a CHAPTER ONE

The ironbound door at the end of the narrow passage-
way creaked open. An ancient man peered out and
focused wrinkle-lapped eyes on Keff. Keff knew what the
old one saw: a mature man, not overly tall, whose wavy
brown hair, only just beginning to be shot with gray, was
arrayed above a mild yet bull-like brow and deep-set blue
eyes. A nose whose craggy shape suggested it may or may
not have been broken at some time in the past, and a
mouth framed by humor lines added to the impression of
one who was tough yet instinctively gentle. He was dressed
in a simple tunic but carried a sword at his side with the
easy air of someone who knew how to use it. The oldster
wore the shapeless garments of one who has ceased to care
for any attribute but warmth and convenience. They stud-
ied each other for a moment. Keff dipped his head slightly
in greeting.

"Is your master at home?"

"I have no master. Get ye gone to whence ye came," the
ancient spat, eyes blazing. Keff knew at once that this was
no serving man; he'd just insulted the High Wizard Zarelb

2

Anne McCaffrey 6- Joc^y Lynn Nye

himself! He straightened his shoulders, going on guard but
seeking to look friendly and non-threatening.

"Nay, sir," Keff said. "I must speak to you." Rats crept
out of the doorway only inches from his feet and skittered
away through the gutters along the walls. A disgusting
place, but Keff had his mission to think of.

"Get ye gone," the old man repeated. "I've nothing for
you." He tried to close the heavy, planked door. Keff
pushed his gaundeted forearm into the narrowing crack
and held it open. The old man backed away a pace, his
eyes showing fear.

"I know you have the Scroll ofAlmon," Keff said, keep-
ing his voice gentle. "I need it, good sir, to save the people
of Harimm. Please give it to me, sir. I will harm you not."

'Very well, young man," the wizard said. "Since you
threaten me, I will cede the scroll."

Keff relaxed slightly, with an inward grin. Then he
caught a gleam in the old mans eye, which focused over
Keffs shoulder. Spinning on his heel, Keff whipped his
narrow sword out of its scabbard. Its lighted point picked
out glints in the eyes and off the sword-blades of the three
ruffians who had stepped into the street behind him. He
was trapped.

One of the ruffians showed blackened stumps of teeth
in a broad grin. "Going somewhere, sonny?" he asked.

"I go where duty takes me," Keff said.

'Take him, boys!"

His sword on high, the ruffian charged. Keff immedi-
ately blocked the mans chop, and riposted, flinging the
mans heavy sword away with a clever twist of his slender
blade that left the mans chest unguarded and vulnerable.
He lunged, seeking his enemy's heart with his blade. Stum-
bling away with more haste than grace, the man spat,
gathered himself, and charged again, this time followed by
the other two. Keff turned into a whirlwind, parrying,

THE SHIP WHO WON            3

thrusting, and striking, holding the three men at bay. A
near strike by one of his opponents streaked along the wall
by his cheek. He jumped away and parried just before an
enemy skewered him.

"Yoicks!" he cried, dancing in again. "Have at you!"

He lunged, and the hot point of his epee struck the
middle of the chief thugs chest. The body sank to the
ground, and vanished.

There!" Keff shouted, flicking the sword back and
forth, leaving a Z etched in white light on the air. "You are
not invincible. Surrender or die!"

Keffs renewed energy seemed to confuse the two
remaining ruffians, who fought disjointedly, sometimes
getting in each others way while Keffs blade found its
mark again and again, sinking its light into arms, shoulders,
chests. In a lightning-fast sequence, first one, then the
other foe left his guard open a moment too long. With
groans, the villains sank to the ground, whereupon they too
vanished. Putting the epee back into his belt, Keff turned
to confront the ancient wizard, who stood watching the
proceedings with a neutral eye.

"In the name of the people of Harimm, I claim the
Scroll," Keff said grandly, extending a hand. "Unless you
have other surprises for me?"

"Nay, nay." The old man fumbled in the battered leather
scrip at his side. From it he took a roll of parchment, yel-
lowed and crackling with age. Keff stared at it with awe.
He bowed to the wizard, who gave him a grudging look of
respect.

The scroll lifted out of the wizards hand and floated
toward Keff. Hovering in the air, it unrolled slowly. Keff'
squinted at what was revealed within: spidery tracings in
fading brown ink, depicting mountains, roads, and rivers.
"A map!" he breathed.

"Hold it," the wizard said, his voice unaccountably

4

Anne McCaffrey ir Jody Lynn Nye

changing from a cracked baritone to a pleasant female alto.
"We're in range of the comsats." Door, rats, and aged fig-
ure vanished, leaving blank walls.

"Oh, spacedust," Keff said, unstrapping his belt and
laser epee and throwing himself into the crash seat at the
control console. "I was enjoying that. Whew! Good work-
out!" He pulled his sweaty tunic off over his head, and
mopped his face with the tails. The dark curls of hair on his
broad chest may have been shot through here and there
with white ones, but he was grinning like a boy.

"You nearly got yourself spitted back there," said the
disembodied voice ofCarialle, simultaneously sending and
acknowledging ID signals to the SSS-900. "Watch your
back better next time."

"What'd I get for that?" Keff asked.

"No points for unfinished tasks. Maps are always
unknowns. You'll have to follow it and see," Carialle said
coyly. The image of a gorgeous lady dressed in floating sky
blue chiffon and gauze and a pointed hennin appeared
briefly on a screen next to her titanium column. The lovely
rose-and-cream complected visage smiled down on Keff.
"Nice footwork, good sir knight," the Lady Fair said, and
vanished. "SSS-900, this is the CK-963 requesting permis-
sion to approach and dock-Hello, Simeon!"

"Carialle!" The voice of the station controller came
through the box. "Welcome back! Permission granted,
babe. And that's SSS-900-C, now, C for Channa. A lot's
happened in the year since you've been away. Keff, are you
there?"

Keff leaned in toward the pickup. "Right here, Simeon.
We're within half a billion klicks. Should be with you

soon.

"It'll be good to have you on board," Simeon said.
"We're a little disarrayed right now, to put it mildly, but you
didn't come to see me for my housekeeping."

THE SHIP WHO WON

5

"No, cookie, but you give such good decontam a girl can
hardly stay away," Carialle quipped with a naughty
chuckle.

"Dragons teeth, Simeon!" Keff suddenly exclaimed,
staring at his scopes. "What happened around here?"
"Well, if you really want to know..."

The scout ship threaded its way through an increasingly
cluttered maze of junk and debris as they neared the rotat-
ing dumbbell shape of Station SSS-900. After viewing
Keffs cause for alarm, Carialle put her repulsors on full to
avoid the very real possibility of intersecting with one of
the floating chunks of metal debris that shared a Trojan
point with the station. Skiffs and tugs moved amidst the
shattered parts of ships and satellites, scavenging. A pair of
battered tugs with scoops on the front, looking ridiculously
like gigantic vacuum cleaners, described regular rows as
they seived up microfine spacedust that could hole hulls
and vanes of passing ships without ever being detected by
the crews inside. The cleanup tugs sent hails as Carialle
passed them in a smooth arc, synchronizing herself to the
spin of the space station. The north docking ring was being
repaired, so with a flick of her controls, Carialle increased
thrust and caught up with the south end. Lights began to
chase around the lip of one of the docldng bays on the ring,
and she made for it.

"... so that was the last we saw of the pirate Belazir and
his bully boys," Simeon finished, sounding weary. "For
good, I hope. My shell has been put in a more damage
resistant casing and resealed in its pillar. We've spent the
last six months healing and picking up the pieces. Still
waiting for replacement parts. The insurance company is
being sticky and querying every fardling item on the list,
but no ones surprised about that. Fleet ships are remaining

6

Anne McCaffrey 6- Jody Lynn Nye

in the area. We've put in for a permanent patrol, maybe a

small garrison."

"You have had a hell of a time," Carialle said,

sympathetically.

"Now let's hear the good news," Simeon said, with a
sudden surge of energy in his voice. "Where ve you been
all this time?"

Carialle simulated a trumpet playing a fanfare.

"We're pleased to announce that star GZA-906-M has
two planets with oxygen-breathing life," Keffsaid.

"Congratulations, you two!" Simeon said, sending an
audio burst that sounded like thousands of people cheer-
ing. He paused, very briefly. "I'm sending a simultaneous
message to Xeno and Explorations. They're standing by for
a full report with samples and graphs, but me first! I want
to hear it all."

Carialle accessed her library files and tight-beamed the
star chart and xeno file to Simeons personal receiving fre-
quency. 'This is a precis of what we'll give to Xeno and the
benchmarkers," she said. "We'll spare you the boring

stuff."

"If there's any bad news," Keff began, "it's that there's
no sentient life on planet four, and planet three s is too far
down the tech scale to join Central Worlds as a trading
partner. But they were glad to see us."

"He thinks," Carialle interrupted, with a snort. "I really
never knew what the Beasts Blatisant thought." Keff shot
an exasperated glance at her pillar, which she ignored. She
clicked through the directory on the file and brought up
the profile on the natives oflricon III.

"Why do you call them the Beasts Blatisant?" Simeon
asked, scanning the video of the skinny, hairy hexapedal
beings, whose faces resembled those of intelligent grass-
hoppers.

"Listen to the audio," Carialle said, laughing. 'They use

THE SHIP WHO WON            7

a complex form of communication which we have a socio-
logical aversion to understanding. Keff thought I was
blowing smoke, so to speak."

'That's not true, Can," Keff protested. "My initial con-
clusion," he stressed to Simeon, "was that they had no
need for a complex spoken language. They live right in the
swamps," Keff said, narrating the video that played off the
datahedron. "As you can see, they travel either on all sixes
or upright on four with two manipulative limbs. There are
numerous predators that eat Beasts, among other things,
and the simple spoken language is sufficient to relay infor-
mation about them. Maintaining life is simple. You can see
that fruit and edible vegetables grow in abundance right
there in the swamp. The overlay shows which plants are
dangerous."

"Not too many," Simeon said, noting the international
symbols for poisonous and toxic compounds: a skull and
crossbones and a small round face with its tongue out.

"Of course the first berry tried by my knight errant, and
I especially stress the errant," Carialle said, "was those
raspberry red ones on the left, marked with Mr. Yucky
Face."

"Well, the natives were eating them, and their biology
isn't that unlike Terran reptiles." Keff grimaced as he
admitted, "but the berries gave me fierce stomach cramps.
I was rolling all over the place clutching my belly. The
Beasts thought it was funny." The video duly showed the
hexapods, hooting, standing over a prone and writhing
Keff.

"It was, a little," Carialle added, "once I got over being
worried that he hadn't eaten something lethal. I told him
to wait for the full analysis-"

'That would have taken hours," Keff interjected. "Our
social interaction was happening in realtime."

"Well, you certainly made an impression."

"Did you understand the Beasts Blatisant? How'd the
IT program go?" asked Simeon, changing;the subject.

IT stood for Intentional Translator, the universal
simultaneous language translation program that Keff had
started before he graduated from school. IT was in a
constant state of being perfected, adding referents and
standards from each new alien language recorded by
Central Worlds exploration teams. The brawn had more
faith in his invention than his brain partner, who never
relied on IT more than necessary. Carialle teased Keff
mightily over the mistakes the IT made, but all the
chaffing was affectionately meant. Brain and brawn had
been together fourteen years out of a twenty-five-year
mission, and were close and caring friends. For all the
badinage she tossed his way, Carialle never let anyone else
take the mickey out other partner within her hearing.

Now she sniffed. "Still flawed, since IT uses only the
symbology of alien life-forms already discpvered. Even
with the addition of the Blaize Modification for sign lan-
guage, I think that it still fails to anticipate. I mean, who
the hell knows what referents and standards new alien
races will use?"

"Sustained use of a symbol in context suggests that it has
meaning," Keff argued. 'That's the basis of the program."

"How do you tell the difference between a repeated
movement with meaning and one without?" Carialle
asked, reviving the old argument. "Supposing a jellyfish's
wiggle is sometimes for propulsion and sometimes for dis-
semination of information? Listen, Simeon, you be the
judge."

"All right," the station manager said, amused.
"What if members of a new race have mouths and talk,
but impart any information of real importance in some
other way? Say, with a couple of sharp poots out the
sphincter?"

"It was the berries," Keff said. 'Their diet caused the
repeating, er, repeats."

"Maybe that. . . habit. . . had some relevance in the
beginning of their civilization," Carialle said with acer-
bity. "However, Simeon, once Keff got the translator
working on their verbal language, we found that at first
they just parroted back to him anything he said, like a
primitive AI pattern, gradually forming sentences, using
words of their own and anything they heard him say. It
seemed useful at first. We thought they'd leam Standard
at light-speed, long before Keff could pick up on the
intricacies of their language, but that wasn't what
happened."

'They parroted the language right, but they didn't really
understand what I was saying," Keff said, alternating his
narrative automatically with Carialle's. "No true compre-
hension."

"In the meantime, the flatulence was bothering him, not
only because it seemed to be ubiquitous, but because it
seemed to be controllable."

"I didn't know if it was supposed to annoy me, or if it
meant something. Then we started studying them more
closely."

The video cut from one scene to another of the skinny,
hairy aliens diving for ichthyoids and eels, which they cap-
tured with their middle pair of limbs. More footage
showed them eating voraciously; teaching their young to
hunt; questing for smaller food animals and tiiding from
larger and more dangerous beasties. Not much of the land
was dry, and what vegetation grew there was sought after
by all the hungry species.

Early tapes showed that, at first, the Beasts seemed to
be afraid of Keff, behaving as if they thought he was going
to attack them. Over the course of a few days, as he
seemed to be neither aggressive nor helpless, they

10 Anne McCaffrey 6- Jody Lynn Nye

investigated him further. When they dined, he ate a meal
from his own supplies beside them.

'Then, keeping my distance, I started asking them
questions, putting a clear rising interrogative into my
tone of voice that I had heard their young use when ask-
ing for instruction. That seemed to please them, even
though they were puzzled why an obviously mature
being needed what seemed to be survival information.
Interspecies communication and cooperation was
unknown to them." Keff watched as Carialle skipped
through the data to another event. 'This was the pot-
latch. Before it really got started, the Beasts ate kilos of
those bean-berries."

"Keff had decided then that they couldn't be too intelli-
gent, doing something like that to themselves. Eating
foods that caused them obvious distress for pure cere-
mony's sake seemed downright dumb."

"I was disappointed. Then the IT started kicking back
patterns to me on the Beasts' noises. Then I felt downright
dumb." Keff had the good grace to grin at himself.

"And what happened, ah, in the end?" Simeon asked.

Keff grinned sheepishly. "Oh, Carialle was right, of
course. The red berries were the key to their formal com-
munication. I had to give points for repetition of, er, body
language. So, I programmed the IT to pick up what the
Blatisants meant, not just what they said, taking in all
movement or sounds to analyze for meaning. It didn't
always work right..."

"Hah!" Carialle interrupted, in triumph. "He admits it!"

"... but soon, I was getting the sense of what they were
really communicating. The verbal was little more than pro-
tective coloration. The Blatisants do have a natural gift for
mimicry. The IT worked fine-well, mostly. The systems
just going to require more testing, that's all."

"It always requires more testing," CariaUe remarked in a

THE SHIP WHO WON           11

long-suffering voice. "One day we're going to miss some-
thing we really need."

Keff was unperturbed. "Maybe IT needs an AI element
to test each set of physical movements or gestures for
meaning on the spot and relay it to the running glossary.
I'm going to use IT on humans next, see if I can refine the
quirks that way when I already know what a being is com-
municating."

