to space weapons in a position to counterattack were knocked out in the first barrage. It took less than an hour. Within two hours they had landed two legions and taken Gem Castle. Our intelligence estimates their strength at thirty legions. Twenty ships, four Command class, twelve battle cruisers and four corvettes. The Spaceport is under blockade, the Trade Legate and his staff were escorted to their ships and allowed to leave under guard." The Guardian had reported on the status of the Veran mobilization, but even the most optimistic of his listeners knew that in an all-out fight, the tiny Veran League of Guardians would stand no chance. Half of the technological heavy weaponry available to them was destroyed with the Orbital Citadel and the ground-to-space weapons.

In the cloistered garden where they were taking refreshments, Tallis was listening to his officers. "You certainly flung a grenade in that temple, my Lord." General Ralin said. He was Battalion Commander of the Legions which had supplied the first assault troops. A massive, heavy-browed man, he'd served with Tallis for more than ten years of hard combat experience. "Did you see them when you demanded their pasty-faced Lady off them? Like a colony of imri, with a chokchi in the nest. It's not as if she's anything worth a battle for, in any case. Now that tall, dark one-- she's meat for a man's bed, to be sure!" Tallis cocked an eyebrow at him. He, too, had noticed the beauty of the Lady of the Westmarch. "Going to settle down, General? She's First Lady of the Household, with very large holdings in the Sunset Mountains. It might not be a bad match, eh?"

"More than her holdings are large." Lieutenant Commander Jenka, Security Chief on Tallis' Command Ship, remarked. "Sure you don't want her for yourself, my Lord?"

Tallis shook his head. "No, I must have the Lady of Veran. By their own law it is only her offspring which can inherit the Royal House. We are few in number, and our colony must survive. If my son holds the Royal House, Veran cannot rebel." He helped himself liberally from a dish of spiced meats.

"And the fierce little brother?" Jenka tasted the wine. It was rich and mellow. "Fine vineyards, here," he added aside, to no one in particular.

"The High King can live safely on his own lands, hedged round by my guards. If the people of Veran see that he is treated well, allowed to hold his lands and continue his ceremonial functions, they will have even less reason to fight us. Trying to protect a quarter million colonists with just the Second Fleet Expeditionary Legions and twenty ships is not a task I relish."

"Huh." Ralin was scornful. "Our legions can easily subdue even the whole fifty million of those Veran sheep."

"Perhaps, but they can put up a stiff fight. We lost over six hundred taking that aborted Citadel." Gortan Tenbar was Commandant of one of the Legions which had taken the post.

"As individuals, the Veran Guardians are fighters to be reckoned with, but there are only about ten thousand of them on the whole planet. I don't fear any organized military resistance. But if they turned to guerilla tactics...remember Statice Twelve?" Tallis looked at Ralin.

"Not if I can help it." The General grimaced. "Skulking around in those wretched hills, waiting to get shot in the back any moment. Well, I suppose you're right, as usual, my Lord." He tasted from a dish made of vegetables and grains, coughed, choked and spat. His eyes started to water.

"Oh by the way, that dish is quite spicy." Tallis said blandly, gesturing to Ralin's plate. Eyes streaming, the General gulped from his water goblet. "Thank you, my Lord." he finally said, voice husky. "Your concern is moving."

By the time the Klarosians were summoned back into the presence of the Royal House, evening was spreading over Yimsin Mountain, visible through the windows of the Great Hall. Glow-lights had been placed in sconces and torchieres, and the High King and the Lady of Veran had changed into State Robes which glittered impressively. The Lady's face was shadowed by her ceremonial headdress. Tallis approached the dais a step or two ahead of his escort, and resumed his seat with casual assurance. Again there was a brief silence, then Jeraint spoke.

"We have heard your terms, Lord Commander, now hear the word of the Royal House of Veran: We deplore and regret the destruction of your world, and mourn with you for its loss. Recognizing the grief and loss suffered by the people of Klaros, we are willing to forgive your violent assault upon the Veran people, and to forego just reparations. From the nobility and compassion of the people and the Royal House of Veran, we are prepared to offer you all the lands West of the Sunset Mountains, providing only that you swear peace and fealty to the Royal House of Veran, and that you submit to the Great Law established to preserve our world. To this agreement we will set our word at the Great Tree, before the Elders."

Tallis' glance flicked from the High King to Joannan, standing behind Jeraint's left shoulder. The Mayor was watching him, impassively. The Lord Commander smiled without mirth. "A generous offer, Your Highness. We are of course moved by your sympathy." It was said with only the faintest suggestion of derision. "In the interests of peace, we may be willing to make a--less abrupt--transition to the new Veran. However, my people do not necessarily share the beliefs of Veran about what may or may not best preserve this planet and its population. Your Great Law you may observe as you will, it does not apply to the people of Klaros. And my final condition still applies. I will marry the Lady of Veran." He watched the woman as he finished speaking, but the shadows about her face revealed nothing. She neither moved nor spoke, but he thought her hands tightened on the arms of her chair.

Anger glinted in Jeraint's eye, but he was well under control. "This is not an area open to negotiations, Lord Commander. The Lady of Veran is not property to be posted at bond. You overreach yourself. Go, and consider our offer. If the peace and friendship of Veran is without value to your people, they will not find happiness or prosperity here. You are dismissed."

Tallis remained sitting easily in the large wooden chair. "As I understand your customs, Your Highness, the Lady is free to make such choices without interference. I would prefer to hear her refusal from her directly. Well, Your Highness?" He addressed K'vara.

Her chin lifted slightly, and the shadows fled from her face. The amber eyes gleamed. "My brother has conveyed my answer, Lord Commander. No other is necessary. It is not the will of my people, nor is it my will, to take a consort from without the people of Veran."

"Think, Lady." The resonant voice was compelling. "You have it in your power to save your planet from great destruction, and your people from great agony. If I must conquer Veran, I shall not be gentle in that conquest."

There was a momentary silence, then Jeraint spoke, his anger spilling over. "Believe this, Klarosian. Such insolence merits outlawry on Veran. The people of Veran will die, to the last man, woman and child, rather than turn our land or our Lady over to barbarians. Attempt your conquest then--you will win yourself a home that is dry, cold, bitter and rancid. It will save you the trouble of destroying it as you have done to your own planet. Now go, before we forget the laws of courtesy and have you slain at our feet." He was straight in his chair, his eyes blazing. K'vara covered his fist, clenched on the arm of his chair, with her hand. Joannan's hand was on his shoulder, and the Mayor's deep voice rang out into the appalled silence. "The Royal House of Veran has spoken." Jeraint rose, and with one furious glance over his shoulder, left by the door behind the dais, followed by Kuinyvara and the Household.

THE ULTIMATUM

Kuinyvara tried to remember Jeraint's face as it had been on that evening--proud, resolute, bright with his anger as they had said their goodbyes and left hastily for separate Citadels. But between them, another face kept intruding into memory: The harsh features of Karth Tallis, menacing and enigmatic. And still more faces: Leifara, Veran Herald, contorted with agony as she'd died in K'vara's arms at the battle of Red Cliffs. The ravaged faces of the people of Da'Sarun, who had watched as their friends and families were systematically executed for defying the occupying Klarosians.

K'vara had known little of Klaros, once, an ignorance she wished she could somehow retrieve. It was one of several nearby worlds or systems, techno-barbarians whose traders occasionally passed through the Veran Spaceport. Veran purchased some communications equipment from them, the minimum necessary to maintain the Emergency Network and the Central Data System. Now she knew much of their ways, and with everything she learned her loathing increased. Techno-dependent, parasitic, bureaucratic fools whose infatuation with machines had brought about their own destruction. Their culture and economy was heavily dependent on large, organized wars to maintain or obtain control of the vast quantities of resources needed to sustain their technology. Their social system was an archaic mix of patriarchality and totalitarianism, and their religions were fanatical remnants of the fierce myths surviving from their long-forgotten past.

She looked at the stubble of the beautiful gardens planted generations ago, grieving over each tree, each rock planting, each of the rare and beautiful flowers that had flourished there so long. She and Jeraint had walked often in that pleasaunce. With that memory, his face came to her at last, and she bowed her head, silently reciting the Prayers of Farewell. As she finished, they came for her.

There were four of them, under the command of General Ralin. He looked uglier than ever, with a needle-gun scar contorting his heavy features. He bowed politely before her. "Lady, the Lord Commander requests your presence. And yours, Noble Mayor. These men will escort you." He gestured to two of the subalterns. "The rest of you will be shown to your quarters. You, my Lady," he bowed again, this time to Sylla, "I shall do myself the honor of escorting personally."

The familiar and beautiful halls of her favorite palace were strange and ugly, stripped of their hangings and artworks, littered with machines, crates, and boxes, strung with wires. When they came to the Great Hall, once one of the most beautiful chambers on Veran, K'vara cringed inwardly, expecting to see the same desecration.