"If it works," Simeon said, with rising interest, "and you
can read body language, it'll put you far beyond any means
of translation that's ever been done. They'll call you a
mind-reader. Softshells so seldom say what they mean-
but they do express it through their attitudes and gestures.
I can think of a thousand practical uses for IT right here in
Central Worlds."

"As for the Blatisants, there's no reason not to recom-
mend further investigation to award them ISS status, since
it's clear they are sentient and have an ongoing civilization,
however primitive," Keff said. "And that's what I'm going
to tell the Central Committee in my report. Iricon Ill's got
to go on the list."

T wish I could be a mouse in the wall," Simeon said,
chuckling with mischievous glee, "when an evaluation
team has to talk with your Beasts. The whole party's going
to sound like a raft of untuned engines. I know CenCom's
going to be happy to hear about another race ofsentients."

"I know," Keff said, a little sadly, "but it's not the race,
you know." To Keff and Carialle, the designation meant
that most elusive of holy grails, an alien race culturally and
technologically advanced enough to meet humanity on its
own terms, having independently achieved computer sci-
ence and space travel.

"If anyone's going to find the race, it's likely to be you
two," Simeon said with open sincerity.

Carialle closed the last kilometers to the docking bay and

12 Anne McCaffrey 6- Jody Lynn Nye

shut off her engines as the magnetic grapples pulled her
close, and the vacuum seal snugged around the atrlock.

"Home again," she sighed.

The lights on the board started flashing as Simeon
sent a burst requesting decontamination for the CK-963.
Keff pushed back from the monitor panels and went
back to his cabin to make certain everything personal
was locked down before the decontam crew came on
board.

"We're empty on everything, Simeon," Carialle said.
"Protein vats are at the low ebb, my nutrients are redlining,
fuel cells down. Fill 'er up."

"We're a bit short on some supplies at the moment,"
Simeon said, "but I'll give you what I can." There was a
brief pause, and his voice returned. "I've checked for mail.
Keff has two parcels. The manifests are for circuits, and for
a 'Rotoflex.'What's that?"

"Hah!" said Keff, pleased. "Exercise equipment. A
Rotoflex helps build chest and back muscles without strain
on the intercostals." He flattened his hands over his ribs
and breathed deeply to demonstrate.

"All we need is more clang-and-bump deadware on my
deck," Carialle said with the noise that served her for a
sigh.

"Where's your shipment, Carialle?" Keff asked inno-
cently. "I thought you were sending for a body from
Moto-Prosthetics."

"Well, you thought wrong," Carialle said, exasperated
that he was bringing up their old argument. "I'm happy in
my skin, thank you."

"You'd love being mobile, lady fair," Keff said. "All the
things you miss staying in one place! You can't imagine.
Tell her, Simeon."

"She travels more than I do. Sir Galahad. Forget it."

"Anyone else have messages for us?" Carialle asked.

THE SHIP WHO WON            13

"Not that I have on record, but I'll put out a query to
show you're in dock."

Keff picked his sodden tunic off the console and stood

up. ,

"I'd better go and let the medicals have their poke at

me," he said. "Will you take care of the rest of the com-
puter debriefing, my lady Cari, or do you want me to stay
and make sure they don't poke in anywhere you don't want
them?"

"Nay, good sir knight," Carialle responded, still playing
the game. "You have coursed long and far, and deserve
reward."

'The only rewards I want," Keff said wistfully, "are a
beer that hasn't been frozen for a year, and a little compan-
ionship-not that you aren't the perfect companion, lady
fair"-he kissed his hand to the titanium column-"but as
the prophet said, let there be spaces in your togethemess.
If you'll excuse me?"

"Well, don't space yourself too far," Carialle said. Keff
grinned. Carialle followed him on her internal cameras to
his cabin, where, in deference to those spaces he men-
tioned, she stopped. She heard the sonic-shower turn on
and off, and the hiss of his closet door. He came out of the
cabin pulling on a new, dry tunic, his curly hair tousled.

Ta-ta," Keff said. "I go to confess all and slay a beer or
two."

Before the airlock sealed, Carialle had opened up her
public memory banks to Simeon, transferring full copies of
their datafiles on the Iricon mission. Xeno were on line in
seconds, asking her for in-depth, eyewitness commentary
on their exploration. Keff, in Medical, was probably
answering some of the same questions. Xeno liked subjec-
tive accounts as well as mechanical recordings.

At the same time Carialle carried on her conversation
with Simeon, she oversaw the decontam crew and loading

14 Anne McCaffrey <h- Jody Lynn Nye

staff, and relaxed a little herself after what had been an
arduous journey. A few days here, and she'd feel ready to
go out and knit the galactic spiral into a sweater.

Keffs medical examination, under the capable stetho-
scope of Dr. Chaundra, took less than fifteen minutes, but
the interview with Xeno went on for hours. By the time he
had recited from memory everything he thought or
observed about the Beasts Blatisant he was wrung out and
dry.

"You know, Keff," Darvi, the xenologist, said, shutting
down his clipboard terminal on the Beast Blatisant file, "if
I didn't know you personally, I'd have to think you were a
little nuts, giving alien races silly names like that. Beasts
Blatisant. Sea Nymphs. Losels-that was the last one I
remember."

"Don't you ever play Myths and Legends, Darvi?" Keff
asked, eyes innocent.

"Not in years. It's a kid game, isn't it?"

"No! Nothing wrong with my mind, nyuk-nyuk," Keff
said, rubbing knuckles on his own pate and pulling a face.
The xenologist looked worried for a moment, then relaxed
as he realized Keff was teasing him. "Seriously, its
self-defense against boredom. After fourteen years of this
job, one gets fardling tired of referring to a species as 'the
indigenous race' or 'the inhabitants of Zoocon I.' I'm not
an AI drone, and neither is Carialle."

"Well, the names are still silly."

"Humankind is a silly race," Keff said lightly. "I'm just
indulging in innocent fun."

He didn't want to get into what he and Carialle considered
the serious aspects of the game, the points of honor, the
satisfaction of laying successes at the feet of his lady fair. It
wasn't as if he and Carialle couldn't tell the difference
between play and reality. The game had permeated their life

THE SHIP WHO WON            15

I

and given it shape and texture, becoming more than a game,
meaning more. He'd never tell this space-dry plodder about
the time five years back that he actually stood vigil
throughout a long, lonely night lit by a single candle to earn
his knighthood. I guess you just had to be there, he thought
"If that's all?" he asked, standing up quickly.

Darvi waved a stylus at him, already engrossed in the
files. Keff escaped before the man thought of something
else to ask and hurried down the curving hall to the nearest
lift.

Keff had learned about Myths and Legends in primary
school. A gang of his friends used to get together once a
week (more often when they dared and homework permit-
ted) to play after class. Keff liked being able to live out
some of his heroic fantasies and, briefly, be a knight bat-
tling evil and bringing good to all the world. As he grew up
and learned that the galaxy was a billion times larger than
his one small colony planet, the compulsion to do good
grew, as did his private determination that he could make a
difference, no matter how minute. He managed not to
divulge this compulsion during his psychiatric interviews
on his admission to Brawn Training and kept his altruism
private. Nonetheless, as a knight of old, Keff performed his
assigned tasks with energy and devotion, vowing that no ill
or evil would ever be done by him. In a quiet way, he
applied the rules of the game to his own life.

As it happened, Carialle also loved M&L, but more for
the strategy and research that went into formulating the
quests than the adventuring. After they were paired, they
had simply fallen into playing the game to while away the
long days and months between stars: He could put no
finger on a particular moment when they began to make it
a lifestyle: Keff the eternal knight errant and Carialle his
lady fair. To Keff this was the natural extension of an
adolescent interest that had matured along with him.

16 Anne McCaffrey 6- Jody Lynn Nye

As soon as he'd heard that the CX-963 was in need of a
brawn, his romantic nature required him to apply for the
position as Carialles brawn. He'd heard-who hadn't?-
about the devastating space storm and collision that had
cost Fanine Takajima-Morrows life and almost took Cari-
alle's sanity.

She'd had to undergo a long recovery period when the
Mutant Minorities (MM) and Society for the Preservation
of the Rights of Intelligent Minorities (SPRIM) boffins
wondered if she'd ever be willing to go into space again.
They rejoiced when she announced that not only was she
ready to fly, but ready to interview brawns as well. Keffhad
wanted that assignment badly. Reading her file had given
him an intense need to protect Carialle. A ridiculous
notion, when he ruefully considered that she had the
resources of a brainship at her synapse ends, but her vul-
nerability had been demonstrated during that storm. The
' protective aspect of his nature vibrated at the challenge to
keep her from any further harm.

Though she seldom talked about it, he suspected she
still had nightmares about her ordeal-in those random
hours when a brain might drop into dreamtime. She also
proved to be the best of partners and companions. He
liked her, her interests, her hobbies, didn't mind her faults
or her tendency to be right more often than he was. She
taught him patience. He taught her to swear in ninety lan-
guages as a creative means of dispelling tension. They
bolstered one another. The trust between them was as
deep as space and felt as ancient and as new at the same
time. The fourteen years of their partnership had flown by,
literally and figuratively. Within Keffs system of values, to
be paired with a brainship was the greatest honor a mere
human could be accorded, and he knew it.

The lift slowed to a creaky halt and the doors opened.
Keffhad been on SSS-900 often enough to turn to port as

THE SHIP WHO WON            17

he hit the corridor, in the direction of the spacer bar he
liked to patronize while on station.

Word had gotten around that he was back, probably the
helpful Simeons doing. A dark brown stout already sepa-
rating from its creamy crown was waiting for him on the
polished steel bar. It was the first thing on which he
focused.

"Ah!" he cried, moving toward the beer with both hands
out. "Come to Keff."

A hand reached into his field of vision and smartly
slapped his wrist before he could touch the mug handle.
Keff tilted a reproachful eye upward.

"Hows your credit?" the bartender asked, then tipped
him a wicked wink. She was a woman of his own age with
nut-brown hair cut close to her head and the milk-fair skin
of the lifelong spacer of European descent. "Just kidding.
Drink up, Keff. This ones on the house. It's good to see
you."

"Blessings on you and on this establishment, Mariad,
and on your brewers, wherever they are," Keff said, and
put his nose into the foam and slowly tipped his head back
and the glass up. The mug was empty when he set it down.
"Ahhhh. Same again, please."

Cheers and applause erupted from the tables and Keff
waved in acknowledgment that his feat had been wit-
nessed. A couple of people gave him thumbs up before
returning to their conversations and dart games.

"You can always tell a light-year spacer by the way he
refuels in port," said one man, coming forward to clasp
Keffs hand. His thin, melancholy face was contorted into
an odd smile.

Keff stood up and slapped him on the back. "Baran Lar-
rimer! I didn't know you and Shelby were within a million
light years of here."

An old friend, Larrimer was half of a brain/brawn team

assigned to the Central Worlds defense fleet. Keff sud-
denly remembered Simeon s briefing about naval support.
Larrimer must have known exactly what Keff had been
told. The older brawn gave him a tired grimace and nod-
ded at the questioning expression on his face.
"Got to keep our eyes open," he said simply.
"And you are not keeping yours open," said a voice. A
tiny arm slipped around Keffs waist and squeezed. He
glanced down into a small, heart-shaped face. "Good to see

you, Keff."

"Susa Gren!" Keff lifted the young woman clean off the
ground in a sweeping hug and set her down for a huge kiss,
which she returned with interest. "So you and Marliban

are here, too?"

"Courier duty for a trading contingent," Susa said in a
low voice, her dark eyes crinkling wryly at the corners. She
tilted her head toward a group of hooded aliens sitting iso-
lated around a table in the comer. "Hoping to sell Simeon
a load of protector/detectors. They plain forgot that Marls
a brain and could hear every word. The things they said in
front of him! Which he quite rightly passed straight on to
Simeon, so, dear me, didn't they have a hard time bargain-
ing their wares. I'd half a mind to tell CenCom that those
idiots can find their own way home if they won't show a
brainship more respect. But," she sighed, "it's paying

work."

Marl had only been in service for two-no, it was three
years now-and was still too far down in debt to Central
Worlds for his shell and education to refuse assignments,
especially ones that paid as well as first-class courier work.
Susa owed megacredits, too. She had made herself respon-
sible for the debts of her parents, who had borrowed
heavily to make an independent go of it on a mining world,
and had failed. Fortunately not fatally, but the disaster had
left them with only a subsistence allowance. Keff liked the

spunky young woman, admired her drive and wit, her
springy step and dainty, attractive figure. The two of them
had always had an affinity which Carialle had duly noted,
commenting a trifle bluntly that the ideal playmate for a
brawn was another brawn. Few others could understand
the dedication a brawn had for his brainship nor match the
lifelong relationship.

"Susa," he said suddenly. "Do you have some time? Can
you sit and talk for a while?"

Her eyes twinkled as if she had read his mind. "I've
nothing to do and nowhere to go. Marl and I have liberty
until those drones want to go home. Buy me a drink?"

Larrimer stood up, tactfully ignoring the increasing aura
of intimacy between the other two brawns. He slapped his
credit chit down on the bar and beckoned to Mariad.

"Come by if you have a moment, Keff," he said. "Shelby
would be glad to see you."

"I will," Keff said, absently swatting a palm toward
Larrimers hand, which caught his in a firm clasp. "Safe
going."

He and Susa sat down together in a booth. Mariad
delivered a pair of Guinnesses and, with a motherly cluck,
sashayed away.

"You're looking well," Susa said, scanning his face with a
more than friendly concern. "You have a tan!"

"I got it on our last planetfall," Keff said. "Hasn't had
time to fade yet."

"Well, I think you look good with a litde color in your
face," she declared. Her mouth crooked into a one-sided
grin. "How far down does it go?"

Keff waggled his eyebrows at her. "Maybe in awhile I'll
let you see."

"Any of those deep scratches dangerous?" Carialle
asked, swiveling an optical pickup out on a stalk to oversee

the techs checking her outsides. The ship lay horizontally
to the "dry dock" pier, giving the technicians the maximum
expanse of hull to examine.

"Most of 'em are no problem. I'm putting setpatch in
the one nearest your fuel lines," the coveralled man said,
spreading a gray goo over the place. It hardened slowly,
acquiring a silver sheen that blended with the rest of the
hull plates. "Don't think it'll split in temperature extremes,
ma'am, but its thinner there, of course. This'U protect you

more.

"Many thanks," Carialle said. When the patching com-
pound dried, she tested her new skin for resonance and
found its density matched well. In no time she'd forget she
had a wrinkle under the dressing. Her audit program also
found that the fee for materials was comfortingly low, com-
pared to having the plate removed and hammered, or
replaced entirely.

Overhead, a spider-armed crane swung its burden over
her bow, dropping snakelike hoses toward her open cargo
huU. The crates of xeno material had already been taken
away in a specially sealed container. A suited and hooded
worker had already cleaned the nooks and niches, making
sure no stray native spores had hooked a ride to the
Central Worlds. The cranes operator directed the various
flexible tubes to the appropriate valves. Fuel was first, and
Carialle flipped open her fuel toggle as the stout hose
reached it. The narrow tube which fed her protein vats
had a numbered filter at its spigot end. Carialle recorded
that number in her files in case there were any impurities
in the final product. Thankfully, the conduit that fed the
carbo-protein sludge to Keffs food synthesizer was
opaque. The peristaltic pulse of the thick stuff always
made Cari think of quicksand, of sand-colored octopi
creeping along an ocean floor, of week-old oatmeal. Her
attention diverted momentarily to the dock, where a

# AAV^      T " \^# 1

front-end loader was rolling toward her with a couple of
containers, one large and one small, with bar-code tags
addressed to Keff. She signaled her okay to the driver to
load them in her cargo bay.

Another tech, a short, stout woman wearing thick-soled
magnetic boots, approached her airlock and held up a
small item. 'This is for you from the station-master, Cari-
alle. Permission to come aboard?"

Carialle focused on the datahedron in her fingers and
felt a twitch of curiosity.

"Permission granted," she said. The tech clanked her
way into the airlock and turned sideways to match the
up/down orientation of Carialle's decks, then marched
carefully toward the main cabin. "Did he say what it was?"

"No, ma'am. It's a surprise."

"Oh, Simeon!" Carialle exclaimed over the stationmas-
ter's private channel. "Cats! Thank you!" She scanned the
contents of the hedron back and forth. "Almost a realtime
week of video footage. Wherever did you get it?"

"From a biologist who breeds domestic felines. He was
out here two months ago. The hedron contains com-
pressed videos of his cats and kittens, and he threw in
some videos of wild felines he took on a couple of the col-
ony worlds. Thought you'd like it."

"Simeon, it's wonderful. What can I swap you for it?"

The station-masters voice was sheepish. "You don't need
to swap, Cari, but if you happened to have a spare paint-
ing? And I'm quite willing to sweeten the swap."

"Oh, no. I'd be cheating you. It isn't as if they're music.
They're nothing."

'That isn't true, and you know it. You're a brain's artist."

With little reluctance, Carialle let Simeon tap into her
video systems and directed him to the comer of the main
cabin where her painting gear was stowed.

Mine Wic^dJJreij u juuy i-it/ini ivyv

To any planetbound home-owner the cabin looked spot-
less, but to another spacer, it was a magpies nest. Keffs
exercise equipment occupied much of one end of the
cabin. At the other, Carialles specially adapted rack of
painting equipment took up a largish section of floor space,
not to mention wall space where her finished work hung-
the ones she didn't give away or throw away. Those few
permitted to see Cans paintings were apt to call them
"masterpieces," but she disclaimed that.

Not having a softshell body with hands to manage the
mechanics of the art, she had had customized gear built to
achieve the desired effect. The canvases she used were very
thin, porous blocks of cells that she could flood individually
with paint, like pixels on a computer screen, until it oozed
together. The results almost resembled brush strokes. With
the advance of technological subtleties, partly thanks to
Moto-Prosthetics, Carialle had designed arms that could
hold actual fiber brushes and airbrushes, to apply paints to
the surface of the canvases over the base work.

What had started as therapy after her narrow escape
from death had become a successful and rewarding hobby.
An occasional sale of a picture helped to fill the larder or
the fuel tank when bonuses were scarce, and the odd gift
of an unlooked-for screen-canvas did much to placate
occasionally fratchety bureaucrats. The sophisticated servo
arms pulled one microfiber canvas after another out of the
enameled, cabinet-mounted rack to show Simeon, who
appreciated all and made sensible comments about
several.

'That ones available," Carialle said, mechanical hands
turning over a night-black spacescape, a full-color sketch of
a small nocturnal animal, and a study of a crystalline min-
eral deposit embedded in a meteor. 'This one I gave Keff.
This one I'm keeping. This ones not finished. Hmm.
These two are available. Sos this one."

iiir, Stilf \VtiU WUTM

23

Much of what Carialle rendered wouldn't be visible to
the unenhanced eyes of a softshell artist, but the sensory
apparatus available to a shellperson gave color and light to
scenes that would otherwise seem to the naked eye to be
only black with white pinpoints of stars.

'That's good." Simeon directed her camera to a space-
scape of a battered scout ship traveling against the distant
cloudlike mist of an ion storm that partially overlaid the
corona of a star like a veil. The canvas itself wasn't rectan-
gular in shape, but had a gentle irregular outline that
complimented die subject.

"Um," Carialle said. Her eye, on tight microscopic
adjustment, picked up flaws in some individual cells of
paint. They were red instead of carmine, and the shading
wasn't subtle enough. "It's not finished yet."

"You mean you're not through fiddling with it. Give
over, girl. I like it."

"Its yours, then," Carialle said with an audible sigh of
resignation. The servo picked it out of the rack and headed
for the airiock on its small track-treads. Carialle activated a
camera on the outside other hull to spot a technician in the
landing bay. "Barldey, would you mind taking something for
the station-master?" she said, putting her voice on speaker.

"Sure wouldn't, Carialle," the mech-tech said, with a
brilliant smile at the visible camera. The servo met her
edge of the dock, and handed the painting to her.

"You've got talent, gal," Simeon said, still sharing her
video system as she watched the tech leave the bay. 'Thank
you. I'll treasure it."

"It's nothing," Carialle said modestly. "Just a hobby."
"Fardles. Say, I've got a good idea. Why don't you do a
gallery showing next time you're in port? We have plenty
of traders and bigwigs coming through who would pay
good credit for original art. Not to mention the added
cachet that it's painted by a brainship."

^1 Iff I/I/ A"-

"We-ell..." Carialle said, considering.

"I'll give you free space near the concessions for the first
week, so you're not losing anything on the cost of location.
If you feel shy about showing off, you can do it by invita-
tion only, but I warn you, word will spread."

"You've persuaded me," Carialle said.

"My intentions are purely honorable," Simeon replied
gallantly. "Frag it!" he exclaimed. The speed of transmis-
sion on his frequency increased to a microsquirt. "You're as
loaded and ready as you're going to get, Carialle. Put it
together and scram off this station. The Inspector General
wants a meeting with you in fifteen minutes. He just told
me to route a message through to you. I'm delaying it as
long as I dare."

"Oh, no!" Carialle said at the same speed. "I have no
intention of letting Dr. Sennet T am a psychologist' Max-
well-Corey pick through my brains every single fardling
time I make stationfall. I'm cured, damn it! I don't need
constant monitoring."

"You'd better scoot now, Cari. My walls-with-ears have
heard rumors that he thinks your 'obsession' with things
like Myths and Legends makes your sanity highly suspect.
When he hears the latest report-your Beasts Blatisant-
you're going to be in for another long psychological profile
session, and Keff along with you. Even Maxwell-Corey has
to justify his job to someone."

"Damn him! We haven't finished loading my supplies! I
only have half a vat of nutrients, and most of the stuff Keff
ordered is still in your stores."

"Sorry, honey. It'll still be here when you come back. I
can send you a squirt after he's gone."

Carialle considered swiftly whether it was worth calling
in a complaint to SPRIM over the Inspector General and
his obsessive desire to prove her unfit for service. He was
witch-hunting, of that she was sure, and she wasn't going to

be the witch involved. Wasn't it bad enough that he
insisted on making her relive a sixteen-year-old tragedy
every time they met? One day there was going to be a big
battle, but she didn't feel like taking him on yet.

Simeon was right. The CK-963 was through with
decontamination and repairs. Only half a second had
passed during their conversation. Simeon could hold up
the IGs missive only a few minutes before the delay would
cause the obstreperous Maxwell-Corey to demand an
inquiry.

"Open up for me, Simeon. I've got to find Keff."
"No problem," the station-master said. "I know where
he went."

"Keff," said the wall over his head. "Emergency trans-
mission from Carialle."

Keff tilted his head up lazily. "I'm busy, Simeon. Pri-
vacy." Susa's hand reached up, tangled in his hair, and
pulled it down again. He breathed in the young woman's
scent, moved his hands in delightful counterpoint under
her body, one down from the curve other shoulder, push-
ing the thin cloth of her ship-suit down; one upward,
caressing her buttocks and delicate waist. She locked her
legs with his, started her free hand toward his waistband,
feeling for the fastening.

"Emergency priority transmission from Carialle,"
Simeon repeated.

Reluctantly, Keff unlocked his lips from Susa's. Her eyes
filled with concern, she nodded. Without moving his head,
he said, "All right, Simeon. Put it through."

"Keff," Carialles voice rang with agitation. "Get down
here immediately. We've got to lift ship ASAP."

"Why?" Keff asked irritably. "You couldn't have finished
loading already."

"Haven't. Can't wait. Got to go. Get here, stat!"

Sighing, Keff rolled off Susa and petulantly addressed

the ceiling. "What about my shore leave? Ladylove, while I
like nothing better in the galaxy than being with you
ninety-nine percent of the time, there is that one percent
when we poor shell-less ones need-"

Carialle cut him off. "Keff, the Inspector Generals on
station."

"What?" Keff sat up.

"He's demanding another meeting, and you know what
that means. We've got to get as far away from here as we
can, right away."

Keffwas already struggling back into his ship-suit. "Are
we refueled? How much supplies are on board?"

Simeons voice issued from the concealed speaker.
"About a third full," he said. "But its all I can give you right
now. I told you supplies were short. Your foods about the

same.

"We can't go far on that. About one long run, or two
short ones." Keff stood, jamming feet into boots. Susa sat
up and began pulling the top other coverall over her bare
shoulders. She shot Keff a look of regret mingled with
understanding.

"We'll get missing supplies elsewhere," Carialle prom-
ised. "What's the safest vector out of here, Simeon?"

TU leave," Susa said, rising from the edge of the bed.
She put a delicate hand on his arm. Keff stooped down and
kissed her. 'The less I hear, the less I have to confess if
someone asks me under oath. Safe going, you two." She
gave Keff a longing glance under her dark lashes. "Next
time."

Just like that, she was gone, no complaints, no recrimi-
nations. Keff admired her for that. As usual, Carialle was
correct: a brawn's ideal playmate was another brawn. It
didn't stop him feeling frustrated over his thwarted sexual
encounter, but it was better to spend that energy in a use-
ful manner. Hopping into his right boot, he hurried out

into the corridor. Ahead of him, Susa headed for a lift. Keff
deliberately turned around, seeking a different route to his
ship.

"Keep me out of Maxwell-Corey's way, Simeon." He ran
around the curve of the station until he came to another
lift. He punched the button, pacing anxiously until the
doors opened.

"You're okay on that path," the stationmaster said, his
voice foUowing Keff. The brawn stepped into the empty
car, and the doors slid shut behind him. "All right, this just
became an express. Brace yourself."

"What about G sector?" Carialle was asking as Keff
came aboard the CK-963. All the screens in the main cabin
were full of star charts. Keff nodded Carialle's position in
the main column and threw himself into his crash couch as
he started going down the pre-launch list.

"Okay if you don't head toward Saffron. That's where
the Fleet ships last traced Belazirs people. You don't want
to meet them."

"Fragging well right we don't."

"What about M sector?" Keff said, peering at the chart
directly in front of him. "We had good luck there last
time."

"Last time you had your clock cleaned by the Losels,"
Carialle reminded him, not in too much of a hurry to tease.
"You call that good luck?"

"There're still a few systems in that area we wanted to
check. They fitted the profile for supporting complex life-
forms," Keff said, unperturbed. "We would have tried
MBA-487-J, except you ran short of fuel hotdogging it and
we had to limp back here. Remember, Cari?"

"It could happen any time we run into bad luck," Cari-
alle replied, not eager to discuss her own mistakes. "We're
running out of time."

"What about vectoring up over the Central Worlds clus-
ter? Toward galactic 'up'?"

"Maxwell-Corey's going toward DND-922-Z when he
leaves here," Simeon said.

Carialle tsk-tsked. "We can't risk having him following
our scent."

Keff stared at the overview on the tank. "How about we
head out in a completely new direction? See what's out
there thataway?"

"What's your advice, Simeon?" Carialle asked, locking
down any loose items and sliding her airlock shut with a
sharp hiss. Her gauges zoomed as she engaged her own
power. Nutrients, fuel, power cells all showed less than
half full. She hated lifting off under these circumstances,
but she had no choice. The alternative was weeks of inter-
rogation, and possibly being grounded-unfairly!-at the
end of it.

"I've got an interesting anomaly you might investigate,"
Simeon said, downloading a tile to CariaUes memory.
"Here's a report I received from a freighter captain who
made a jump through R sector to get here. His spectro-
scopes picked up unusual power emanations in the vicinity
of RNJ-599-B. We've no records of habitation anywhere
around there. Could be interesting."

"G-type stars," Keff noted approvingly. "Yes, I see what
he meant. Spectroanalysis, Cari?"

"All the signs are there that RNJ could have generated
planets," the brain replied. "What does Exploration say?"

"No ones done any investigation in that part of R sector
yet," Simeon said blandly, carefully emotionless.

"No one?" Carialle asked, scrolling through the files.
"Hmmm! Oh, yes!"

"So we'll be the first?" Keff said, catching the
excitement in CariaUes voice. The burning desire to go
somewhere and see something first, before any other

Central Worlder, overrode the fears of being caught by the
Inspector General.

"I can't locate any reference to so much as a robot
drone," Carialle said, displaying star maps empty of neon-
colored benchmarks or route vectors. Keff beamed.

"And to seek out new worlds, to boldly go ..."

"Oh, shush," Carialle said severely. "You just want to be
the first to leave your footprints in the sand."

"You've got twelve seconds to company," Simeon said.
"Don't tell me where you're going. What I don't know I
can't he about. Go with my blessings, and come back
safely. Soon."

"Will do," Keff said, strapping in. 'Thanks for every-
thing, Simeon. Cari, ready to-"

The words were hardly out of his mouth before the
CK-963 unlatched the docking ring and lit portside
thrusters.

a CHAPTER TWO

The Inspector Generals angry voice pounded out of the
audio pickup on Simeon's private frequency.

"CK-963, respond!"

"Discovered!" Keff cried, slapping the arm of his couch.
The next burst of harsh sound made him yelp with mock
alarm. "Catch us if you can, you cockatrice!"

"Hush!" Carialle answered the hail in an innocent voice,
purposely made audible for her brawns sake. "S... S-nine ...
dred. H... ving trou-" Keff was helpless with laughter. Tl
... s repeat mes... g?"

"I said get back here! You have an appointment with me as
often hundred hours prime meridian time, and it is now ten
fifteen." Carialle could almost picture his plump,
mustachioed face turning red with apoplexy. "How dare you
blast out of here without my permission? I want to see you!"

"Sorr ..." Carialle said, "br... king up. Will send back
mission reports. General."

'That was clear as a bell, Carialle!" the angry voice ham-
mered at the speaker diaphragm. "There is no static
interference on your transmission. You make a one-eighty

30

and get back here. I expect to see you in ninety minutes.
Maxwell-Corey out."

"Oops," said Keff, cheerfully. He tilted his head out of
his impact couch toward her pillar and winked. His deep-
set blue eyes twinkled. "M-C won't believe that last phrase
was a fluke of clear space, will he?"

"He'll have to," Carialle said firmly. "I'm not going back
to have my cerebellum cased, not a chance. Bureaucratic
time-waster! I know I'm fine. You know you're fine. Why
do we always have to go bend over and cough every time
we make planetfall and explore a new world? I landed, got
steam-cleaned and decontaminated, made our report with
words and pictures to Xeno and Exploration. I refuse to
have another mental going-over just because of my past
experiences."

"Good of Simeon to tip us off," Keff said, running down
the ship status report on his personal screen. "I hope he
won't catch too much flak for it. But look at this! Thirty
percent food and fuel?"

"I know," Carialle said contritely, "but what else could I
do?"

"Not a blessed, or unblessed thing," Keff agreed.
"Frankly, I prefer the odds as opposed to what we'd have
to go through to wait for Simeons next shipments. Full
tanks and complete commissary do not, in my book,
equate with peace of mind if M-C's about. Eventually we
will have to go back, you know."

"Yes, if only to make certain Simeon's coped with the man.
Before we do though, I'll just send Simeon a microsquirt to
be sure Maxwell-Corey's left for D sector...."