But the Hall was unchanged. No unsightly machines, wires or generators marred the soaring beauty of its spaces. At the far end, several people waited on the dais. They progressed slowly down the vaulted central aisle. K'vara was aware of the patterns on walls and floor, made by the traceries over the windows--alternating shapes of sunlight and shadow. When they were close to the dais, the escort halted, and saluted.

Tallis stood up, and came to meet them. He took K'vara's hand, and kissed it. She could not repress a shudder. "I am pleased to meet you again, my Lady. We have a matter of great importance to discuss." He led her toward the dais, nodding to Joannan to follow. He gestured, and a chair was set for K'vara. "Please, be comfortable." He let go of her hand as she sat down, and nodded to Joannan. "Noble Mayor."

"My Lord." Joannan acknowledged him drily.

"You have no idea, my Lady, how ardently I have wished to ask you to reconsider my proposal to you." His tone was silk over steel.

"What need have you to marry me, My Lord?" K'vara asked bluntly. "You have conquered, as you promised. It has not been gentle, again as you promised. The Guardians of Veran are dead or disarmed, the Citadels are yours. Your ships control our skies, your troops are garrisoned in every city and town. Our remaining weapons are in your hands. Veran is yours. What do you need of me?"

His straight brows came together slightly. "My Lady, I am aware that your opinion of me is not high, but you deceive yourself if you take me for a fool. We cannot afford to spend generations in armed occupation of Veran. There are two courses open to us." He picked up a goblet from the table at his elbow, and poured wine into it.

"Refreshment, my Lady?" K'vara shook her head, and he drank from the goblet before resuming.

"We can ensure the cooperation of Veran by working to make as peaceful a transition to Klarosian rule as possible, including your marriage to me. This would be preferable. We need Veran, you see. For labor, for technical specialists in the capabilities of this world, for genetic material to ensure the viability of our colony. However, if this cooperation cannot be ensured, we would save ourselves great trouble by simply eliminating the valueless population. This would involve" he put the goblet down and leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingertips together, "rendering the majority of the eastern region sterile, as we would need to use space guns on the major cities--as was done with Fahalanahr. We would then proceed to a systematic pogrom of the western regions, driving the population toward the seas until they could be easily destroyed. Straggling settlements on the Rim and the Southern continent would be treated with chemical weapons to minimize the areas of total destruction. The Islands would simply be wiped clean."


He spoke as calmly as a gardener discussing the eradication of some unwanted insects. "You--you wouldn't!" K'vara was appalled. It was worse than she'd imagined. He smiled again. "No? Try me, my Lady. I have developed some respect" his glance fell on the bandage that covered her wound, "for the fighting abilities and determination of Veran. I do not care to spend the rest of my life in a guerilla war against an underground resistance."

"And you think that by marrying me, you will pacify the entire Veran people?"

"Enough to make the problem...manageable. You see, my Lady, I know something of what you are to your people."

"You would want a consort—no, a...a wife” the word was strange, barbarian, she said it somewhat distastefully, "who hated you? You are my enemy, and I am yours. Is it customary among your people to—to marry like this, for policy?"

"Among the nobility of Klaros, almost all marriages are so arranged. It need not be too burdensome."

"You would truly wipe out a whole planetary population, poison half a world, to guarantee your colony?"

"Yes."

She had known since the Klarosian guns blasted through the last heavy shields at Traaki that this would be demanded of her. Even as her last troops died, trying to buy her time to escape, they all knew it was useless. To marry this barbarian would taint her life and her honor. But to take the Starlit Road would be to abandon Veran, her sacred charge. There was no third course. She closed her eyes momentarily, reaching for the comfort of the Presence, but there was no comfort there. She felt utterly alone.

If he allowed himself the luxury of compassion, Tallis thought, he might have felt some for Kuinyvara. She looked very different than when he had seen her last, regal in the formality of her state robes, with the High King at her side and the Household grouped protectively around her. She sat before him now in a torn coverall, the bandage on her arm showing where the needle-gun fire of her captors had grazed her. Her hair was pulled back carelessly into a single plait, and the lines and shadows around her eyes were deeply etched. Never an outstandingly beautiful woman, she now looked distinctly plain, and on the edge of exhaustion. Yet the success of his plan hinged on bending this living symbol of Veran to his will.

Tallis had studied Veran carefully, learning its weak points—military, sociological and psychological—in order to determine how to take the planet with the minimum of destruction, and leave it suitable for Klarosian colonization. The Lady of Veran had a special, semi-sacred status on Veran. She embodied and encapsulated the deepest beliefs of the planet, and as with many Anachronist and semi-Anachronist cultures, the Veran cultural beliefs and traditions were of far more importance than any technical realities or government structure.

"Give me an hour." she said.

He studied her. "Very well, my Lady. I have waited a year--one more hour will not matter. But when I come to you, you will have an answer."

She bowed her head in assent, and rose from her chair. Joannan came to her side. Tallis nodded to two of his officers. "Escort the Lady of Veran to her quarters. Noble Mayor, grant me your company a moment longer." It was phrased as a polite request. Joannan shrugged slightly, and nodded reassuringly to K'vara as she left with her guards.

Karth Tallis dismissed all of his officers except his Adjutant, Major Callet, and gestured for the Major and Joannan to follow him. The solarium of the High King's personal apartments had been converted to a ready room, where Ralin and the Tactical staff were meeting, discussing the pacification and disarmament of the outlying areas. However complete their victory in the axis of older, larger cities and estates, the Marches and outlying settlements were widely scattered pockets of potential trouble. Many groups of Guardians had escaped or fled the final assaults on the Traaki and Jehali Citadels. They were doubtless regrouping. With the minimal electronic communications in use on Veran, the usual monitoring techniques were useless.

They proceeded through the room to a small antechamber which had become Tallis' office. Stacks of hardcopy on paper were laid on the broad-topped krellwood table. Joannan was handed one and gestured to a chair. It was the treaty of surrender. He began to read.

The document was not long. In about half an hour he looked up at the Klarosian Lord Commander. Tallis regarded him coldly. "Well?"

"I will present your terms to the Lady of Veran, Lord Commander. You understand, however, that even if she accepts them there is no guarantee that the provisions will be ratified by the Great Council. If she consents, the Lady of Veran will make formal submission and sign the document tonight."

Tallis' straight brows drew together. "You think the Council might refuse to ratify the Treaty? On what grounds?"

Joannan shook his head. "To become High King of Veran, the Lady must adopt you as her brother. If she also married you, the children of your union would in the eyes of the law be conceived incestuously. Such children are prohibited from inheriting. Even if the statutes are changed, the Council members will find the concept morally and legally repugnant. The Lady herself may come under considerable disapproval for permitting such an—irregular—relationship. Can your purpose not be served as well by the adoption alone?"

Tallis shook his head. "The next High King of Veran must be my son, and your own customs dictate that only the Lady's children may inherit. She has no choice in that, nor does the Council. It will be your responsibility to ensure that they understand that, Noble Mayor."

Joannan regarded him speculatively, and there was a faint aura of amusement in his response. "I am gratified, Lord Commander, by your high opinion of my powers of--communication. Nevertheless, I can ensure nothing of the sort. There are many on the Council who will prefer a quick and honorable death in battle to Klarosian rule."

"Let us hope they are in the minority, Noble Mayor." Tallis said softly. "Should we be required to take drastic measures, there would still be sufficient uncontaminated land and resources to sustain the people of Klaros until another planet could be colonized." There was a chilling indifference in his tone. Joannan did not reply.

"How long will it take the Council to assemble?" Tallis asked.

Joannan considered. "Three, perhaps four weeks, to achieve a quorum. There may be considerable disruption to some travel routes. And of course there are many vacant seats to be filled."

"No faster?" Tallis frowned. "What is the minimum number which must be present to transact business?" He had studied the data available on the Veran administration, as well as the Klarosian intelligence reports, but information was still sketchy, at best. A copy of the Great Law and the Constitution had been brought from Aurora Chancel, but he had not yet had time to study them or have them analyzed in depth.

"Two hundred and eighty, Lord Commander."

There was a knock at the door, Tallis' Adjutant opened it, and a small, self-important man bustled in.

"Ah, Lord Commander!" Prelate Lorgan Edrell was Church Advisor to the Second Fleet, the highest ranking Churchman on the Colonial Expedition. As Legate, he had certain privileges, which he never failed to exercise to their limit. He was a balding man with tufts of reddish-sandy hair over his ears and a belly out of proportion to the rest of him. "Your Grace." Tallis' voice was very smooth, and very dry.

"Lord Commander, you have not yet provided a copy of the surrender terms. As you recall, the document must be read and ratified by myself and the Civil Advisor before it is signed."