"Or someplace else equally distant from us. It isn't as if
we can't hang out in space for a while on iron rations until
Sime sends you an all-clear burst," Keff offered bravely,
although Carialle could see he didn't look forward to the
notion.

"If the IG is sneaky enough ..."

"... And he is if anyone deserves that adjective...."

"... to scan message files he'll know when Simeon
knows where we are, and he could put a tag on us so no
station will supply the 963."

"We shall not come to that sorry pass, my lady fair," Keff
said, lapsing into his Sir Galahad pose. "In the meantime,
let us fly on toward R sector and whatever may await us
there." He made an enthusiastic and elaborate flourish and
ended up pointing toward me bow.

Carialle had to laugh.

"Oh, yes," she said. "Now, where were we?" The Wiz-
ard was back on the wall, and he spoke in the creaking
tenor of an old, old man. "Good sir knight, thou hast fairly
won this scroll. Hast anything thou wish to ask me?"

Grinning, Keff buckled on his epee and went to face
him.

While Keff chased men-at-arms all over her main cabin,
Carialle devoted most of her attention to eluding the
Inspector General s attempts to follow her vector.

As soon as she cut off Maxwell-Corey's angry message,
she detected the launch of a message drone from the SSS-
900, undoubtedly containing an official summons. As
plenty of traffic was always flying into the stations space, it
took no great skill to divert the heat-seeking flyer onto the
trail of another outgoing vessel. Nothing, and certainly not
an unbrained droid, could outmaneuver a brainship. By
the time the mistake was discovered, she'd be out of this
sector entirely, and on her way to an unknown quadrant of
the galaxy.

Later, when she felt less threatened by him, she'd com-
pose a message complaining of what was really becoming
harassing behavior to SPRIM. She'd had that old nuisance
on her tail long enough. Running free, in full control other

engines and her faculties, was one of the most important
things in her life. Every time that right was threatened,
Carialle reacted in a way that probably justified the IGs
claim of dangerous excitability.

In the distance, she picked up indications of two small
ships following her initial vector. All right, score one up for
the IG: he'd known she'd resist his orders and had ordered
a couple of scouts to chase her down. That could also mean
that he might have even put out an alarm that she was a
danger to herself and her brawn, and must be brought
back willingly or unwillingly. Would the small scouts have
picked up her power emissions? She ought to have been
one jump ahead of old Sennet and expected this sort of
antic. She ought to have lain quiescent. Oh well. She really
couldn't contest the fact that proximity to the IG did put
her in a state of confusion. She adjusted her adrenals.
Calm down, girl. Calm down. Think!

Quick perusal of her starchart showed the migration of
an ion storm only a couple of thousand klicks away.
Carialle made for it. She skimmed the storm's margin.
Then, letting her computers plot the greatest possible
radiation her shields could take without buckling, she slid
nimbly over the surface, a surfer riding dangerous waters.
The sensation was glorious! Ordinary pilots, unable to feel
the pressures on their ships' skins as she did, would
hesitate to follow. Nor could their scopes detect her in the
wash of ion static. Shortly, Carialle was certain she had
shaken off her tails. She turned a sharp perpendicular
from the ion storm, and watched its opalescent halos
recede behind her as she kicked her engines up to full
speed.

Returning to the game, she found Keff studying the
floating map holograph over a cold one at the "village
pub." He glanced up at her pillar when she hailed him.

"I take it we're free of unwanted company?"

"With a sprinkling of luck and the invincibility of our
radiation proof panels," Carialle said, "we've evaded the
minions of the evil wizard. Now its time for a brew." She
tested herself for adrenaline fatigue, and allowed herself a
brief feed of protein and vitamin B-complex.

Keff tipped his glass up to her. Quick analysis told her
that though the golden beverage looked like beer, it was
the non-alcoholic electrolyte-replenisher Keff used after
workouts. "Here's to your swift feet and clever ways, my
lovely, and confusion to our enemies. Er, did my coffee
come aboard?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, flashing the image of a saluting
marine on the wall. 'The storesmaster just had time to
break out a little of the good stuff when Simeon passed the
word down. I even got you a small quantity of chocolate.
Best Demubian." Keff beamed.

"Ah, Cari, now I know the ways you love me. Did you
have time to load any of my special orders?" he asked, with
a quirk of his head.

"Now that you mention it, there were two boxes in the
cargo hold with your name on them," Carialle said.

Clang. BUMP! Clang. BUMP!

The shining contraption of steel that was the Rotoflex
had taken little time to put together, still less to watch the
instructional video on how to use it. Keff sat on the leath-
erette-covered, modified saddle with a stirrup-shaped,
metal pulley in each outstretched hand. His broad face red
from the effort, Keff slowly brought one fist around until it
touched his collarbone, then let it out again. The heavy
cables sang as they strained against the resistance coils, and
relaxed with a heavy thump when Keff reached full exten-
sion. Squeezing his eyes shut, he dragged in the other fist.
The tendons on his neck stood out cordlike under his
sweat-glistening skin.

'Two hundred and three," he grunted. "Uhhh! Two
hundred and four. Two ..."

"Look at me," Carialle said, dropping into the bass
octave and adopting the spiel technique of so many tri-vid
commercials. "Before I started the muscle-up exercise
program I was a forty-four-kilogram weakling. Now look at
me. You, too, can..."

"All right," Keff said, letting go of the hand-weights.
They swung in noisy counterpoint until the metal cables
retracted into their arms. He arose from the exerciser seat
and toweled off with the cloth slung over the end of his
weight bench. T can acknowledge a hint when its deliv-
ered with a sledgehammer. I just wanted to see how much
this machine can take."

"Don't you mean how much you can take? One day
you're going to rupture something," Carialle warned. She
noted Keffs respiration at over two hundred pulses per
minute, but it was dropping rapidly.

"Most accidents happen in the home," Keff said, with a
grin.

"I really was sorry I had to interrupt your tryst with
Susa," Carialle said for the twentieth time that shift.

"No problem," Keff said, and Carialle could tell that this
time he meant it. "It would have been a more pleasant way
to get my heart rate up, but this did nicely, thank you." He
yawned and rolled his shoulders to ease them, shooting
one arm forward, then the other. "I'm for a shower and
bed, lady dear."

"Sleep well, knight in shining muscles."

Shortly, the interior was quiet but for the muted sounds
of machinery humming and gurgling. The SSS-900 techni-
cians had done their work well, for all they'd been rushed
by circumstances to finish. Carialle ran over the systems
one at a time, logging in repair or replacement against the

appropriate component. That sort of accounting took up
litde time. Carialle found herself longing for company. A
perverse notion since she knew it would be hours now
before Keffwoke up.

Carialle was not yet so far away from some of the min-
ers' routes that she couldn't have exchanged gossip with
other ships in the sector, but she didn't dare open up chan-
nels for fear of tipping off Maxwell-Corey to their
whereabouts. The enforced isolation of silent running left
her plenty of time for her thoughts.

Keff groaned softly in his sleep. Carialle activated the
camera just inside his closed door for a brief look, then
dimmed the lights and left him alone. The brawn was
faceup on his bunk with one arm across his forehead and
right eye. The thin thermal cover had been pushed down
and was draped modestly across his groin and one leg,
which twitched now and again. One of his precious collec-
tion of real-books lay open facedown on the nightstand.
The tableau was worthy of a painting by the Old Masters of
Earth-Hercules resting from his labors. Frustrated from
missing his close encounter of the female kind, Keff had
exercised himself into a stiff mass of sinews. His muscles
were paying him back for the abuse by making his rest
uneasy. He'd rise for his next shift aching in every joint,
until he worked the stiffhess out again. As the years went
by it took longer for Keff to limber up, but he kept at it,
taking pride in his excellent physical condition.

Softshells were, in Carialles opinion, funny people.
They'd go to such lengths to build up their bodies which
then had to be maintained with a significant effort, dispro-
portionate to the long-term effect. They were so
unprotected. Even the stress of exercise, which they con-
sidered healthy, was damaging to some of them. They
strove to accomplish goals which would have perished in a
few generations, leaving no trace of their passing. Yet they

cheerfully continued to "do" their mite, hoping something
would survive to be admired by another generation or
species.

Carialle was very fond of Keff. She didn't want him
anguished or disabled. He had been instrumental in
restoring her to a useful existence and while he wasn't
Fanine-who could be?-he had many endearing quali-
ties. He had brought her back to wanting to live, and then
he had neatly caught her up in his own special goal-to
find a species Humanity could freely interact with, make
cultural and scientific exchanges, open sociological vistas.
She was concerned that his short life span, and the even
shorter term of their contract with Central Worlds Explo-
ration, would be insufficient to accomplish the goal they
had set for themselves. She would have to continue it on
her own one day. What if the beings they sought did not,
after all, exist?

Shellpeople had good memories but not infallible ones,
she reminded herself. In three hundred, four hundred
years, would she even be able to remember Keff? Would
she want to, lest the memory be as painful as the anticipa-
tion of such loss was now? If I find them after you're . . .
well, I'll make sure they're named after you, she vowed
silently, listening to his quiet breathing. That immortality
at least she could offer him.

So far, in light of that lofty goal, the aliens that the CK
team had encountered were disappointing. Though inter-
esting to the animal behaviorist and xenobiologist, Losels,
Wyvems, Hydrae, and the Rodents of Unusual Size, et cet-
era ad nauseam, were all non-sentient.

To date, the CK's one reasonable hope to date of finding
an equal or superior species came five years and four
months before, when they had intercepted a radio trans-
mission from a race of beings who sounded marvelously
civilized and intelligent. As Keff had scrambled to make IT

understand them, he and Carialle became excited, think-
ing that they had found the species with whom they could
exchange culture and technology. They soon discovered
that the inhabitants of Jove II existed in an atmosphere and
pressure that made it utterly impractical to establish a
physical presence. Pen pals only. Central Worlds would
have to limit any interaction to radio contact with these
Acid Breathers. Not a total loss, but not the real thing. Not
contact.

Maybe this time on this mission into R sector, there
would be something worthwhile, the real gold that didn't
turn to sand when rapped on the anvil. That hope lured
them farther into unexplored space, away from the known
galaxy, and communication with friends and other B&B
ship partnerships. Carialle chose not to admit to Keff that
she was as hooked on First Contact as he was. Not only
was there the intellectual and emotional thrill of being the
first human team to see something totally new, but also the
bogies had less chance of crowding in on her ... if she
looked farther and further ahead.

For a shellperson, with advanced data-retrieval capabili-
ties and superfast recall, every memory existed as if it had
happened only moments before. Forgetting required a
specific effort: the decision to wipe an event out of ones
databanks. In some cases, that fine a memory was a curse,
forcing Carialle to reexamine over and over again the
events leading up to the accident. Again and again she was
tormented as the merciless and inexorable sequence
pushed its way, still crystal clear, to the surface-as it did
once more during this silent running.

Sixteen years ago, on behalf of the Courier Service, she
and her first brawn, Fanine, paid a covert call to a small
space-repair facility on the edge of Central Worlds space.
Spacers who stopped there had complained to CenCom of
being fleeced. Huge, sometimes ruinously expensive

purchases with seemingly faultless electronic documenta-
tion were charged against travelers' personal numbers,
often months after they had left SSS-267. Fanine dis-
creetly gathered evidence of a complex system of graft,
payoffs and kickbacks, confirming CenComs suspicions.
She had sent out a message to say they had corroborative
details and were returning with it.

They never expected sabotage, but they should have-
Carialle corrected herself: she should have-been paying
closer attention to what the dock hands were doing in the
final check-over they gave her before the CF-963
departed. Carialle could still remember how the fuel felt as
it glugged into her tank: cold, strangely cold, as if it had
been chilled in vacuum. She could have refused that load
of fuel, should have.

As the ship flew back toward the Central Worlds, the
particulate matter diluted in the tanks was kept quiescent
by the real fuel. Gradually, her engines sipped away that
butter, finally reaching the compound in the bottom other
tanks. When there was more aggregate than fuel, the
charge reached critical mass, and ignited.

Her sensors shut down at the moment of explosion but
that moment-10:54:02.351-was etched in her memory.
That was the moment when Fanine s life ended and Cari-
alle was cast out to float in darkness.

She became aware first of the bitter cold. Her internal
temperature should have been a constant 37# Celsius, and
cabin temperature holding at approximately twenty-one.
Carialle sent an impulse to adjust the heat but could not
find it. Motor functions were at a remove, just out of her
reach. She felt as if all her limbs-for a brainship, all the
motor synapses-and most horribly, her vision, had been
removed. She was blind and helpless. Almost all of her
external systems were gone except for a very few sound

and skin sensors. She called out soundlessly for Fanine: for
an answer that would never come.

Shock numbed the terror at first. She was oddly
detached, as if this could not be happening to her. Impas-
sively she reviewed what she knew. There had been an
explosion. Hull integrity had been breached. She could not
communicate with Fanine. Probably Fanine was dead.
Carialle had no visual sensing equipment, or no control of
it, if it still remained intact. Not being able to see was the
worst part. If she could see, she could assess the situation
and make an objective judgment. She had sustenance and
air recirculation, so the emergency power supply had sur-
vived when ship systems were cut, and she retained her
store of chemical compounds and enzymes.

First priority was to signal for help. Feeling her way
through the damaged net of synapses, she detected the
connection for the rescue beacon. Without knowing
whether it worked or not, Carialle activated it, then settled
in to keep from going mad.

She started by keeping track of the hours by counting
seconds. Without a clock, she had no way of knowing how
accurate her timekeeping was, but it occupied part of her
mind with numbing lines of numbers. She went too
quickly through her supply of endorphins and serotonin.
Within a few hours she was forced to fall back on stress-
management techniques taught to an unwilling Carialle
when she was much younger and thought she was immor-
tal by patient instructors who knew better. She sang every
song and instrumental musical composition she knew,
recited poems from the Middle Ages of Earth forward,
translated works of literature from one language into
another, cast them in verse, set them to music, meditated,
and shouted inside her own skull.

That was because most other wanted to curl up in a ball
in the darkest comer of her mind and whimper. She knew

all the stories of brains who suffered sensory deprivation.
Tales of hysteria and insanity were the horror stories young
shellchildren told one another at night in primary educa-
tion creches. Like the progression of a fatal disease, they
recounted the symptoms. First came fear, then disbelief,
then despair. Hallucinations would begin as the brain syn-
apses, desperate for stimulation, fired off random neural
patterns that the conscious mind would struggle to trans-
late as rational, and finally, the brain would fall into
irrevocable madness. Carialle shuddered as she remem-
bered how the children whispered to each other in
supersonic voices that only the computer monitors could
pick up that after a while, you'd begin to hear things, and
imagine things, and feel things that weren't there.

To her horror, she realized that it was happening to her.
Deprived of sight, other than the unchanging starscape,
sound, and tactile sensation, memory drive systems failing,
freezing in the darkness, she was beginning to feel ham-
mering at her shell, to hear vibrations through her very
body. Something was touching her.

Suddenly she knew that it wasn't her imagination.
Somebody had responded to her beacon after who-knew-
how-long, and was coming to get her. Galvanized, Carialle
sent out the command along her comlinks on every fre-
quency, cried out on local audio pickups, hoping she was
being heard and understood.

"I am here! I am alive!" she shouted, on every fre-
quency. "Help me!"

But the beings on her shell paid no attention. Their
movements didn't pause at all. The busy scratching contin-
ued.

Her mind, previously drifting perilously toward mad-
ness, focused on this single fact, tried to think of ways to
alert the beings on the other side of the barrier to her pres-
ence. She felt pieces being torn away from her skin, sensor

links severed, leaving nerve endings shrieking agony as
they died. At first she thought that her "rescuers" were cut-
ting through a burned, blasted hull to get to her, but the
tapping and scraping went on too long. The strangers were
performing salvage on her shell, with her still alive within
it! This was the ultimate violation; the equivalent of mutila-
tion for transplants. She screamed and twitched and tried
to call their attention to her, but they didn't listen, didn't

hear, didn't stop.

Who were they? Any spacefarer from Central Worlds
knew the emblem of a brainship. Even land dwellers had
at least seen tri-dee images of the protective titanium pillar
in which a shellperson was encased. Not to know, to be
attempting to open her shell without care for the person
inside meant that they must not be from the Central
Worlds or any system connected to it. Aliens? Could her
attackers be from an extra-central system?

When she was convinced that the salvagers were just
about to sever her connections to her food and air recy-
cling system, the scratching stopped. As suddenly as the
intrusion had begun, Carialle was alone again. Realizing
that she was now on the thin edge of sanity, she forced her-
self to count, thinking of the shape of each number, tasting
it, pretending to feel it and push it onward as she thought,
tasted, and pretended to feel the next number, and the
next, and the next. She hadn't realized how different num-
bers were, individuals in their own right, varying in many
ways each from the other, one after the other.

Three million, six hundred twenty-four thousand, five
hundred and eighty three seconds later, an alert military
transport pilot recognized the beacon signal. He took her
shell into the hold of his craft. He did what he could in the
matter of first aid to a shellperson-restored her vision.
When he brought her to the nearest space station and

technicians were rushed to her aid, she was awash in her
own wastes and she couldn't convince anyone that what
she was sure had happened -the salvage other damaged
hull by aliens-was a true version of her experiences.
There was no evidence that anything had touched her ship
after the accident. None of the damage could even be rea-
sonably attributable to anything but the explosion and the
impacts made by hurtling space junk. They showed her the
twisted shard of metal that was all that had been left other
life-support system. What had saved her was that the open
end had been seared shut in the heat of the explosion.
Otherwise she would have been exposed directly to vac-
uum. But the end was smooth, and showed no signs of
interference. Because of the accretion of waste they
thought that her strange experience must be hallucinatory.
Carialle alone knew she hadn't imagined it. There had
been someone out there. There had!

The children's tales, thankfully, had not turned out to be
true. She had made it to the other side of her ordeal with
her mind intact, though a price had to be extracted from
her before she was whole again. For a long time, Carialle
was terrified of the dark, and she begged not to be left
alone. Dr. Dray Perez-Como, her primary care physician,
assigned a roster of volunteers to stay with her at all times,
and made sure she could see light from whichever of her
optical pickups she turned on. She had nightmares all the
time about the salvage operation, listening to the sounds of
her body being torn apart while she screamed helplessly in
the dark. She fought depression with every means of her
powerful mind and will, but without a diversion, some-
thing that would absorb her waking mind, she seemed to
have "dreams" of some sort whenever her concentration
was not focused.

One of her therapists suggested to Carialle that she
could recreate the "sights" that tormented her by painting

the images that tried to take control of her mind. Learning
to manipulate brushes, mixing paints-at first she gravi-
tated toward the darkest colors and slathered them on
canvas so that not a single centimeter remained 'light."
Then, gradually, with healing and careful, loving therapy,
details emerged: sketchily at first; a swath of dark umber,
or a wisp of yellow. In the painstaking, meticulous fashion
of any shellperson, her work became more graphic, then
she began to experiment with color, character, and dimen-
sion. Carialle herself became fascinated with the effect of
color, concentrated on delicately shading tones, one into
another, sometimes using no more than one fine hair on
the brush. In her absorption with the mechanics of the
profession, she discovered that she genuinely enjoyed
painting. The avocation couldn't change the facts of the
tragedy she had suffered, but it gave her a splendid outlet

for her fears.

By the time she could deal with those, she became
aware of the absence of details; details of her schooling,
her early years in Centrals main training facility, the train-
ing itself as well as the expertise she had once had. She had
to rebuild her memory from scratch. Much had been lost.
She'd lost vocabulary in the languages she'd once been flu-
ent in, scientific data including formulae and equations,
navigation. Ironically, she could recall the details of the
accident itself, too vividly for peace of mind. Despite
meticulously releaming all me missing details concerning
her first brawn, Fanine-all the relevant facts, where then-
assignments had taken them-these were just facts. No
memory of shared experiences, fears, worries, fun, quar-
rels remained. The absence was shattering.

Ships did mourn the loss of their brawns: even if the
brawn lived to retire at a ripe old age for a dirtside refuge.
Carialle was expected to mourn: encouraged to do so. She
was aware only of a vague remorse for surviving a situation

that had ended the life of someone else. But she could not
remember quite enough about Fanine or their relationship
to experience genuine grief. Had they even liked one
another? Carialle listened to hedrons of their mission
reports and communiques. All of these could be taken one
way or the other. The nine years they had spent together
had been reduced to strict reportage with no personal
involvement that Cari could recall.

As occupational therapy, Carialle took a job routing
communication signals coming in to CenCom, a sort of
glorified directory-assistance. It was busywork, taking little
effort or intellect to do well. The advantage lay in the fact
that voices and faces surrounded her.

She was ready for a new ship within two years of her
rescue, and thank God for required insurance. As soon as
the last synapse connection was hooked up and she was
conscious again, Carialle felt an incredible elation: she was
whole again, and strong. This was the way she was meant
to be: capable of sailing through space, available and eager
for important missions. Her destiny was not to answer
communication systems or scuttle on a grav-carrier
through corridors filled with softshells.

The expenses of the rescue operation and her medical
care had been assumed by CenCom since that last mission
had been hazardous, but the new CX-963 got quite a shock
at the escalation of price in ship hulls. Her insurance had
been based on purchase, not replacement price. She'd
done a preliminary assessment of the cost but erroneously
based her figures on those of her original ship-self. Her
savings vanished in the margin between the two as unseen
as a carbon meteor in atmosphere. She'd have no options
on missions: she'd have to take any and many, and at once,
to begin paying her enlarged debt.

Concurrently her doctors and CenCom urged her to
choose a new brawn. After losing her last so spectacularly,

Carialle was reluctant to start the procedure; another
choice might end in another death. She agreed to see one
man who came particularly well recommended, but she
couldn't relate at all to him and he left in the shortest pos-
sible courteous time. She didn't have to have a brawn, did
she? Brainships could go on solo missions or on temporary
assignments. She might accept one on those terms. Her
doctors and CenCom said they'd check into that possibility

and left her alone again.

Though there were rarely so many, nine B&B ships
were currently on the Regulus CenCom base, either
between missions or refitting. She did have the chance to
speak with other shellpeople. She was made to feel
welcome to join their conference conversations. She knew
that they knew her recent history but no one would have
brought the subject up unless she did. And she didn't. But
she could listen to the amiable, often hilarious, and
sometimes brutally frank, conversations other peers. The
refits were five 800s and two 700s with such brilliant
careers that Carialle felt unequal to addressing them at all:

the eighth was preparing for a long mission, and there was
herself. On an open channel, the brainships did have a
tendency to brag about their current partner, how he or
she did this and that, and was so good at sports/music/
gaming/dancing, or how silly he or she could be about
such and such-but hadn't they discovered Planet B or
Moon C together, or managed to get germdogs to Colony
X and save ninety percent of the afflicted from horrible
deaths? The 800s were fond of reciting the silly
misunderstandings that could occur between brain and
brawn. Within Carialle, a wistfulness began to grow: the
sense of what she, partnerless, was lacking.

When the FC-840 related having to mortgage her hull
again to bail her brawn out of the clutches of a local gam-
bling casino, Carialle realized with a sense of relief that

she'd never have had that Idnd of trouble with Fanine.
That was the first of the feelings, if not specific memories,
that resurfaced, the fact that she had respected Fanine's
good sense. More memories emerged, slowly at first, but
all reassuring ones, all emphasizing the fact that she and
Fanine had }^en friends as well as co-workers. Inevitably,
during this process, Carialle became aware that she was
lonely.

With that awareness, she announced to CenCom that
she would now be willing to meet with brawns for the pur-
pose of initiating a new partnership. At once she was
inundated with applications, as if everyone had been
poised to respond to that willingness. She wondered just
how much the conversations of the other brainships had
been calculated to stir her to that decision. They had all
been keeping an eye on her.

The first day of .interviews with prospective partners was
hectic, exciting, a whirl of courtship. Deliberately Carialle
avoided meeting any who were physically similar to Fan-
ine, who had been a tall, rather plain brunet with large
hands and feet, or anyone from Fanine's home planet. For-
tunately there were few with either disqualification. None
of the first lot, male or female, quite suited, although each
did give Carialle a characteristic to add to her wish-list of
the perfect brawn.

Keff was her first visitor on the morning of the second
day. His broad, cheerful face and plummy voice appealed
to her at once. He never seemed to stop moving. She fol-
lowed him with amusement as he explored the cabin,
pointing out every admirable detail. They talked about
hobbies. When he insisted that he would want to bring his
personal gym along with him, they got into a silly quarrel
over the softshell obsession with physical fitness. Instead of
being angry at his obduracy in not recognizing her sover-
eignty over her own decks, Carialle found herself laughing.

Even when he was driving a point home, Keffs manner
was engaging, and he was willing to listen to her. She
informed CenCom that she was willing to enter a
brain/brawn contract. Keff moved aboard at once, and his
progressive-resistance gear came with him.

Just how carefully CenCom had orchestrated the affair,
Carialle didn't care. CenCom, after all, had been matching
brains with brawns for a very long time; they must have the
hang of it now. Keff and Carialle complemented one
another in so many ways. They shared drive, hope, and
intelligence. Even during the interview Keff had managed
to reawaken in Carialle the sense of humor which she had
thought unlikely to be resuscitated.

In a very few days, as they awaited their first assign-
ment, it was as if she'd never been paired with anyone else
but Keff. What he said about spending almost all their
time together went double for her. Each of them did pur-
sue his or her private thoughts and interests, but they did
their best work together. Keff was like the other half of her

soul.

Despite her recent trauma, Carialle was a well-adjusted
shellperson as indeed her recovery had proved. She was
proud of having the superior capabilities that made it pos-
sible to multiplex several tasks at once. She felt sorry for
nonshell humans. The enhanced functions available to any
shellperson, most especially a brainship, were so far be-
yond the scope of "normal" humans. She felt lucky to have
been bom under the circumstances that led to her being

enshelled.

Several hundred years before, scientists had tried to
find a way to rehabilitate children who were of normal
intelligence but whose bodies were useless. By connecting
brain synapses to special nodes, the intelligent child could
manipulate a shell with extendable pseudopods that would
allow it to move, manipulate tools or keyboards. An

extension of that principle resulted in the first spaceships
totally controlled by encapsulated human beings. Other
"shellpeople," trained for multiplexing, ran complicated
industrial plants, or space stations, and cities. From the
moment a baby was accepted for the life of a shellperson,
he or she was conditioned to consider that life preferable

to "softshells" who were so limited in abilities and
lifespans.

One of the more famous brainships, the HN-832, or the
Helva-Niall, had been nicknamed "the ship who sang,"
having developed a multivoice capability as her hobby.
Though she docked in CenCom environs but rarely,
Helvas adventures inspired all young shellpeople.
Although Carialle was deeply disappointed to discover she
had only an average talent for music, she was encouraged
to find some other recreational outlet. It had taken a disas-
ter for Carialle to find that painting suited her.

Encapsulated at three months and taught mostly by arti-
ficial intelligence programs and other shellpeople, Carialle
had no self-image as an ordinary human. While she had
pictures of her family and thought they looked like pleas-
ant folks, she felt distinct from them.

Once Carialle had gone beyond the "black" period of
her painting, her therapists had asked her to paint a self-
portrait. It was a clumsy effort since she knew they wanted
a "human" look while Carialle saw herself as a ship so that
was what she produced: the conical prow of the graceful
and accurately detailed spaceship framed an oval blob with
markings that could just barely be considered "features"
and blond locks that overlaid certain ordinary ship sensors.
Her female sibling had had long blond hair.

After a good deal of conferencing, Dr. Dray and his staff
decided that perhaps this was a valid self-image and not a
bad one: in fact a meld of fact (the ship) and fiction (her
actual facial contours). There were enough shellpeople now,

JJ       J

Dr. Dray remarked, so that it was almost expectable that they
saw themselves as a separate and distinct species. In fact,
Carialle showed a very healthy shellperson attitude in not
representing herself with a perfect human body, since it was
something she never had and never could have.

Simeons gift to Carialle was particularly appropriate.
Carialle was very fond of cats, with their furry faces and
expressive tails, and watched tapes of their sinuous play in
odd moments of relaxation. She saw softshells as two dis-
tinct and interesting species, some members of which

were more attractive than others.

As human beings went, Carialle considered Keff very
handsome. In less hurried situations, his boyish curls and
the twinkle in his deep-set blue eyes had earned him many
a conquest. Carialle knew intellectually that he was good-
looking and desirable, but she was not at all consumed
with any sensuality toward him, or any other human being.
She found humans, male and female, rather badly
designed as opposed to some aliens she had met. If Man
was the highest achievement of Natures grand design,
then Nature had a sense ofhuinor.

Whereas prosthetics had been the way damaged adults
replaced lost limbs or senses, the new Moto-Prosthetics
line went further than that by presenting the handicapped
with such refined functions that no "physical" handicap
remained. For the shellperson, it meant they could
"inhabit" functional alter-bodies and experience the full
range of human experiences firsthand. That knocked a lot
of notions of limitations or restrictions into an archaic
cocked hat. Since Keff had first heard about
Moto-Prosthetic bodies for brains, he had nagged Carialle
to order one. She evaded a direct "no" because she valued
Keff, respected his notion that she should have the chance
to experience life outside the shell, join him in his projects
with an immediacy that she could not enjoy encapsulated.

The idea was shudderingly repulsive to her. Maybe if
Moto-Prosthetics had been available before her accident,
she might have been more receptive to his idea. But to
leave the safety of her shell-well, not really leave it, but
to seem to leave it-to be vulnerable-though he insisted
she review diagrams and manuals that conclusively
demonstrated how sturdy and flexible the M-P body
was-was anathema. Why Keff felt she should be like
other humans, often clumsy, rather delicate, and definitely
vulnerable, she couldn't quite decide.

She started Simeon's gift tape to end that unproductive,
and somewhat disturbing line of thought. Although Cari-
alle had a library that included tapes of every sort of
creature or avian that had been discovered, she most
enjoyed the grace of cats, the smooth sinuousness of their
musculature. This datahedron started with a huge spotted
feline creeping forward, one fluid movement at a time,
head and back remaining low and out of sight as if it pro-
gressed along under a solid plank. It was invisible to the
prong-homed sheep on the other side of the undergrowth.
Carialle watched with admiration as the cat twitched, gath-
ered itself, sprang, and immediately stretched out in a full
gallop after its prey. She froze the frame, then scrolled it
backward slightly to the moment when the beautiful crea-
ture leapt forward, appreciating the graceful arc of its
back, the stretch of its forelimbs, the elongated power of
the hindquarters. She began to consider the composition
of the painting she would make: the fleeing sheep was fro-
zen with its silly face wild-eyed and splay-legged ahead of
the gorgeous, silken threat behind it.