Tallis smiled blandly, but there was an edge to his voice. "Of course, Your Grace. We have just received it. Major Callet, would you inform Minister Baleth that the Veran surrender is available here for his review? I would appreciate his earliest attention." The adjutant saluted and went to the communicator. "Your Grace, this is the Mayor of the Veran Royal Household, Joannan." He turned to Joannan. "His Grace the Prelate of Thyrzid, Church Advisor to the Fleet and Legate of the Archprelate." Joannan bowed gracefully, and the Prelate nodded stiffly. Tallis took the document from Joannan and handed it to the adjutant. "Stat us two copies." The man went to another machine, which promptly produced two facsimiles, one of which Tallis handed to Edrell.

As the Prelate began to study it, the Civil Advisor to the Fleet, Imberton Baleth, entered. He was a sub-Minister from Resources, whose good humor was equaled only by his talent at looking busy while accomplishing as little as possible.

Tallis introduced Joannan, and handed Baleth a copy of the surrender. As the Civil Advisor began to peruse his copy, Edrell looked up from his. "Some revisions will need to be made, Lord Commander. Minor ones, of course."

"Revisions?"

"Certainly. These arrangements will be adequate during the interim, before the Colonists arrive, but they will hardly suffice once the Archprelate is here. A proper structure must be arranged, with clear lines of authority between Church, Civil, and Military administrations." He glanced at Joannan. "Perhaps we'd best discuss it in private."

"As the Mayor will be required to ratify any changes in the final document, it may save time if he remains, gentlemen. I trust you do not object, Minister? Your Grace?" Baleth shrugged indifferently. Edrell looked annoyed, but nodded curtly. He began to outline the changes he wanted. Joannan watched Tallis, wondering why the man had really wanted him to remain. The adjustments they were making seemed more related to the balance of power among the Klarosian leadership than any relationship with the Verans. Did Tallis want him to be aware of the intricacies of that balance? It was an opportunity he appreciated, but he found himself wondering about the Lord Commander's motives.

The Klarosian government was a totalitarian oligarchy. Supreme power was wielded by the Three: The Archprelate, head of the Church Administration, the Supreme Commander of the Military Administration, and the Prime Minister of the Civil Administration. Of the Three, only the Archprelate had survived the destruction of Klaros' surface, and was now waiting with between one hundred and one hundred twenty thousand colonists on the planet's satellites and orbital stations. The Minister of Resources was the highest-ranking Civil Administrator. While there were several high-ranking Military Administrators among the survivors, none had the resources of personnel or materiel of the Second Fleet, commanded by Karth Tallis. The dynamics of power among the Klarosians could change significantly once the colonists started arriving, and the consequences for Veran would be difficult to calculate.

Finally Edrell and the Lord Commander reached agreement on which of the requested modifications to incorporate into the Treaty. Edrell and the Minister bowed, and withdrew. Tallis handed a copy of the surrender to Joannan. "You will wish to examine these changes, Noble Mayor?" Joannan skimmed through the document. "They hardly require Veran attention, my Lord—they seem to deal entirely with the composition and delegation of powers within the Colonial Authority."

"Very well. Major Callet, would you see that six originals are prepared? Three for the Veran administration, and three for us."

"Yes, Lord Commander." The Adjutant saluted and withdrew.

"You will excuse the interruption, Noble Mayor. Now, as we were discussing: The Grand Council will require two hundred and eighty members present before we can proceed with the Adoption into the Royal House and installation as High King?" As Joannan nodded, he continued. "How many seats do you estimate to be currently vacant?"


"It would be difficult to be accurate, my Lord. Such communications as we have, have been considerably disrupted, of course. Certainly more than fifty--there were sixteen Councillors at Fahalanahr alone. Perhaps as many as a hundred, altogether."

"But the Council may be convened as soon as 280 are present?"

"Certainly, Lord Commander. It is often done, especially if the Council is meeting during storm seasons, when traveling can be quite difficult."

"Very well. See that the summons is made immediately tomorrow."

"Yes, my Lord." Joannan bowed, but before he could withdraw, Tallis said, "Noble Mayor..." He broke off, studying Joannan.

The Mayor was a slight man in the latter part of his middle years. Grey was sprinkled liberally in his fair hair, and deep lines etched a face that had probably been very handsome in youth. His manner was invariably respectful, neutral, and imperturbable, and he had a trick of making his pale green eyes opaque, so that it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Tallis knew that he had spent most of his life in the service of the Royal Household; intelligence reports credited him as the source of much of the Veran administrative policy. He was reputed to be a master at manipulating the Grand Council, and for the twenty or so years of his tenure as Mayor of the Household he had dealt smoothly with the threads of a complex and (to Klarosian thinking) irrational government.

"When you leave, you will brief my Chief Steward on any requirements for the Veran word-setting ceremony. Before you go, I would like to know what will be expected of me."

"You are very sure of the Lady's answer, my Lord." Joannan regarded him steadily.

Tallis smiled. "The existence of her people depends on her answer, Noble Mayor. You have known her all her life. What do you think her answer will be?"

Joannan felt anger pushing at his diplomatic calm, a desire to knock the smile from that harsh face. He controlled himself. "The word setting ceremony is not difficult, my Lord. There is no formal ritual. You and the Lady will meet before the Elder, and join hands. The Lady will speak first. She will say her promises to you, and set her word to it on the Scales of the Power. You then make your promises to her. Traditionally, a man may promise such things as the protection of his arm, the friendship of his spirit, the comfort of his body, and the seed of his loins. The Lady will then promise to honor the obligations of motherhood to your children, you respond with a promise to honor the obligations of fatherhood. You may then kiss, or clasp hands--whatever seems comfortable and appropriate. The Elder will witness your words and pronounce a blessing. That is all."

"How delightfully simple." There was an undercurrent of sarcasm in his tone.

Joannan shrugged. "Sometimes families may choose to celebrate the occasion, but traditionally it is considered a time of deeply private significance to the man and woman involved."

"I see. Thank you, Noble Mayor." Joannan bowed, and withdrew.

Tallis watched him go, but instead of moving with his customary decisiveness to the next task, he went over to a window, and stared without seeing them at the line of jetcars drawn up below.

It was happening. And in spite of that officious fool, Edrell, it was happening as he'd planned it, so long ago. When the news had come.

They were mopping up in the Hecht system, where they'd wrung mineral exploitation rights from the major planet, colonized relatively recently. There were several asteroid belts rich in the heavy metals required by Klarosian technology in the system. In the process, they'd nearly wiped out the principal settlements, which had put up a surprisingly good fight.

The news came in by subspace message drone, from the Second Fleet Base, in orbit around Klaros II, the only inhabitable world in the Klaros system. Over a billion Klarosians had lost their lives in an implosion chain set off at Rayki Weapons Lab. The resulting release of gases and radiation had killed another billion, and destroyed virtually all of the planet's remaining habitable surface. A few had escaped, and with the personnel of the orbital Bases and Satellite Stations, had formed a skeleton government. They'd managed to save some of the planet's assets, but the majority, held in vast accounts in the InterGalactic and FedCentral banking networks, had been frozen until Klaros' creditors could asses the extent of their losses. Klarosians stationed at outsystem bases and facilities had been recalled. The Second Fleet was requested to return immediately, and put itself at the service of the Klarosian people.

Karth Tallis had looked out at the battered shell of the planet he'd just devastated, and felt a welling of bitter laughter. And on the way back to Klaros, he'd evolved the plan to conquer and colonize Veran.

Fresh from the disaster, the disorganized Klarosian government had few alternatives to propose. Even the Archprelate had been willing to use the plan as a way of imbuing hope into the weary and increasingly hopeless survivors. The time it would take the Fleet to conquer and pacify the planet, and the Colonists to arrange transport, would give the Church time to redevelop and restore the balance of power. He had blessed the Fleet as it set out.

Tallis was perfectly well aware of the machinations devolving among the Klarosian survivors as he established their hold on their new home. He had a deep respect for the wiliness of the Archprelate, and was perfectly well aware how easy it would be for the Church to consolidate its hold on power among the disorganized and demoralized citizens of Klaros. The scattered fragments of the Civil and Military Administrations were scarcely in a position to hinder him. All these factors had played a part as Tallis had selected a planet for conquest and colonization. He had high hopes for Veran.

He checked his wrist chronometer. Time and past to visit the Lady for her answer. A mere formality, but it must be done. Regardless of her personal inclinations, she would become his wife, in Klarosian law and in Veran custom. He required children; he required the position that she could offer. He tasted her name, in his mind. They pronounced it in syllables, almost: Kuin-y-vara.

In a detached way, he rather admired her--she had proved a capable military leader of her people, and after the High King had been killed at Da'Sarun, she'd carried on the fight most competently. He was well aware of the further violence it would do to her traditions to submit to his terms. His eyes focused suddenly on the row of jetcars, where a new vehicle was settling on its landing gear. He turned to go to the Lady's apartments.