As she planned out her picture, she ran gravitational
analyses, probable radiation effects of a yellow-gold sun,
position of blip possibly indicating planet, and a computer
model, and made a few idle bets with herself on whether
they'd find an alien species, and what it'd look like.

a CHAPTER THREE

Keff ignored the sharp twigs digging into the belly of his
environment suit as he wriggled forward for a better look.
Beyond the thin shield of thomy-leafed shrubbery was a
marvel, and he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Clos-
ing with his target would not, could not, alter what he was
viewing at a distance, not unless someone was having fun
with optical illusions-but he painfully inched forward
anyway. Not a hundred meters away, hewing the hard
fields and hauling up root crops, was a work force of
bipedal, bilaterally symmetrical beings, heterogeneous
with regard to sex, apparently mammalian in character,
with superior cranial development. In fact, except for the
light pelt of fur covering all but lips, palms, soles, small
rings around the eyes, and perhaps the places Keff couldn't
see underneath their simple garments, they were remark-
ably like human beings. Fuzzy humans.

"Perfect!" he breathed into his oral pickup, not for the
first time since he'd started relaying information to Cari-
alle. 'They are absolutely perfect in every way."

"Human-chauvinist," Carialle's voice said softly through

52

the mastoid-bone implant behind his ear. "Just because
they're shaped like Homo sapiens doesn't make them any
more perfect than any other sentient humanoid or human-
like race we've ever encountered."

"Yes, but think of it," Keff said, watching a female,
breasts heavy with milk, carrying her small offspring in a^
sling on her back while she worked. "So incredibly similar
to us."

"Speak for yourself," Carialle said, with a sniff.
"Well, they are almost exactly like humans."
"Except for the fur, yes, and the hound-dog faces,
exactly."

'Their faces aren't really that much like dogs'," Keff
protested, but as usual, Carialles artistic eye had pinned
down and identified the similarity. It was the manelike ruff
of hair around the faces of the mature males that had
thrown off his guess. "A suggestion of dog, perhaps, but no
more than that last group looked like pigs. I think we've
found the grail, Cari."

A gust of cold wind blew through the brush, fluttering
the folds of loose cloth at the back of Keffs suit. His
ears, nose, and fingers were chilly and growing stiff, but
he ignored the discomfort in his delight with the objects
of his study On RNJ-599-B-V they had struck gold.
Though it would be a long time before the people he
was watching would ever meet them on their own terms
in space.

Coming in toward the planet, Carialle had unleashed
the usual exploratory devices to give them some idea of
geography and terrain.

The main continent was in the northern hemisphere of
the planet. Except for the polar ice cap, it was divided
roughly into four regions by a high, vast mountain range
not unlike the European Alps of old Earth. Like the four
smaller mountain ranges in each of the quadrants, it had

been volcanic at one time, but none of the cones showed
any signs of activity.

The team had been on planet for several days already,
viewing this and other groups of the natives from different
vantage points. Carialle was parked in a gully in the eastern
quadrant, four kilometers from Keffs current location,
invisible to anyone on foot. It was a reasonable hiding
place, she had said, because they hadn't seen any evidence
during their approach of technology such as radar or track-
ing devices. Occasional power fluctuations pinged the
.needles on Carialle s gauges, but since they seemed to
occur at random, they might just be natural surges in the
planets magnetic field. But Carialle was skeptical, since
the surges were more powerful than one should expect
from a magnetic field, and were diffuse and of brief dura-
tion, which made it difficult for her to pin the
phenomenon down to a location smaller than five degrees
of planetary arc. Her professional curiosity was determined
to find a logical answer.

Keffwas more involved with what he could see with his
own eyes-his wonderful aliens. He studied the tool with
which the nearest male was chipping at the ground. The
heavy metal head, made of a slagged iron/copper alloy, was
laboriously holed through in two places, where dowels or
nails secured it to the flat meter-and-a-half long handle.
Sinew or twine wound around and around making doubly
sure that the worker wouldn't lose die hoe face on the back
swing. By squeezing his eyelids, Keff activated the tele-
photo function in his contact lenses and took a closer look.
The tools were crude in manufacture but shrewdly
designed for most effective use. And yet no technology
must exist for repair: the perimeter of the field was littered
with pieces of discarded, broken implements. These peo-
ple might have discovered smelting, but welding was still
beyond them. Still, they'd moved from hunter/gatherer to

farming and animal husbandry. Small but weU-tended
small flower and herb gardens bordered the field and the
front of a man-high cave mouth.

'They seem to be at the late Bronze or early Iron Age
stage of development," Keff murmured. "Speaking anthro-
pologically, -this would be the perfect species for a
long-term surveillance to see if this society will parallel hu-
man development." He parted the undergrowth, keeping
well back from the opening in the leaves. "Except for hav-
ing only three fingers and a thumb on each hand, they've
got the right kind of manipulative limbs to attain a high
technological level."

"Close enough for government work," Carialle said,
reasonably. "I can't see that the lack of one digit would
interfere with their ability to make more complex tools,
since clearly they're using some already."

"No," Keff said. "I'd be more disappointed if they didn't
have thumbs. A new species of humanoid! I can write a
paper about mem." Keffs breath quickened with his
enthusiasm. "Parallel development to Homo sapiens
terraneum? Evolution accomplished separately from
Earth-born humanity?"

"It's far more likely that they were seeded here thou-
sands of years ago," Carialle suggested, knowing that she'd
better dampen his enthusiasm before it got out of hand.
"Maybe a forgotten colony?"

"But the physical differences would take eons to evolve,"
Keff said. The odds against parallel development were
staggering, but the notion that they might have found an
unknown cousin of their own race strongly appealed to him.
"Of course, scientifically speaking, we'd have to consider that
possibility, especially in the light of the number of colonial
ventures that never sent back a 'safe down' message."

"Yes, we should seriously consider that aspect," Carialle
said, but without sarcasm.

"JJ- ~y

By thrusting out the angle of his jawbone, Keff
increased the gain on his long-distance microphone to lis-
ten in on the natives as they called out to one another. All
the inhabitants of this locale were harvesting root produce.
If any kind of formal schooling existed for the young, it
must be suspended until the crops were brought in. Typi-
cal of farm cultures, all life revolved around the cycle of
the crops. Humanoids of every age and size were in or
around the broad fields, digging up the roots. They
seemed to be divided into groups of eight to ten, under the
supervision of a crew boss, either male or female, who
worked alongside them. No overseer was visible, so every-
one apparently knew his or her job and got on with it.
Slackers were persuaded by glares and peer pressure to
persevere, Keff wondered if workers were chosen for their
jobs by skill, or if one inherited certain tasks or crop rows
by familial clan.

Well out of the way of the crews, small children minding
babies huddled as near as they could to a low cavern
entrance from which Carialle had picked up heat source
traces, suggesting that entrance led to their habitation. It
made sense for the aborigines to live underground, where
the constant temperature was approximately 14# C, making
it warmer than it was on the surface. Such an accommoda-
tion would be simple to heat, with the earth itself as
insulation. Only hunger could have driven Keff out to farm
or hunt in this cold, day after day.

Keff could not have designed a world more likely to be
dependent upon subsistence culture. The days were long,
but the temperature did not vary between sunup and sun-
down. Only the hardiest of people would survive to breed:

and the hardiest of plants. It couldn't be easy to raise crops
in this stony ground, either. Keff rubbed a pinch of it
between his finger and thumb.

"High concentration of silicate clay in that soil," Carialle

said, noticing his action. "Makes it tough going, both for
the farmer and the crop."

"Needs more sand and more fertilizer," Keff said. "And
more water. When we get to know one another, we can
advise them of irrigation and soil enrichment methods. See
that flat panlike depression at the head of the field? That's
where they pour water brought uphill by hand." A line of
crude barrels nestled against the hillside bore out his
theory.

Dirt-encrusted roots of various lengths, shapes, and col-
ors piled up in respectable quantity beside the diggers,
whose fur quickly assumed the dull dun of the soil.

"Its incredible that they're getting as much of a yield as
they are," Keff remarked. 'They must have the science of
fanning knocked into them."

"Survival," Carialle said. 'Think what they could do with
fertilized soil and steady rainfall. The atmosphere here has
less than eight percent humidity. Strange, when you con-
sider they're in the way of prevailing continental winds,
between the ocean and that mountain range. There should
be plenty of rain, and no need for such toil as that."

Under the direction of a middle-aged male with a light-
brown pelt, youngsters working with me digging crews
threw piles of the roots onto groundsheets, which were
pulled behind shaggy six-legged pack beasts up and down
the rows. When each sheet was full, the beast was led away
and another took its place.

"So what's the next step in this production line?" Keff
asked, shifting slightly to see.

The female led the beast to a square marked out by
hand-sized rocks, making sure nothing fell off as she
guided the animal over the rock boundary. Once inside,
she detached the groundsheet. Turning the beast, she led
it back to the field where more folded groundsheets were
piled.

"But if they live in the cave, over there," Keff said, in
surprise, "why are they leaving the food over here?"

"Maybe the roots need to dry out a litde before they can
be stored, so they won't rot," Carialle said. "Or maybe they
stink. You find out for yourself when we make contact.
Here, visitor, eat roots. Good!"

"No, thanks," Keff said.

The six-legged draft animal waited placidly while the
young female attached a new sheet to its harness. The
beast bore a passing resemblance to a Terran shire horse,
except for the six legs and a double dip of its spine over the
extra set of shoulder-hips. Under layers of brown dust, its
coat was thick and plushy: good protection against the cold
wind. Some of the garments and tool pouches worn by the
aborigines were undoubtedly manufactured out of such
hide. Keff gazed curiously at the creature's feet. Not at all
hooflike: each had three stubby toes with blunt claws and a
thick sole that looked as tough as stone. The pack beast
walked with the same patient gait whether the travois
behind it was fully loaded or not.

"Strong," Keff said. "I bet one of those six-legged
packs-hmm, six-packs!-could haul you uphill."

Carialle snorted. "I'd like to see it try."

Team leaders called out orders with hand signals, direct-
ing workers to new rows. The workers chattered among
themselves, shouting cheerfully while they stripped roots
and banged them on the ground to loosen some of the
clinging soil. Carialle could almost hear Xeno gibbering
with joy when they saw the hedrons she was recording for
them.

"Funny," Keff said, after a while. "I feel as if I should
understand what they're saying. The pace of their conver-
sation is similar to Standard. There's cadence, but
measured, not too fast, and it's not inflected like, say, Old
Terran Asian."

A thickly furred mother called to her child, playing in a
depression of the dusty earth with a handful of other naked
tykes. It ignored her and went on with its game, a serious
matter of the placement of pebbles. The mother called
again, her voice on a rising note of annoyance. When the
child turned to look, she repeated her command, punctu-
ating her words with a spiraling gesture other right hand.
The child, eyes wide with alarm, stood up at once and ran
over. After getting a smack on the bottom for disobedi-
ence, the child listened to instructions, then ran away, past
the cave entrance and around the rise of the hill.

"Verrrry interesting," Keff said. "She didn't say any-
thing different, but that child certainly paid attention when
she made that hand gesture. Somewhere along the line
they've evolved a somatic element in their language."

"Or the other way around," Carialle suggested, focusing
on the gesture and replaying it in extreme close-up. "How
do you know the hand signals didn't come first?"

"I'd have to make a study on it," Keff said seriously, "but
I'd speculate because common, everyday symbols are han-
dled with verbal phrases, the hand signals probably came
later. I wonder why it evolved that way?"

"Could a percentage of them be partially hearing-
impaired or deaf?"

"Not when they have such marked cadence and rhythm
in their speech," Keff replied. "I doubt this level of agricul-
turalist would evolve lipreading. Hmm. I could compare it
to the Saxon/Norman juxtaposition on Old Earth. Maybe
they've been conquered by another tribe who primarily
use sign language for communication. Or it might be the
signs come from their religious life, and mama was telling
baby that God would be unhappy if he didn't snap to it."

"Ugh. Invisible blackmail."

Keff patted the remote IT unit propped almost under-
neath his chin. "I want to talk to some of these people and

see how long it takes my unit to translate. I'm dying to see
what similarities there are between their language struc-
ture and Standards." He started to gather himself up to
stand.

"Not so fast," Carialle said, her voice ringing in his
mastoid-bone implant. He winced. "When something
seems too good to be true, it probably is. I think we need
to do more observation."

"Cari, we've watched half a dozen of these groups
already. They're all alike, even to the size of the flower gar-
dens. When am I going to get to talk to one of them?"

The brains voice hinted of uneasiness. 'There's some-
thing, well, odd and seedy about this place. Have you
noticed how old all these artifacts are?"

Keff shrugged. "Usable tools passed down from genera-
tion to generation. Not uncommon in a developing
civilization."

"I think its just the opposite. Look at that!"

Coming toward the work party in the field were two
furry humanoid males. Between them on a makeshift
woven net of rough cords, they carefully bore a hemi-
spherical, shieldlike object full of sloshing liquid. They
were led by the excited child who had been sent off by his
mother. He shouted triumphantly to the teams of workers
who set down their tools and rubbed the dust out of their
fur as they came over for a drink. Patiently, each waited his
or her turn to use the crude wooden dippers, then went
immediately back to the fields.

"Water break," Keff observed, propping his chin on his
palm. "Interesting bucket."

"It looks more like a microwave raydome to me, Keff,"
Carialle said. "Whaddayou know! They're using the
remains of a piece of advanced technical equipment to
haul water."

"By Saint George and Saint Vidicon, you're right! It

does look like a raydome. So the civilizations not evolving,
but in the last stages of decline," Keff said, thoughtfully,
tapping his cheek with his fingertips. "I wonder if they had
a war, eons ago, and the opposing forces blew themselves
out of civilization. Its so horribly cold and dry here that we
could very well be seeing the survivors of a comet strike."

Carialle ran through her photo maps of the planet taken
from space. "No ruins of cities above ground. No signa-
tures of decaying radiation that I saw, except for those
sourceless power surges-and by the way, I just felt
another one. Could they be from the planet's magnetic dis-
turbance? There are heavy electromagnetic bursts
throughout the fabric of the planet, and they don't seem to
be coming from anywhere. I suppose they could be natural
but - it's certainly puzzling. Possibly there was a Pyrrhic
victory and both sides declined past survival point so that
they ended up back in the Stone Age. Dawn of Furry
Mankind, second day."

"Now that you've mention it, I do recognize some of the
pieces they made their tools out of," Keff said. He watched
an adolescent female guiding two six-packs in a tandem
yoke pulling a plow over part of the field that had been
harvested. 'Tours is probably the best explanation, unless
they're a hard-line back-to-nature sect doing this on pur-
pose, and I doubt that very much. But that plowshare looks
more to me like part ofashutdecraft fin. Especially if their
bucket has a ninety-seven-point resemblance to a ray-
dome. Sad. A viable culture reduced to noble primitives
with only vestiges of their civilization."

'That's what we'll call them, then," Carialle said,
promptly. "Noble Primitives."

"Seconded. The motion is carried."

Another young female and her docile six-pack dragged a
full load of roots toward the stone square. Keff shifted to
watch her.

"Hey, the last load of roots is gone! I didn't see anyone
move it."

"We weren't paying attention," Carialle said. 'The
grounds uneven. There might be a root cellar near that
square, with another crew of workers. If you walk over the
ground nearby I could do a sounding and find it. If it's
unheated that would explain why its not as easy to pick out
as their living quarters."

Keff heard a whirring noise behind him and shifted as
silently as he could. "Am I well enough camouflaged?"

"Don't worry, Keff," Carialle said in his ear. "It's just
another globe-frog."

"Damn. I hope they don't see me."

Beside the six-packs, one of the few examples of ani-
mal life on RNJ were small green amphibioids that
meandered over the rocky plains, probably from scarce
water source to water source, in clear globular cases full
of water. Outside their shells they'd be about a foot long,
with delicate limbs and big, flat paws that drove the
spheres across dry land. Keff had dubbed them "globe-
frogs." The leader was followed by two more.
Globe-frogs were curious as cats, and all of them
seemed fascinated by Keff.

"Poor things, like living tumbleweeds," Carialle said,
sympathetically.

'The intelligent life isn't much better off," Keff said. "It's
dry as dust around here."

'Terrible when sentient beings are reduced to mere sur-
vival," Carialle agreed.

"Oops," Keff said, in resignation. 'They see me. Here
they come. Damn it, woman, stop laughing."

"It's your animal magnetism," Carialle said, amused.

The frogs rolled nearer, spreading out into a line; per-
haps to get a look at all sides of him, or perhaps as a safety
precaution. If he suddenly sprang and attacked, he could

only get one. The rumble of their cases on the ground
sounded like thunder to him.

"Shoo," Keff said, trying to wave them off before the
field workers came over to investigate. He glanced at the
workers. Luckily, none were paying attention to the frogs.
"Cari, where s the nearest water supply?"

"Back where the raydomeful came from. About two
kilometers north northeast."

"Go that way," Keff said, pointing, with his hand bent up
close to his body. "Water. You don't want me. Vamoose.
Scram." He flicked his fingers. "Go! Please."

The frogs fixed him with their bulbous black eyes and
halted their globes about a meter away from him. One of
them opened its small mouth to reveal short, sharp teeth
and a pale, blue-green tongue. With frantic gestures, Keff
beseeched them to move off. The frogs exchanged glances
and rolled away, amazingly in the direction he had indi-
cated. A small child playing in a nearby shallow ditch
shrieked with delight when it saw the frogs passing and ran
after them. The frogs paddled faster, but the tot caught up,
and fetched one of the globes a kick that propelled it over
the crest of the hill. The others hastily followed, avoiding
their gleeful pursuer. The light rumbling died away.

"Whew!" Keff said. Those frogs nearly blew my cover.
I'd better reveal myself now before someone discovers me
by accident."

"Not yet! We don't have enough data to prove the Noble
Primitives are nonhostile."

'That's a chance we always take, lady fair. Or why else
are we here?"

"Look, we know the villagers we've observed do not
leave their sites. I haven't been able to tell an inhabitant of
one village from the inhabitant of any other. And you sure
don't look like any Noble Primitive. I really don't like risk-
ing your being attacked. I'm four kilometers away from

you so I can't pull your softshell behind out of trouble, you
know. My servos would take hours to get to your position."

Keff flexed his muscles and wished he could take a good
stretch first. "If I approach them peacefully, they should at
least give me a hearing."

"And when you explain that you're from off-planet? Are
they ready for an advanced civilization like ours?"

'They have a right to our advantages, to our help in get-
ting themselves back on their feet. Look how wretchedly
they live. Think of the raydome, and the other stuff we've
seen. They once had a high-tech civilization. Central
Worlds can help them. It's our duty to give them a chance
to improve their miserable lot, bring them back to this cen-
tury. They were once our equals. They deserve a chance to
be so again, Carialle."

'Thou hast a heart as well as a brain, sir knight. Okay."

Before they had settled how to make the approach,
shouting broke out on the work site. Keff glanced up. Two
big males were standing nose to nose exchanging insults.
One male whipped a knife made of a shard of blued metal
out of his tool bag; another relic that had been worn to a
mere streak from sharpening. The male he was facing
retreated and picked up a digging tool with a ground-down
end. Yelling, the knife-wielder lunged in at him, knife over
his head. The children scattered in every direction,
screaming. Before the pikeman could bring up his
weapon, the first male had drawn blood. Two crew leaders
rushed up to try to pull them apart. The wounded male,
red blood turning dark brown as it mixed with the dust in
his body-fur, snarled over the peacemaker's head at his foe.
With a roar, he shook himself loose.

"I think you missed your chance for a peaceful
approach, Keff."

"Um," Keff said. "He who spies and runs away lives to
chat another day."

While the combatants circled each other, ringed by a
watching crowd, Keff backed away on his hands and knees
through the bush. Cursing the pins and needles in his legs,
Keff managed to get to his feet and started downhill
toward the gully where Carialle was concealed.

Carialle launched gracefully out of the gully and turned
into the face of planetary rotation toward another spot on
the day-side which her monitors said showed signs of life.

"May as well ring the front doorbell this time," Keff
said. "No sense letting them get distracted over something
else. If only I'd moved sooner!"

"No sense having a post mortem over it," Carialle said
firmly. "You can amaze these natives with how much you
already know about them."

Reversing to a tail-first position just at the top of atmos-
phere, Carialle lowered herself gently through the thin
clouds and cleaved through a clear sly onto a rocky field in
plain sight of the workers. Switching on all her exterior
cameras, she laughed, and put the results on monitor for
Keff.

T could paint a gorgeous picture," she said. "Portrait of
blinding astonishment."

"Another regional mutation," Keff said, studying the
screen. 'They're still beautiful, still the same root stock,
but their faces look a little like sheep."

"Perfectly suited for open-mouthed goggling," Carialle
said promptly. T wonder what causes such diversity amidst
the groups. Radiation? Evolution based on function and
lifestyle?"

"Why would they need to look like sheep?" Keff said,
shrugging out of the crash straps.

"Maybe they were behind the door when ape faces like
yours were handed out," CariaUe said teasingly, then
turned to business. "I'm reading signs of more

underground heat sources. One habitation, three
entrances. Ambient air temperature, fourteen degrees.
This place is cold."

"I'll wear a sweater, Mom. Here goes!"

As Keff waited impatiently in the airlock, checking his
equipment carriers and biting on the implanted mouth
contact to make sure it was functioning properly, Carialle
lowered the ramp. Slowly, she opened the airlock. A hun-
dred yards beyond it, Keff saw a crowd of the sheep-faced
Noble Primitives gathered at the edge of the crop field,
still gaping at the tall silver cylinder.

Taking a deep breath, Keff stepped out onto the ramp,
hand raised, palm outward, weaponless. The IT was slung
on a strap around his neck so he let his other hand hang
loosely at his side.

"Hail, friends!" he called to the aliens huddled on the
edge of the dusty field. "I come in peace."

He walked toward the crowd. The Primitives stared at
him, the adults' faces expressionless underneath the fur
masks, the children openly awestruck. Cautiously, Keff
raised his other hand away from his body so they could see
it, and smiled.

'They're not afraid of you, Keff," Carialle said, monitor-
ing the Noble Primitives' vital signs. "In fact, they're not
even surprised. Now that's odd!"

"Why does one of the mages come to us?" Alteis said,
worriedly, as the stranger approached them, showing his
teeth. "What have we done wrong? We have kept up with
the harvest. All proceeds on schedule. The roots are nearly
all harvested. They are of good quality."

Brannel snorted, a sharp breath ruffling the fur on his
upper Bp, and turned an uncaring shoulder toward the old-
ster. Old Alteis was so afraid of the mages that he would do

himself an injury one day if the overlords were really dis-
pleased. He stared at the approaching mage. The male was
shorter man he, but possessed of a mighty build and an
assured, cocky walk. Unusual for a mage, his hands showed
that they were not unacquainted with hard work. The out-
thrust of the cleft chin showed that he knew his high place,
and yet his dark, peaty blue eyes were full of good humor.
Brannel searched his memory, but was certain he had
never encountered this overlord before.

"He is one we do not know," Brannel said quickly in an
undertone out of the side of his mouth. "Perhaps he is here
to tell us he is our new master."

"Klemay is our master," Alteis said, his ruff and mus-
tache indignantly erect on his leathery face.

"But Klemay has not been seen for a month," Brannel
said. '1 saw the fire in the mountains, I told you. Since
then, no power has erupted from Klemay's peak."

"Perhaps this one serves Klemay," Mrana, mate of
Alteis, suggested placatingly. Surreptitiously, she brushed
the worst of the dust off the face of one of her children.
None of them looked their best at harvest time when little
effort could be wasted on mere appearance. The overlord
must understand that.

"Servers serve," Brannel snorted. "No overlord serves
another but those of the Five Points. Klemay was not a
high mage."

"Do not speak of things you do not understand," Alteis
said, as alarmed as that foolish male ever became. 'The
mages will hear you."

'The mages are not listening," Brannel said.

Alteis was about to discipline him further, but the
overlord was within hearing range now. The stranger came
closer and stopped a couple of paces away. All the workers
bowed their heads, shooting occasional brief glances at the
visitor. Alteis stepped forward to meet him and bowed low.

''What is your will, lord?" he asked.

Instead of answering him directly, the mage picked up
the box that hung around his neck and pushed it nearly
underneath Alteiss chin. He spoke to the leader at some
length. Though Brannel listened carefully, the words
meant nothing. Alteis waited, then repeated his words
clearly in case the overlord had not understood him. The
mage smiled, head tilted to one side, uncomprehending.

"What may I and my fellow workers do to serve you,
exalted one?" Brannel asked, coming forward to stand
beside Alteis. He, too, bowed low to show respect,
although the germ of an idea was beginning to take shape
in his mind. He tilted his chin down only the barest
respectable fraction so he could study the visitor.

The male fiddled with the small box on his breast, which
emitted sounds. He spoke over it, possibly reciting an
incantation. That was not unusual; all the overlords Bran-
nel had ever seen talked to themselves sometimes. Many
objects of power were ranged about this ones strongly
built form. Yet he did not appear to understand the lan-
guage of the people, nor did he speak it. He hadn't even
acknowledged Brannel s use of mage-talk, which had been
cleverly inserted into his query.

Puzzled, Brannel wrinkled his forehead. His fellow
servers stayed at a respectful distance, showing proper fear
and respect to one of the great overlords. They were not
puzzled: they had no thoughts of their own to puzzle them
or so Brannel opined. So he took as close a look at this puz-
zling overlord as possible.

The male appeared to be of the pure blood of the Magi,
showing all three signs: clear skin, whole hand, and bright
eyes. His clothing did not resemble that which overlords
wore. Then Brannel arrived at a strange conclusion: this
male was not an overlord. He could not speak either
language, he did not wear garments like an overlord, he

did not act like an overlord, and he had clearly not come
from the high places of the East. The worker males
curiosity welled up until he could no longer contain the
question.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Alteis grabbed him by the ruff and yanked him back
into the midst of the crowd of shocked workers.

"How dare you speak to an overlord like that, you young
puppy?" he said, almost growling. "Keep your eyes down
and your mouth shut!"

"He is not an overlord, Alteis," Brannel said, growing
more certain of this every passing moment.

"Nonsense," Fralim said, closing his hand painfully on
Brannels upper arm. Alteis s son was bigger and stronger
than he was, but Fralim couldn't see the fur on his own
skin. He loomed over Brannel, showing his teeth, but
Brannel knew half the ferocity was from fear. "He's got all
his fingers, hasn't he? The finger of authority has not been
amputated. He can use the objects of power. I ask forgive-
ness, honored lord," Fralim said, speaking in an abject tone
to the stranger.

"He does not speak our language, Fralim," Brannel said
clearly. "Nor does he understand the speech of the Magi.
All the Magi speak the linga esoterka, which I understand.
I will prove it. Master," he said, addressing Keff in mage-
talk, "what is thy will?"

The stranger smiled in a friendly fashion and spoke
again, holding the box out to him.

The experiment didn't impress Brannels fellow work-
ers. They continued to glance up at the newcomer with
awe and mindless adoration in their eyes, like the herd
beasts they so resembled.

"Keff," the stranger said, nodding several times and
pointing to himself. He shifted his hand toward Brannel.
"An dew?"

The others ducked. When the finger of authority was
pointed at one of them, it sometimes meant that divine
discipline was forthcoming. Brannel tried to hide that he,
too, had flinched, but the gesture seemed merely a request
for information.

"Brannel," he said, hand over pounding heart. The reply
delighted the stranger, who picked up a rock.

"An dwattis zis?" he asked.

"Rock," Brannel said. He approached until he was
merely a pace from the overlord. "What is this?" he asked,
very daringly, reaching out to touch the mages tunic

sleeve.

"Brannel, no!" Alteis wailed. "You'll die for laying hands

on one of them!"

Anything was better than living out his life among
morons, Brannel thought in disgust. No bolt of punish-
ment came. Instead, Keffsaid, "Sliv."

"Sliv," Brannel repeated, considering. It sounded almost
like the real word. Ozran was great! he thought in grati-
tude. Perhaps Keff was a mage, but from a distant part of
the world.

They began to exchange the words for objects. Keffled
Brannel to different parts of the holding, pointing and
making his query. Brannel, becoming more interested by
the minute, gave him the words and listened carefully to
the stranger-words with which Keff identified the same
things. Keff was freely offering Brannel a chance to
exchange information, to know his words in trade for his
own. Language was power, Brannel knew, and power held
the key to self-determination.

Behind them, the villagers followed in a huddled group,
never daring to come close, but unable to stay away as
Brannel claimed the entire, and apparently friendly,
attention of a mage. Fralim was muttering to himself. It
might have meant trouble, since Fralim saw himself as the

heir to village leadership after Alteis, but he was too much
in awe of the seeming-mage and had already forgotten
some of what had happened. If Brannel managed to
distract him long enough afterward, Fralim would forget
forever the details of his grudge. It would disappear into
the grayness of memory that troubled nearly every server
on Ozran. Brannel decided to take advantage of the
situation, and named every single worker to the mage.
Fralim whitened under his fur, but he smiled back, teeth
gritted, when Keff repeated his name.

The stranger-mage asked about every type of root,
every kind of flower and herb in the sheltered garden by
the cavern mouth. Twice, he tried to enter the
home-cavem, but stopped when he saw Brannel pause
nervously on the threshold. The worker was more
convinced than he was of anything else in his life that this
mage was not as other mages: he didn't know entiy to the
home site between dawn and dusk was forbidden under
pain of reprisal.

Toward evening, the prepared food for the villagers
appeared in the stone square, as it did several times every
day. Brannel would have to pretend to eat and just hope
that he could control his rumbling guts until he had a
chance to assuage his hunger from his secret cache. He'd
worked a long, hard day before he'd had to stimulate his
wits to meet the demands of this unexpected event.

Muttering began among the crowd at their heels. The
children were hungry, too, and had neither the manners
nor the wit to keep their voices down. Not wishing to incur
the wrath of the visiting mage, Alteis and Mrana were dis-
cussing whether or not they dared offer such poor fare to
the great one. Should they, or shouldn't they, interrupt the
great ones visit at all by letting mere workers eat? What to
do?

Brannel took care of the problem. Keeping a respectful

distance, he led Keffto the stone square and picked up the
lid of one of the huge covered dishes. With one hand, he
made as if to eat from the steaming tureen of legume stew.

Keifs eyes widened in understanding and he smiled.
Though he waved away offers of food, he encouraged the
villagers with friendly gestures to come forward and eat.
Knowing that Alteis was watching, Brannel was forced to
join them. He consumed a few tiny mouthfuls as slowly as

he dared.

Fortunately, he had plenty of interruptions which con-
cealed his reluctance to eat. Keff questioned him on the
names of the foodstuffs, and what each was made of,
pointing to raw vegetables and making an interrogative

noise.

"Stewed orange root," Brannel said, pointing out the
appropriate field to the mage. "Grain bread." Some of the
grain the plough animals ate served to demonstrate what
kind. "Legume stew. Sliced tuber fried in bean oil." Beans
were unavailable, having been harvested and gathered in
by the mages the month before, so he used small stones
approximately the right size, and pretended to squeeze
them. Keff understood. Brannel knew he did. He was as
excited as the mage when the box began to make some of
the right sounds, as if finding them on its tongue: frot, brot,
brat, bret, bread.

"Bread! That's right," Brannel said, enthusiastically, as
Keff repeated what the box said. "That's right, Mage-lord:

bread!"