Kuinyvara had to suppress a dry laugh when they brought her to her old rooms. Here, as in the Great Hall, nothing had changed, and yet all the familiar things could not give her comfort or the feeling of being home. It was like visiting again a place known well in childhood, but long since abandoned. Weariness overwhelmed her. She knew she needed food, sleep, liquid, and yet she lacked even the energy to try to obtain them. She sat for a considerable time alone, before the door finally opened, and Sylla came in, with a tray.

"My Lady..." she set the tray down, and saw Kuinyvara's fixed, blank stare, the despair emptying her eyes. "My dear—oh, K'vara." She went and sat beside her, put her arms around her. "Sylla..." the voice sounded as if it was coming from a very great distance, and then the Lady of Veran put her head down on Sylla's shoulder. "Oh, Sill, what can I do? Would that I could take the Starlit Road." The despair in her voice, the childish nickname, broke Sylla's heart. "There, my Lady, there." she soothed her like a child. K'vara's head came up. Her eyes were still dry, and bleak, but she was in control. Sylla poured some of the light mountain fruit juice she had brought, and gave the cup to K'vara.

"Now listen, my Lady," she said as K'vara drank, "there is still hope for release, but first there is something you can do for your people, and you must do it, hard as it is. Once you have borne the children needed to continue the Royal House, you will be freed from this burden. You know the ways of shaping a child within the womb, as well as any Elder, this has been your training from girlhood. Your children need not be barbarians, whatever seed may quicken them." She spooned vegetables into a dish, and handed it to K'vara. "Be strong, Lady, and the Presence and the Power will be with you."

"To bear the children of Veran, and then to take the Starlit Road..." She put the bowl down, and put her arms around her friend. "Perhaps, Sylla. But our people will still need me for a long while yet. Still, you are correct, if I at least bear the heirs to Veran I can walk the Road with honor."

Gently, Sylla disentangled herself. "Now eat, my Lady. You will require your strength." She handed the bowl back to K'vara. Tirelessly, she plied her mistress with food, until K'vara refused to accept another bite. "You've done well, Sylla. However can I thank you?"

She was astonished when the woman knelt before her. "Release me, Lady. I would walk the Road ahead of you."

"Sylla?" Kuinyvara knew that Lady Sylla had often considered this course since the destruction of Westmarch Castle and the deaths of her children and her sister. Indeed, it had sometimes seemed cruel to keep her from it, yet K'vara's need of her had been so great...

"That man, General Ralin—he has told me that the Lord Commander will grant me to him, as his wife."

"He cannot do that!" K'vara was shocked.

"Can't he?" Sylla asked sadly. "They need us, K'vara, they need mothers. There are not enough women among them for a genetically sound colony."

"Oh, Sylla..." K'vara put her arms around her, raised her from her knees. They stood, looking into each other's faces. Of all the Household, K'vara had known the Lady of the Westmarch longest and best. Sylla had been sent by her mother to foster in the Royal Household when Kuinyvara was only three. She had been an older sister, a play companion to a girl whose responsibilities and position denied her a complete childhood. And when her mother retired to the Cloister of Vaathir, and Kuinyvara had become the Lady of Veran, Sylla had been her first appointment, as First Lady of the Household. While they had separated occasionally, as Sylla returned to the Westmarch, to have her children, the ties between them had always run strong.

K'vara drew a breath, squared her shoulders. "Go then. I release you, into the keeping of the Power and the Presence. May your Road bring you joy." A final hug, Sylla kissed her, and whispered: "Thank you, my Lady. Good bye." She turned, and went out through the curtained door at the back of the room. K'vara watched her go, then turned. Someone had entered, while she and Sylla embraced.

It was Karth Tallis. He was studying her keenly. "I am here for your answer, my Lady." The words were said mildly enough, but there was always a harsh, steely vibrancy to his voice that added the weight of menace to whatever he said.

Kuinyvara turned away from him, looked out the window unseeingly. "You know that I have no choice, my Lord." Her voice was low, but steady.

"Yes." He watched her back for a moment. "Do you have sufficient attendants to prepare you for the ceremony?"

She was nonplused. "I don't know. I don't know the customs of your people. When a woman takes a consort, here, they simply set their words to it before an Elder. If great households are involved, a contract may be made, and households are realigned, but there is no ceremony for that."

"It is done differently among my people. I will send my chaplain to explain. We will be married tonight, in the Great Hall."

"Tonight! It is impossible!" K'vara had crossed time zones in coming from Traaki, she estimated she had been awake for well over thirty hours. The thought of enduring some strange barbarian ceremony and its inevitable aftermath was appalling.

"Tonight. The Royal House of Veran will set its word to the terms of surrender, and the wedding ceremony to follow will be broadcast on all wavelengths. Messengers will be sent out immediately with the news." He bowed, and left.

As he left, two of the Ladies of the Household came in. "Sylla said you had dismissed her," said Merthay. She and Hayet were among the junior Ladies, younger daughters of noble houses, who had elected to stay with the Household during the war, rather than returning to defend their own domains. K'vara nodded. Hayet had clothing with her. "Your wardrobe was left undisturbed, my Lady. Would you like to put on fresh clothes?"

"Thank you, Hayet, Merthay." Merthay opened a screen for the Lady to dress behind.

As she finished dressing, a knock sounded. Merthay went to the door. "The Noble Mayor, my Lady."

Joannan came in, with a document in his hand. "The terms of our surrender." He spread the pages on a table by the window.

"What does it say?" K'vara lifted her arms so that Hayet could finish fastening the sleeves of her gown.

He laughed, bitterly. "It says that Karth Tallis rules Veran." He picked up a page and read from it. "Lord Commander Karth Tallis shall head the Colonial Authority, which shall have complete jurisdiction over Klarosian administration. The Authority shall have powers of disposition in conflicts between Veran administration and Colonial administration."

Hayet finished fastening K'vara's sleeve and gave the gown a final smooth. K'vara joined Joannan, looking at the pages of the surrender. There was a list of things to be placed under Klarosian administration--the Spaceport, the Data Center, communications systems, Royal banking and credit houses, Citadels. "Not the Chancels and Cloisters?" K'vara was agreeably surprised. The network of Chancels and Cloisters served as educational and research institutions, as well as religious centers. They were among the few highly technical facilities on Veran.

"They were not discussed." Joannan said. "I don't know whether the Lord Commander is unaware of their significance, or whether he disregards it. In any case, they remain under Veran administration, such as it is."

"Such as it is..." K'vara echoed. She had picked up the next page and was scanning it. "What!"

She looked up at Joannan, her eyes blazing with fury. "What is this? Not content with becoming my consort, he must be adopted as High King, also? It cannot be done! The Elders and the Council will not permit it--and I will certainly not permit it!"

"You know the alternative, my Lady."

"It is--it's perverted! If he is my consort, how can I share the throne with him? If he is to be my brother, how can I share my bed with him? Does he understand what he asks?" she was horrified. It contravened all Veran tradition, where family property and its administration was transmitted through the female head of the household. Consorts marrying into the household were expected to have their own properties to administer, held in turn through the female head of their own family.

She laughed bitterly. "Fine planning. This gives him control of the Klarosians and Veran. Joannan..." she was looking out the window. He knew what she was thinking.

"K'vara, would you go unbidden into the Presence, with your people in Klarosian hands?"

Her head dropped. "No. I said I would marry this bar...the Lord Commander. Become his wife." The word was still strange, distasteful. "This..." she flicked a contemptuous gesture at the papers on the table, "says that I must also take him as my consort, in our own traditions, and I will set my word to it tonight, and the word of the Royal House of Veran is sacred. The Scales of the Power must sort these matters out, Joannan--they are beyond me."

She suddenly looked very young, and desolate, and Joannan ached to take her in his arms and comfort her, as he had done when she was a child. But she was a woman, a Veran Adept, and spiritual and temporal ruler of her people. Her feelings as a woman were secondary to her responsibilities.

She sighed. "You'd best go. I must have some rest before this barbarian chaplain comes." The Mayor bowed, and left.

"I will retire for a few moments, Merthay. Do not disturb me until the chaplain comes."

"Yes, my Lady."

K'vara went into the bedchamber. In a bay window, overlooking the gardens, was a comfortable chair. Someone had dusted and cleaned, and the plants had been maintained. She went to her favorite, a flowering kblad tree, greeting it and delighting in the new shoots. "You at least have survived this war unscathed, old friend. And we will need you." She avoided glancing out the window at the ruined garden. "You must give us a new generation of beauty." She sat down, and began the inner quieting that was the prelude to deep meditation. If she was going to make it through this night, she would need any reserves of strength that might remain to her.

She reached within her, to the bottom of the well of strength, and called it forth, apologizing to her body for the abuse. It was dangerous, like hunting without a shield, to make such ruthless demands of her body and mind's reserves when they needed rest and replenishment.

When she finished, she went over the room, touching everything, like touching each part of the body after a fall or stumble, to probe for injury or reassure that all is whole. The room was beautiful by virtue of its proportions and the way it used the light from the many windows, for it was simply furnished. There was a large bed, hung with spider-silk curtains and covered with the same material. A small writing desk and chair were in a corner of the room, with a beautifully carved rack for books and scrolls nearby, and in the bay window was her chair and a small table. On one wall was a magnificent hanging, many generations old, depicting Reyaj and Virethan giving the Great Laws to the Council. The only other decorations were several rare and beautiful plants and small trees.

K'vara opened the writing desk, touched the dried ink in the ink-holder, looked at the scattered papers with scraps of notes on them. "Jeraint's Birth-Day" read one, and it was followed by notes, ideas for gifts and celebrations. Tears came to her eyes, she controlled them, sternly. There was a light tap on the door.

"Enter." she called.

Hayet came in. "My Lady, the Klarosian priest is here to see you, the Reverend Father Haldred."

"Very well." K'vara shut the desk, and turned to go.

She came out into the antechamber, and saw a short, stocky man in military uniform waiting. When he did not acknowledge her entrance with a polite bow, she came forward. "Welcome, Reverend Sir." she bowed as she would have to an Elder, ignoring his lack of courtesy. She seated herself, and nodded to Merthay to set a chair for him. "I am grateful to you, for your kindness in coming to me. I fear I know very little of Klarosian customs or religions." She gestured for him to seat himself.

He seated himself, and smiled. "Truly, my daughter, I could wish that the Lord Commander had given us more time to instruct you--the symbolism of the ceremony..." He looked over at Merthay, who had gasped; both she and Hayet were blushing. Kuinyvara frowned slightly at them, and then turned to explain to the priest, suppressing her own blush. "I am sorry, Reverend Sir. It is not our custom for a man to refer to a woman as daughter, unless she is in truth so. It is somewhat...indelicate."

What strange customs these primitives had! Haldred was amused. He had encountered other cultures, in his duties as military chaplain, but rarely Anachronist or semi-Anachronist societies such as Veran. Their primitive religions were so all-pervading, with their rigid taboos and customs. He nodded apologetically. "I will try to remember, my Lady. We of course have much to learn about each other's customs."

"Indeed, sir. And perhaps we forget this, as so many of your people speak our language so fluently. This is most impressive, and it may lead us to believe that you are more familiar with us than is in fact the case."

Haldred's smile was a little smug. "Of course, my Lady, we have hypno-learning systems, a technological device which enables us to learn a new language in six or seven hours of computer instruction. All senior officers and many of the junior personnel were instructed in Middle Veran as part of the preparation for the Colonization."

"Truly a useful device, sir."

He spent nearly two hours explaining the ceremony to her, and the various customs surrounding Klarosian marriage. It took all K'vara's rigid self-discipline not to let her shock and disgust show as he explained the symbolism and origin of many of the strange rituals.

"Is there anything else, in which we can assist you, my Lady? The Lord Commander wished to make the ceremony as easy as possible for you."

"Thank you, Reverend Sir, you have been most helpful. I must prepare for this ceremony, now."

He nodded, and made a gesture of some sort--blessing, Kuinyvara assumed.
"God be with you, my Lady."

She bowed her head. "Thank you."

NATIVE VERMIN

Colonel Helset Morvaine watched a cart, pulled by a team of the heavy draft animals called kouri, carrying its grim burden down the narrow, winding road that led down toward the town. Klarosian troops were involved in the equally grisly task of censusing their own dead. Lieutenant Joklan had promised a final casualty count within the hour, but even without the report, Helset knew the total would be shocking. The Guardians had been reinforced by fighters from every Veran Great House and House Minor in the region, and even the heavy surface guns of the Beskar had not subdued them. The battle had gone on for hours, but the last major Veran Citadel had finally fallen. The Lady of Veran and her Household had been taken prisoner and conveyed to Aurora City, where they would sign the instrument of surrender that would give the Second Fleet control of Veran.

The medical team was coping well. Most of the worst casualties had been attached to life-support and heal tanks already. Now they were dealing with simpler, but still gruesome, tasks. Although the League of Guardians had been well armed with flash pistols, disruptor grenades and needle guns, most of the Veran forces had fought with their primitive, edged weapons--bows, swords, twirl-spears, knives of various sorts, pikes, etc. Wounds inflicted by such weapons usually involved heavy blood loss, and the synthesizers were working on overload to keep up with the demand.

Helset began to make rounds, checking on patients who had been treated, exchanging a word or two with the conscious ones. She went over to the treatment area, where doctors and technicians were applying sealant and artificial skin to the wounds of a badly injured Lieutenant. He'd lost an arm, had considerable internal damage from multiple punctures, and vicious contusions and lacerations about the face and chest. Such wounds were a challenge to a medical staff more accustomed to dealing with needle-gun burns, cellular disruption, radiation flash, and similar damage. They were doing quite well.

Earlier that evening, all the able off-duty personnel at the Command Post had assembled in the Officers' Ready Room just in time to view the signing of the Treaty and the Lord Commander's marriage to the Lady of Veran. View screens were set up, and the signal was blanketing all channels, including the limited Veran network. The signing was brief. The major provisions of the Treaty were read, once in Klarosian by Minister Baleth, and once in High Veran by one of their officials. There was a brief interval, then the wedding began.

Special rations had been issued to all Klarosian personnel, and in the ready room the officers and men of the Sixth Unit toasted the Lord Commander raucously in celebration of victory. Helset had watched the still, remote figure of the Lady of Veran and wondered what she was thinking. It was less than thirty hours since the Lady had commanded the defenders of Traaki, now piled in heaps waiting to be borne away by the villagers. She was veiled, of course, for the first part of the ceremony. The cameras caught a glimpse of her as the Lord Commander lifted the veil. Her face was calm, remote, yet there was an odd glitter to her eyes that might, or might not have been a trick of the camera lights.

Helset made the late watch rounds of the HQ infirmary and the makeshift hospital, and was just dictating her log before retiring when her communicator signaled urgently.

"Morvaine." she answered.

"Colonel, this is Qualar. We have an emergency in the infirmary--a patrol just came in, was attacked by some sort of flying animal or bird. The venom is a highly toxic neurosupressant."

"I'll be right there."

The patrolman was on life-support by the time she got there. She took one look at the diagnostic readouts and snapped: "Get him to cryo. Crash freeze. Stat!" Major Qualar shook his head. "Cryo's full. Emergency stasis?"

"Do it." Helset was analyzing the more detailed readouts. "It won't give us much time, though—thirty hours at most." She helped the technicians arrange the stasis generators. When the field was crackling around the young trooper, she turned back to Qualar. "Has Pathology got anything on the venom?"

He thumbed his communicator. "Pathology, this is Major Qualar. Do we have analysis on that sample I sent yet?"

"Just getting it." the Path tech answered. "Very odd, sir...you'd better have a look." Helset exchanged glances with the Major, and they started for the Pathology section.

The readout showed a complex linkage of soluble neuro-aminoid protein molecules. The configurations of some were similar to known poisons for which specifics were available, but others were totally unknown. Helset studied them closely, looking for a line on how their structure affected the brain, how it could work so quickly.

"Venalin?" Qualar suggested, looking at some of the identifiable configurations.

"No. We have no way of knowing how it would interact with the other toxins. I'll set up a search matrix, we'll just have to hope it can come up with something." She went to the master control for the medical computer and began to enter a program that would create a model of how the venom was structured. The machine would then test the model against the known actions of selected groups of antivenins and other substances. As she worked, an orderly came in and reported to Qualar. "Two more, sir. One attacked on perimeter patrol, another off-duty. Same creature. They're all over, out there."

Helset nodded to Qualar. "See to it. Get them into stasis. Order all personnel to use max shielding, and to remain indoors except on essential business. Get someone to collect one of the things for analysis. I'll be with you as soon as I'm done here."

By the time she returned to the treatment area there was another man in stasis. Qualar beckoned her over to a monitor, where the external security cameras showed at least a dozen of the flyers in the Headquarters perimeter. "They're small enough to get through the shields." The Commandant of the Sixth Unit, Dek Tajarra, had joined them. As they watched, three of the blips vanished. "I ordered the patrols to shoot them, but the damn things are fast." As they watched, another blip entered the perimeter.

A patrol came in, carrying an impervolope. Qualar took it, laid it on the lab table, donned gloves, and carefully opened it.

The creature was about the size of a man's fist, but the wing span was nearly a meter. It looked dark grey, until he turned it slightly and the light caught on the velvety scales, bringing out deep blue, green and pink iridescent highlights. The head was covered with elongated, flexible scales that formed a mane or ruff. There was an orifice-a mouth?-but no teeth visible. Clusters of fine tendrils surrounded huge-lensed eyes, glazed now. As he turned it over, they could see the gripping appendages and the long, sharp-spined primary scales on the inside of the upper wing ridges.

"I'll have xeno do a full analysis." The Major sealed it up again, put it aside.

By the next day they knew more about the little creatures, but even the computer had no clue about an effective antidote for their venom. All they had done was confirm that the known specifics would have little or no effect. Helset had the best staff available working on the problem, but little hope was in sight, and time was running out for the men in stasis. Finally she went to Tajarra, to request a jetcar. She wanted to go to the village, see what the natives knew about the creatures and whether they had a treatment for its venom.

Tajarra was skeptical and unsympathetic. "I'll send a patrol down to collect one of their witch doctors, if you think it'll do any good, Colonel, but I'd rather not have to answer for your demise to the Lord Commander. This is an occupied territory—two days ago we were in battle with these people. I've dispatched occupation patrols to this village and most of the others in the region; they can round someone up for you. Besides, is it likely that these primitives would have a remedy our medical computers can't find?"

Helset concealed her exasperation. Tajarra was a combat commander, specially trained in occupying and pacifying indigenous populations. His only concern with the Veran people was to keep them quiet and extract what the Klarosians needed from them, using whatever methods he felt necessary. His last assignment had revealed his preference for the more heavy-handed tools in the Klarosian military repertoire.

"It's a native creature, Commandant, there may be a native cure for it. And I would rather that our request for their assistance," she emphasized the pronouns very slightly, "was phrased as such. With your permission, I will make the request myself." She was polite, but firm. As Chief Medical Officer to the Fleet, a member of the Lord Commander's personal staff, she ranked him considerably, but this was Tajarra's jurisdiction. He considered for a moment. "Very well, Colonel. I need to make an inspection tour of the villages in any case, you can come along and make your request when we reach Traaki." There was just the faintest suggestion of scorn in his tone.

"Those men don't have much time, Commandant. I would recommend making Traaki your first stop."

He shrugged impatiently. "Very well. The jetcar will leave in ten minutes."

There was considerable activity in the market square, but people scattered as the jetcar began its vertical descent. When they emerged, there were only a dozen or so people moving among the mounds of bodies brought down in carts from the battle site at the Command Post. Two women and a man stood with a Klarosian Lieutenant, waiting for the jetburn to subside. Tajarra and the others strode over to where they stood. The Lieutenant saluted. "Pren Gukri, SubCommandant, Traaki village." Tajarra returned his salute, then spoke to the villagers.

"I am Dek Tajarra, Commandant, Sixth Unit Occupation Legion. This district is under my command." He waited for one of the Verani to respond, but they only gazed impassively at him. Gukri nudged one of the women, roughly. "Answer the Commandant!" She looked indifferently at the Lieutenant before she responded. "I am Shanhi, Holdreve of Traaki Village. This is Dyr of Taalarad, Steward to the House of Taalarad, and Gedran of the Vaathir Cloister." She indicated each as she spoke, and they bowed civilly.

Tajarra nodded in return. "This village is under the direct command of the Sixth Unit Headquarters. You will be provided with a list of our regulations and requirements." Tajarra nodded to one of his officers, the man produced a folder full of documents. "Here is a copy of the Treaty and of the Military Occupation Regulations. You will be responsible for their enforcement. A list of the penalties for non-compliance is also included; I suggest you post it prominently. I require the census of this village and the surrounding demesne within three days."

Shanhi looked at the documents, neatly executed in a formalized version of the graceful Veran script. "It is the wish of the Royal Household and the House of Taalarad to uphold the Treaty. We will do so. Is there anything else?" She looked at the officers.

Helset reached into the car, and brought out one of the dead flying creatures. "What is this?" she asked Shanhi, as she opened the impervolope. The woman looked, and her eyebrows went up. "Innit. It is their migration time, but they rarely come this far south. We had two attacks here last night before we realized."

"Is there a cure for its venom?" Helset asked. The woman paused before answering.

"A Healer can cure it, if it is treated promptly. It is better to avoid being attacked. We stay indoors at night during migration. Then, too, they usually attack only moving targets. If you remain absolutely still, they may pass by."

"They're nocturnal? How long do they migrate?"

The woman shrugged. "Two, three, perhaps four nights. Never more than that. They come down from the hilltops just before the Midsummer storms, and go down the river to the wood."

"A healer can cure it? Is there one here?"

Shanhi gestured towards the common, where there were tents, wagons and other temporary shelters scattered higgledy-piggledy--refugees from the battle zones. A few glances from the people passing among the shelters had come their way, but there was no overt hostility in the looks, only an uncurious dismissal. "There is a healer from Vaathir Chancel helping those who were attacked last night."

Helset glanced at Tajarra. "I'll stay. Why don't you go on with the inspection tour. I'll call HQ for a jetcar when I'm done here."

The Commandant nodded. "All right. But keep a guard. Nablek, stay with the Colonel." The trooper saluted. The rest of the men got into the jetcar, Helset and the others moved away, watched it rise vertically, circle and shoot off over the ridge of the hills.

Colonel Morvaine turned to the Veran woman. "My name is Helset Morvaine, I too am a healer. Will you take me to this healer, please?"

"A Healer?" Shanhi bowed. "Forgive me, Lady. I did not know there were Healers among your people. We thought the Klarosians brought only doctors, technicians, and machines to heal their people."

Helset wondered if her Veran was at fault. Like all the Klarosian officers, she had taken hypno-courses in Middle Veran until she was quite fluent, but she found Shanhi hard to follow. The word she had used for Healer was the word Helset had learned, but Doctor and Technician had been said in heavily-accented Universal Standard, and Helset did not understand the distinction. She did not ask questions, however, as the woman had already turned and started back towards the refugee camp. Gukri started to follow them, but Helset waved him away. She followed the Holdreve in silence, the trooper bringing up the rear.

She was led among the makeshift shelters to a tent in the middle of the common--the medical facility. As they approached, an elderly man emerged, leaning heavily on a stick and a young woman, his leg bandaged. He was followed by another woman, heavily pregnant, arm-in-arm with an older woman. Shanhi pulled a curtain aside and looked in. "Elder Sister, here is a healer of Klaros who wishes to speak with you."

"Of Klaros?" Helset heard the muffled, incredulous question. There was a stir inside the tent, then: "Enter."

Shanhi held the curtain aside for her, and Helset went in. She gestured for Nablek to await her outside. The tent was large, ventilated by flaps near the top that were tied back to let in light and air. Along the back of the tent there were six pallets, four of them occupied, along one side there was a bench, and on the other side two stools, a chair, a table, and some boxes. Over a fire in the middle a small kettle hung on a tripod. There were a woman and a girl bending over one of the pallets, the woman looked towards them as they entered, then rose, and bowed a welcome. "I am Dayan. Enter, in the Light."

Helset returned the bow, rather awkwardly. "My name is Helset Morvaine. I am Chief Medical Officer of the Second Fleet of Klaros."

"You are welcome, Chief Medical Officer." Dayan said. She wore a long, sleeveless tunic, belted over leggings, and on one shoulder was a medallion of some sort. She glanced at the man on the pallet, then back at Helset, clearly torn between her duty to the patient and the need to attend her visitor.

Helset said, "I didn't mean to interrupt. Complete your treatment, if you need. I am not in a hurry."

Dayan smiled. "Thank you, Chief Medical Officer. This man was attacked by an innit last night, he must be treated again without loss of time." She said something in a low voice to the girl, who went to one of the boxes and withdrew a small glass bottle.

"May I observe?" Helset asked. "It is about that very problem that I wished to speak to you."

"Certainly," the Healer said, somewhat absently, her attention riveted on the patient. Her hands were hovering at his temples, not touching but cupping over them. Shanhi went to the bench, and sat, while Helset drew closer to the pallet.

The patient was a young man, whose shoulder and cheek showed the long, raking scratches of the innit's attack. His eyes were almost closed, his face very pale, and his hair was damp from sweat. His breathing was shallow and labored.

As Helset watched, Dayan's hands began to move, just above the surface of the patient's temples, neck, chest. Her eyes were closed, and her lips moved in some silent litany. Superstition! Helset kept an eye on the girl, who had brought the bottle and was now standing beside Dayan. After a few moments the healer's eyes opened, she frowned slightly. "It is very far advanced. I don't know..." she trailed off into a murmur. She took the bottle from the girl, and held it in her two hands. Again her eyes closed, this time she was absolutely still, and they could all feel the intensity of concentration emanating from her. At last her eyes opened, she nodded to the girl, who drew forth a small instrument from a pouch around her waist. Dayan lowered the instrument's tip into the bottle--some sort of tool for administering the medication? Helset's interest quickened.

The healer and the girl both placed a hand on the man's chest. Dayan said something in High Veran--Helset could not follow it, but she assumed it was a prayer. It ended with "...and this by the Power, the Presence and the Light. Into the Light I commend thee." And when she finished, they took their hands away, and she set the instrument against the man's neck. There was a small hiss, and she removed it. Then she knelt, poured a small amount of the liquid from the bottle into the palm of one hand and gave the bottle to the girl. She rubbed the liquid into the scratches on the man's shoulder and face, crooning something low under her breath.

The result was almost miraculous. As she finished, the man's breathing deepened, his eyes closed entirely, and he shifted slightly onto his side, in what appeared to be a deep, natural sleep. Dayan rested back on her heels, watching the patient intently. She looked up at her assistant, and nodded. "It is well. One more application, in the night." She took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, her eyes closed. Helset could sense a weariness that seemed out of proportion to the simple procedure. Finally the healer stood, moved away from the pallets, toward the table and the stools. She indicated the chair. "Please, be seated, Chief Medical Officer. M'paru, refreshment for our guests."

Shanhi bowed. "My thanks, Healer, but I have other business. I shall return in an hour; if I am needed before then, send to Gedran's tent."

The Healer nodded, and Shanhi left. Helset was proffered a cup. Uncertain of the etiquette, she nodded to the dark-skinned girl and accepted it, trying not to seem gingerly as she sipped. Then she took a healthy gulp of the cool, slighly tart liquid--some type of fruit juice. "Thank you."

Dayan had poured herself a cup as well, and was seated on one of the stools. "We are honored by your visit, Chief Medical Officer." She spoke tranquilly.

"Thank you." Helset said again. "I have come to you for help, Healer. We have several men who were attacked by innits last night. Our medical personnel are not familiar with the poison, we do not know how to treat it."

The Healer frowned. "These men were attacked last night, and have not been treated yet? They are still alive? The venom of the innit works very quickly..."

"We have placed them in emergency stasis, but they must be treated within..." she looked at her chrono, "Four hours."

Dayan looked at her apprentice. "What can we do for you?" They looked solemnly at Helset.

"You treated your patient with some type of serum. May I have a sample of it? Our computers can analyse it, and, if possible, synthesize it."

The Healer frowned. "Forgive me if I offend, Chief Medical Officer, but I know very little about the Klarosian healing skills. Have you Healers who can use the remedy? The process is demanding. Then, too, I know little about the Klarosian body chemistry. Perhaps the remedy will not be suitable for use by Klarosians without reprocessing. Can your computers and your Healers deal with these matters within the limited time available to you?"

Primitive the Veran medical arts might be, but Dayan's questions were pertinent, somewhat surprisingly so for a Healer whose methods seemed to include magical incantations and invocations. Helset nodded. "It may be difficult, but we must try."
"Of course." The Healer nodded gravely. "M'paru, bring pirsal." The apprentice was already kneeling by on of the larger boxes at the side of the tent. She brought out a metal-stoppered glass bottle, half-full of a pale green liquid, and a smaller, empty bottle. With extreme care, she poured some of the liquid into it, stoppered it, and handed it to Dayan.

"Healer?" The small voice came from outside the tent's door curtain. Dayan smiled slightly. "Enter in the Light, Galar."

A little girl slipped in, stood waiting respectfully by the door. Dayan gestured to the pallet of the young man she had just treated. "Lindre is sleeping. You may sit by him, if you like."

The girl glanced fearfully at Helset, giving her a wide berth as she crossed the tent to kneel by the young man's pallet. Dayan handed the bottle to Helset. "Do not delay, Chief Medical Officer. The first treatment is the most important."

Helset stood. "Thank you. I am very grateful for your help."

Dayan bowed. "It is my honor. If I may be of further assistance, send for me." She held the curtain for Helset to leave, and glanced at Nablek, standing at attention by the entrance. "I will send M'paru for Shanhi."

"That will not be necessary." Helset spoke into her wrist communicator. Morvaine to Transport Officer. Send a jetcar to Traaki village square to transport myself and Trooper Nablek."

She nodded to the Healer. "Thank you, again."

Dayan bowed silently, and withdrew into her tent.

Later that day, Dayan was wearily returning from helping a midwife with a difficult birth; she was grimed and blood-spattered. The child had been born dead and the woman was gravely ill. Dayan was depressed, wanting only to sleep. She'd not slept since she'd arrived in Traaki, nearly twenty hours ago, and her body's resources were all but exhausted. Celice had promised to send more Healers as soon as possible, but most were already on assignment in one or more of the many battle areas. Damn the Klarosians and their war, damn them and their occupation, damn them and their stinking technological weapons! Her control was slipping, she must get some sleep.

As she came out between the two large wagons that flanked the pathway to her tent, she saw them. Two men in Klarosian uniforms, sidearms holstered, waiting by the entry curtain. In spite of her discipline, a small start of fear went through her. She willed herself to be calm as she approached. It was with some relief that she saw M'paru draw aside the curtain to meet her. "Elder Sister, these men have come from the Klarosian Command Post for you." She spoke as though she were announcing any visitor, and Dayan felt a wave of approval for the girl. She turned to the men.

"You are the healer Dayan?" one of them asked, courteously enough. She nodded. "I am."

"You will come with us to the Command Post at once."

Dayan's eyes closed for a moment, she marshalled the remains of her strength. "I am honored by your invitation, Klarosian, but I am weary, and I have much to do here. Why is this request made?"

The man's voice hardened. "It is not an invitation, woman. It is an order. You are to come at once to the Command Post, and bring your healing paraphernalia with you."

Dayan glanced at M'paru. "Could it be the Chief Medical Officer wishes your help?" hazarded the apprentice.

The Healer shrugged. "Perhaps. In any event, it seems I am going." She started into the tent, one of the men took her by the arm. "You will come immediately."

Dayan looked at the hand, then looked at the trooper, a pale-faced young man with a pronounced underbite. "I must bring my—healing paraphernalia—must I not?" Her voice was soft and respectful, but there was something chilling in the quiet tones nonetheless. The trooper holding her looked at the other man, who nodded to him. He let her go, and Dayan entered the tent, followed by M'paru.

"A fresh tunic and a cloak, quickly, M'paru, while I prepare a kit." Dayan was already kneeling among her boxes, assembling items together.

"It must be the men who were attacked by the innit," she said, as she added a flask of pirsal to the assortment of items.

"You gave them the pirsal," said the apprentice. "Have they no Healers skilled enough to use it?" She brought a bowl of water and helped Dayan strip off her splattered tunic. The Healer splashed the worst of the grime from herself and quickly donned a fresh one.

"Perhaps not, or perhaps their computer was unable to synthesize enough to treat all their patients. If I am not back by nightfall, you must treat Lindre."

M'paru nodded. "I will. Do not worry." But a small edge of fear for Dayan leaked into her voice. She was going among the enemy, would she return?

Dayan took the girl's face in her hands. "I will not worry, Sister. All that must be done, I know you can do. And do you not worry for me." The girl nodded, gravely, and Dayan let her go. She drew the cloak around herself and picked up her pack. "Rest in the Light, until I return, Sister."

"The Presence keep you, Elder Sister." M'paru held the curtain for her to pass out.

The Klarosians escorted her to one of their jetcars, its sleek shape so much more menacing than the few Veran jetcars she'd ridden in. The ride was short, and the still-smoking rubble of the Citadel and the area around it was a disturbing echo of the battle. They landed in the courtyard of Traaki Castle, which the Klarosians had taken for their Command Post. The once-lovely gardens had given way to a jetcar port, Klarosian sentries were everywhere, equipment and generators looming in dark piles against the pale stone of the castle and the surrounding walls.

She was escorted through a maze of rooms and corridors busy with uniformed Klarosians and their machines, to a large solarium that had been converted into a field hospital. There was an air of bustle, hurry and tension that was strange to a Veran Healer, whose first lesson was to maintain an essential calm and serenity in all things. Standing to one side of the room was the woman who had visited her that morning, the Chief Medical Officer, and two Klarosian men. They turned as she entered with her escorting guards, who saluted. One of the men returned the salute, and glanced at the Chief Medical Officer.

Helset saw the weariness in the Veran Healer's face, and took in the officiousness of the troopers flanking her. Clearly, her instructions to Tajarra to have his men politely request Dayan's assistance had been disregarded. She returned the Commandant's glance with an ominous frown. "Commandant Tajarra, this is Dayan, the Healer I spoke of." She approached Dayan. "Thank you for coming. We have need of your help..."

Tajarra cut in. "You can cure people attacked by these creatures?" He gestured to a iso-boxed specimen on one of the long tables. His tone was curt.

"If the poison is not too far advanced." Dayan answered him gravely.

"That medicine you sent hasn't worked! If you're tricking us, I warn you..."

"Commandant!" Helset's voice was quiet but authoritative. Tajarra broke off, shooting her an angry look.

"Commandant, this is a medical matter. I must request you to leave it to me. Surely there are important duties for you to attend to elsewhere."

Tajarra's eyes narrowed. "This is my zone, and my men in question, Colonel. I've given you quite enough cooperation in allowing you to work with these native doctors at all—contrary to occupation regulations! If she's a spy, she could do considerable harm, here. She says she can cure them, let her do so. But if one of them dies, my men have orders to shoot her. Understood?" He looked at the troopers, who saluted.

Helset was furious, her temper barely in check. "Tajarra, may I remind you that it is we who are requesting Dayan's assistance? Has is ever occurred to you that threats might be counterproductive in such a situation? I must request that you leave this infirmary immediately, and take your troopers with you. I will include your helpful suggestions on obtaining cooperation from the natives in my report to the Lord Commander."

Her eyes held the Commandant's for several seconds, and he looked away first. "Very well, we are wasting time. My men will remain here, however. You have your orders," to the troopers. They saluted, and he left.

Helset looked at Dayan. The woman was waiting with imperturbable calm. "What is the difficulty in healing your men, Chief Medical Officer?" she asked.

Helset shook her head. "Over here..." She gestured to one corner of the room, where technicians were working on life-support equipment attached to three patients. Helset came and observed the men. Each showed the raking scratches of the innit's attack, and all were very far along in the course of the poison.

"Our computer seemed to have no trouble analyzing and synthesizing the serum from the sample you provided, Healer. Their analysis was not incompatible with a specific for the poison, they recommended a dosage. And when we applied it to the first man, he did seem to improve for a short time. But then his condition deteriorated, and repeat applications were ineffective. He died about two hours ago."

"There is no time to determine what went wrong, Chief Medical Officer." Helset glanced at the men before her. "These..." she frowned slightly. "They may be too far advanced in the poison. We must work quickly. Bring the pirsal, we will see if that is the problem."

Helset picked up a flask from the table, full of pale green liquid. The Healer looked intently at it, then tipped a little into her palm. She returned the flask to Helset and felt the liquid with her fingertips. "It is good pirsal, your machines are skilled. We will use it. Three small bottles, to process the doses."

Helset wanted to ask questions, but she sensed the urgency behind the Healer's calm, and gestured to a technician to bring three small flasks. Dayan was already standing beside the first man, cupping her palms to his temples. She frowned. "I cannot feel..." She glanced at the life support technician. "Is that machine attached to him?" The technician glanced at Helset, then nodded. Dayan shook her head. "You must take it away."

"But..." the technician protested, again looking at Helset. "Do it, Keblar." Helset confirmed. The tech shrugged, and deactivated the field. Dayan's eyes closed, and her hands moved over his head, face, neck, chest... just above the skin. Her lips moved silently. The technician watched in open scorn. Finally she opened her eyes. "We will try." She took the flask and the small bottle, poured a small amount into it. She held it, eyes closed in that intense concentration Helset had seen in the tent in the village. Sweat started on her brow, when she opened her eyes she gulped in a deep breath. She took an instrument from her kit, and drew the medication into it. Her hand on the man's forehead, she began to speak in High Veran, Helset realized she was not praying, but talking to the patient. She caught the final phrase, "Into the Light I commend thee," and then the instrument was placed briefly against the man's neck.

Dayan drew the instrument away and observed the patient closely. Perhaps she had arrested the deterioration of brain function in time. Hands at his temples, she monitored the energy flow. No worse, certainly. Perhaps better... She took some of the processed pirsal and began massaging it into the scratches, crooning encouragement to his spirit, calling it closer to the body, encouraging and reassuring him. Finally she felt the thread of contact, nurtured it, poured energy into it, felt it take hold again.

The patient took a deep, natural breath. Without waking, he shifted slightly and sighed. Helset and the technician looked at each other. Impossible! Yet the monitoring devices confirmed the stabilized brain function, deeper, slower respiration, steadier heartbeat. Dayan was leaning against the cot, eyes closed, trembling slightly. Helset put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

The Healer's eyes opened. "Tired, a little. I shall be all right. Have you something to drink, warm and high in sugar?"

Helset turned to Major Qualar, who had just joined them. "Do we have any chelis hot?" He nodded, and beckoned an orderly to bring a pitcher and cup. Dayan drank gratefully, ignoring the strange, over-sweet taste. The warmth and the sugar seemed to sink into her exhausted body like rain into drought-parched ground.

Dayan performed the same operations on the second man, with similar results. Major Qualar, who had helped Helset synthesize the pirsal and unsuccessfully treat the first patient, watched disbelievingly as he, too, seemed to stabilize and slip into a more natural sleep. Dayan sat back and requested more of the chelis. She was very pale, white around the lips, and her hand trembled as she took the cup from Helset. "You're exhausted."

Dayan looked up at her. "I am tired, yes. But it is essential that these men be treated quickly." She turned to the third man, and nodded to the technician to discontinue the life-support field. She laid her hands along his temples, eyes closed. In a few moments she opened her eyes and shook her head. "No. This one will not recover. He is already many steps along the Road. Have you one of his family or friends who can release him to it?"

Helset was surprised--was she saying that the patient would die? This man had seemed to be in slightly better shape than the other two--less deterioration, more stable condition, he'd responded well to the stasis field and the life support system. "What do you mean, Healer?"

Dayan frowned. "I do not understand your ways, of course. Here, when a person is Called, it is customary for she or he who has the power to release them into the Presence. It is customary, a comforting thing. "

Qualar was appalled. "You...you kill your wounded?" That was why there were so few Veran survivors of the battle!

Dayan was at a loss. What were these barbarians, that they would deny release to one Called into the Presence? She shook her head. "Only those who are Called. As this man is..." she looked at the young face on the cot. The scratches had been cleaned, the youthful face was appealingly handsome in its relaxation. Her heart ached for him, wounded deeply by the battle more than the innit. "Is there no one here who stands friend, family or suzerain to him?"

"It is not our custom to dispatch our wounded. His condition is relatively stable. It might be difficult to explain to Commandant Tajarra why he died, especially if you have given him no treatment." Qualar was not threatening, but he knew the capabilities of the Sixth Unit Commandant. His concern reminded Helset of her obligation to the Healer. If...she looked at the trooper's stat display, found his name...if Trooper Chagarth died, Tajarra might carry out his threat to retaliate on the Healer.

"Please, Healer. Try."

It seemed very important to them. But Dayan had never been asked to prevent the release of someone who had been Called, bring them back into the world when they were already partly down the Road. It felt—unethical, somehow. A subversion of her training and her powers as a Healer. Yet these Klarosians had different customs. She nodded to Helset to hand her the pirsal, and the third of the little bottles.

It took a long time, and by the time she finished, she was semi-conscious, totally exhausted. She felt as though she was moving through a thick fog. She tried to turn, to rise, to tell them that the treatments must be repeated in a few hours, and felt herself slipping into unconsciousness.

Qualar caught her as she slumped over. He checked her pulse, watched her respiration. She would be all right. "Clear that cot." He nodded towards a cot which currently held extra bandages and dressings. A technician removed them, and he and Helset laid the Veran woman on it, covering her with a light blanket.

"Damn Tajarra." Helset muttered under her breath. "I told him to ask for her help, not drag her here under a gun." She cast a glance of dislike at the trooper, who was standing unperturbed by the door, watching them.

"What did she do?" Major Qualar was baffled. "She used our serum, applied it subcutaneously (at least I assume that's what that little device of hers is), and topically, just as we did. She actually used smaller doses than we did. And yet Jekaran died. And these three..." he looked back to the cots, where the three troopers seemed to be resting comfortably, and shrugged helplessly. He picked up the instrument Dayan had been using, and inspected it. It seemed to be a modified pneumatic syringe, slightly different in design but identical in function to their own. He shook his head. "It can't be the mumbo-jumbo. Can it?" He sounded uncertain.

Helset shook her head. "I don't know. I do know one thing--I'm going to analyze the serum remaining in those bottles she used." She gathered them up, and they went to the lab area.

Half an hour later the computer printed out the results. Helset read them, read them again, and handed them without comment to Qualar. He also read them twice, and then began to search through the piles of hardcopy from earlier analysis.

"What are you looking for?" Helset asked.

"The readout on the initial synthesis we ran."

She handed him the wisp of mylar. "Here. I already checked."

"But this is impossible! All three of the samples show different variations in the molecular structure!"

Helset nodded. "And the analysis shows that all three variations are based on catalytic aminoid chains. Which can't be done, so far as we know, without gene-splicing. Which requires major computer equipment and hours of work, at least." She shrugged. "So you tell me about their 'primitive' medical science."

He pursed his lips in a silent whistle. "If we could learn a technology like that..."

Helset shook her head, again. "I don't think it is a technology. Not the way we understand it. And certainly methods like Tajarra's aren't going to help."

Qualar looked around quickly, but the only other person within earshot was a medical technician at one of the work terminals, apparently absorbed in her work. "Tajarra is a dangerous enemy, Colonel Morvaine. You've already antagonized him considerably. He's a relative of General Ralin, you know."

"I know. And Ralin is not especially fond of me, as it is. But just think, Qualar..."