Keff slapped Brannel hard on the back. The worker
jumped and caught his breath, but it was a gesture of
friendliness, not disapproval-as if Keff was just another
worker, a neighbor . . . a-a friend. He tried to smile. The
others fell to their knees and covered their heads with their
arms, fearing the thunderbolt about to descend.

"Bread," Keff repeated happily. "I think I've got it."

"Do you?" Carialle asked in his ear. "And does the rain
in Spain fall mainly in the plain?"

"Ozran, I think," KefFsaid, subvocalizing as the villagers
picked themselves off the ground and came around cau-
tiously to inspect Brannel who was smiling. Keff himself
was wild w|th glee, but restraining himself for fear of scar-
ing the natives further. "I can hardly believe it. I'm making
progress faster than I even dared to hope. There's some
Ancient Terran forms in their speech, Carialle, embedded
in the alien forms, of course. I believe the Ozrans had con-
tact with humankind, maybe millenia ago, significant
contact that altered or added to the functionalism of their
language. Are there any records in the archives for first
contact in this sector?"

"I'll put a trace through," Carialle said, initiating the
search sequence and letting it go through an automatic AI
program. A couple of circuits "clicked," and the library
program began to hum quietly to itself.

By means of Keffs contact button, Carialle focused on
the antics of the natives. A few of the females were picking
up the spilled dishes with a cautious eye on Keff, never
venturing too close to him. The large, black-furred male
and the elderly salt-and-pepper male examined a protest-
ing Brannel. The slender male tried without success to
wave them off.

"What is wrong with these people?"

"Mm-mm? I don't know. They're looking Brannel over
for damages or marks or something. What did they expect
to happen when I patted him on the back?"

"I don't know. Bodily contact shouldn't be dangerous. I
wish you could get close enough to them so I could read
their vital signs and do a chemspec analysis of their skin."

Keff stood at a distance from the villagers, nodding
and smiling at any who would meet his eyes, but the
moment he took a step toward one, that one moved a

step back. 'They won't let me, that's obvious. Why are
most of them so downright scared of me, but not sur-
prised to see me?"

"Maybe they have legends about deities that look like
you," Carialle said with wry humor. "You may be fulfilling
some long-awaited prophecy. The bare-faced one will
come out of the sky and set us free.'"

"No," Keff said, thoughtfully. "I think the reaction is
more immediate, more present day. Whatever it is, they're
most courteous and absolutely cooperative: an ethnologists
dream. I'm making real progress in communications. I
think I've found the 'to be' verb, but I'm not sure I'm pars-
ing it correctly yet. Brannel keeps grinning at me when I
ask what something 'is.'"

"Keep going," Carialle said encouragingly. "Faint heart
never won fair lady. You're all getting along so well there."

With every evidence of annoyance, Brannel fought free
of the hands of his comrades. He smoothed his ruffled fur
and glared at the others, his aspect one of long suffering.
He returned to Keff, his expression saying, "Let's resume
the language lesson, and pay no more attention to those
people."

"I'd love to know what's going on," Keff said out loud in
Standard, with a pohte smile, "but I'm going to have to
leam a lot more before I can ask the right questions about
your social situation here."

One of the other Noble Primitives muttered under his
breath. Brannel turned on him and hissed out a sharp
phrase that needed no translation: even the sound of it was
insulting. Keff moved between them to defuse a potential
argument, and that made the other Primitive back off
sharply. Keff got Brannel's attention and pointed to the
raydome water carrier. Listening to prompts from the IT
program through his implant, he attempted to put
together a whole sentence ofpidgin Ozran.

"What are that?" Keff asked. "Eh? Did I get that
right?"

From Brannel's merry expression, he hadn't. He
grinned, giving the local man his most winsome smile.
"Well, teach me then, can you?"

Emboldened by Keffs friendly manner, the Noble
Primitive laughed, a harsh sound; more of a cackle than a
guffaw.

"So," Keff asked, trying again in Ozran, "what are yes?"
He whispered an aside to Carialle. "I don't know even how
to ask what's right?' yet. I must sound like the most amaz-
ing idiot."

"What is that. What are those," Brannel said, with
emphasis, picking up one stone in one hand, a handful of
stones in the other, and displaying first one and then the
other. He had correctly assumed Keff was trying to ask
about singular and plural forms and had demonstrated the
difference. The others were still staring dumbly, unable to
understand what was going on. Keff was elated by his
success.

"Incredible. You may have found the only intelligent
man on the planet," Carialle said, monitoring as the IT
program recorded the correct uses of the verb, and postu-
lated forms and suffixes for other verbs in its file, shuffling
the onomatopoeic transliterations down like cards. "Cer-
tainly the only one of this bunch who understands abstract
questions."

"He's a find," Keff agreed. "A natural linguist. It could
have taken me days to elicit what he's offering freely and, I
might add, intelligently. It's going to take me more time to
figure out that sign language, but if anyone can put me on
the right track, it's Brannel."

Having penetrated the mystery of verbal declension,
Keff and Brannel sat down together beside the fire and
began a basic conversation.

"Do you see how he's trying to use my words, too?" Keff
subvocalized to Carialle.

Using informal signs and the growing lexicon in the IT
program, Keff asked Brannel about the below ground

habitation,

"... Heat from . . . earth," Brannel said, patting the
ground by his thigh. IT left audio gaps where it lacked suf-
ficient glossary and grammar, but for Keff it was enough to
tell him what he wanted to know.

"A geothermal heating system. Its so cold out; why can't
you enter now?" Keff said, making a cave by arching his
finger and thumb on the ground and walking his other
hand on two fingers toward it.

"Not," Brannel said firmly, with a deliberate sign of his
left hand. The IT struggled to translate. "Not cave day. We
are ... work... day."

"Oh," Carialle said. "A cultural ban to keep the slackers
out on the field during working hours. Ask him if he knows
what causes the power surges I'm picking up."

Keff relayed the question. The others who were paying
attention shot sulky glances toward Brannel. The
dun-colored male started to speak, then stopped when an
older female let out a whimper of fear. "Not," he said
shortly.

"I guess he doesn't know," Keff said to Carialle. "You,
sir," he said, going over to address the eldest male, Alteis,
who immediately cowered. "Where comes strong heat
from sky?" He pantomimed arcs overhead. "What makes
strong heat?"

With a yell, one of the small boys-Keff thought it
might be the same one who had defied his mothers
orders-traced a jagged line in the sky. The he dove into
his mothers lap for safety. An adolescent female, Nona,
Keff thought her name was, glanced up at him in terror,
and quickly averted her eyes to the ground. The others

murmured among themselves, but no one looked or
spoke.

"Lightning?" Keff asked Alteis softly. "What causes the
lightning, sir?"

The oldster with white-shot black fur studied his lips
carefully as he spoke, then turned for help to Brannel, who
remained stoically silent. Keff repeated his question. The
old male nodded solemnly, as if considering an answer, but
then his gaze wandered off over Keffs head. When it
returned to Keff, there was a blankness in his eyes that
showed he hadn't understood a thing, or had already for-
gotten the question.

"He doesn't know," Keff said with a sigh. "Well, we're back
to basics. Where does the food go for storage?" he asked. He
gestured at the stone square and held up one of the roots
Brannel had used as an example. "Where roots go?"

Brannel shrugged and muttered something. "Not
know," IT amplified and relayed. "Roots go, food comes."

"A culture in which food preparation is a sacred mys-
tery?" Carialle said, with increasing interest. "Now, that's
bizarre. If we take that back to Xeno, we'll deserve a
bonus."

"Aren't you curious? Didn't you ever try to find out?"
Keff asked Brannel.

"Not!" Brannel exclaimed. The bold villager seemed
nervous for almost the first time since Keff had arrived.
"One curious, all-" He brought his hands together in a
thunderclap. "All... all," he said, getting up and drawing a
circle in the air around an adult male, an adult female, and
three children. He pantomimed beating the male, and
shoved the food bowls away from the female and children
with his foot. Most of the fur-faced humanoids shuddered
and one of the children burst into tears.

"All punished for one person s curiosity? But why?" Keff
demanded. "By whom?"

For answer Brannel aimed his three-fingered hand at
the mountains, with a scornful expression that plainly said
that Keff should already know that. Keff peered up at the
distant heights.

"Huh?" Carialle said. "Did I miss something?"

"Punishment from the mountains? Is it a sacred tradi-
tion associated with the mountains?" Keff asked. "By his
body language Brannel holds whatever comes from there
in healthy respect, but he doesn't like it."

'Typical of religions," Carialle sniffed. She focused her
cameras on the mountain peak in the direction Keff faced
and zoomed in for a closer look. "Say, there are structures
up there, Keff. They're blended in so well I didn't detect
them on initial sweep. What are they? Temples? Shrines?
Who built them?"

Keff pointed, and turned to Brannel.

"What are . . . ?" he began. His question was abruptly
interrupted when a beam of hot light shot from the peak of
the tallest mountain in the range to strike directly at Keffs
feet. Hot light engulfed him. "Wha--?" he mouthed. His
hand dropped to his side, slamming into his leg with the
force of a wrecking ball. The air turned fiery in his throat,
drying his mouth and turning his tongue to leather. Hum-
ming filled his ears. The image of Brannel's face, agape,
swam before his eyes, faded to a black shadow on his reti-
nas, then flew upward into a cloudless sly blacker than
space.

The bright bolt of light overpowered the aperture of the
tiny contact-button camera, but Carialle's external cameras
recorded the whole thing. Keff stood rigid for a moment
after the beam struck, then slowly, slowly keeled over and
slumped to the ground in a heap. His vital-sign monitor
shrieked as all activity flatlined. To all appearances he was
dead.

"Keff!" Carialle screamed. Her system demanded
adrenaline. She fought it, forcing serotonin and endor-
phins into her bloodstream for calm. It took only
milliseconds until she was in control of herself again. She
had to be, for Keffs sake.

In the next few milliseconds, her circuits raced through
a diagnostic, checking the implants to be sure there was no
system failure. All showed green.

"Keff," she said, raising the volume in his implant. "Can
you hear me?" He gave no answer.

Carialle sent her circuits through a diagnostic, checking
the implants to be sure there was no system failure. All
showed green except the video of the contact camera,
which gradually cleared. Before Carialle could panic fur-
ther, the contacts began sending again. Keffs vitals
returned, thready but true. He was alive! Carialle was
overjoyed. But Keff was in danger. Whatever caused that
burst of power to strike at his feet like a well-aimed thun-
derbolt might recur. She had to get him out of there. A
bolt like that couldn't be natural, but further analysis must
wait. Keff was hurt and needed attention. That was her
primary concern. How could she get him back?

The small servos in her ship might be able to pick him
up, but were intended for transit over relatively level
floors. Fully loaded they wouldn't be able to transport
Keffs weight across the rough terrain. For the first time,
she wished she had gotten a Moto-Prosthetic body as Keff
had been nagging her to do. She longed for two legs and
two strong arms.

Hold it! A body was available to her: that of the only
intelligent man on the planet. When the bolt had struck,
Brannel, with admirably quick reflexes, had flung himself
out of the way, rolling over the stony ground to a sheltered
place beneath the rise. The other villagers had run
hell-for-leather back toward their cavern, but Brannel was

still only a few meters away from Keffs body. Carialle read
his infrared signal and heartbeat: he was ten meters from
Keifs body. She opened a voice-link through IT and
routed it via the contact button.

"Brannel," she called, amplifying the small speaker as
much as she could without distortion. "Brannel, pick up
Keff. Bring Keff home." The IT blanked on the word
home. She spun through the vocabulary database looking
for an equivalent. "Bring Keff to Keffs cave, Brannel!" Her
voice rose toward hysteria. She flattened her tones and
increased endorphins and proteins to her nutrients to
counter the effects other agitation.

"Mage Keff?" Brannel asked. He raised his head cau-
tiously from the shelter of his hiding place, fearing another
bolt from the mountains. "Keff speaks?"

Keff lay in a heap on the ground, mouth agape, eyes half
open with the white showing. Brannel, knowing that some-
times bolts continued to bum and crackle after the initial
lightning, kept a respectful distance.

"Bring Keff to Keffs cave," a disembodied voice
pleaded. A females voice it was, coming from underneath
the mages chin. Some kind of familiar spirit? Brannel
rocked back and forth, struggling with ambivalent desires.
Keff had been kind to him. He wanted to do the mages
wishes. He also wasn't going to put himself in danger for
the sake of one of Them whom the mage-bolts had struck
down. Was Keff Klemays successor and that was why he
had come to visit their farm holding? Only his right to suc-
ceed Klemay had just been challenged by the bolt.

Across the field, the silver cylinder dropped its ramp,
clearly awaiting the arrival of its master. Brannel looked
from the prone body at his feet to the mysterious mobile
stronghold. Stooping, he stared into Keffs eyes. A pulse
twitched faintly there. The mage was still alive,

if

unconscious.

"Bring Keff to Keffs cave," the voice said again, in a
crisp but persuasive tone. "Come, Brannel. Bring Keff."

"All right," Brannel said at last, his curiosity about the
silver cylinder overpowering his sense of caution. This
would be the first time he had been invited into a mages
stronghold. Who knew what wonders would open up to
him within Keffs tower?

Drawing one of the limp arms over his shoulder, Bran-
nel hefted Keff and stood up. After years of hard work,
carrying the body of a man smaller than himself wasn't
much of an effort. It was also the first time he'd laid hands
on a mage. With a guilty thrill, he bore Keffs dead weight
toward the silver tower.

At the foot of the ramp, Brannel paused to watch the
smooth door withdraw upward with a quiet hiss. He stared
up at it, wondering what land of door opened without
hands to push it.

"Come, Brannel," the silky persuasive voice said from
the weight on his back.

Brannel obeyed. Under his rough, bare feet, the ramp
boomed hollowly. The air smelled different inside. As he
set foot over the threshold into the dim, narrow anteroom,
lights went on. The walls were smooth, like the surface of
unruffled water, meeting the ceiling and walls in perfect
comers. Such ideal workmanship aroused Brannels admi-
ration. But what else would one expect from a mage? he
chided himself.

In front of him was a corridor. Narrow bands of bluish
light like the sun through clouds illuminated themselves.
Along the walls at Brannels eye level, orange-red bands
flickered into life, moving onward until they reached the
walls' end. The colored lights returned to the beginning
and waited.

"I follow thee. Is that right?" Brannel asked in mage-
speak, cautiously stepping into the corridor.

"Come," the disembodied voice said in common Ozran
and the sound echoed all around him. Mage Keffwas cer-
tainly a powerful wizard to have a house that talked.

Carialle was relieved that Brannel hadn't been fright-
ened by a disembodied voice or the sight of an
interplanetary ship. He was cautious, but she gave him
credit for that. She had the lights guide him to the wall
where Keffs weight bench was stored. It slid noiselessly
out at knee level before the Noble Primitive who didn't
need to be told that that was where he was to lay Keffs
body.

'The only intelligent man on the planet," Carialle said
quietly to herself.

Brannel straightened up and took a good, long look at
the cabin, beginning to turn on his callused heels. As he
caught sight of the monitors showing various angles of the
crop field outside, and the close-up of his fellow Noble
Primitives crouched in a huddle at the cave mouth, he let
out a sound close to a derisive laugh.

Carialle turned her internal monitors to concentrate on
Keffs vital signs. Respiration had begun again and his eyes
twitched under their long-lashed lids.

Brannel started to walk the perimeter of the cabin. He
was careful to touch nothing, though occasionally he
leaned close and sniffed at a piece of equipment. At Keffs
exercise machines, he took a deeper breath and straight-
ened up with a snort and a puzzled look on his face.

'Thank you for your help, Brannel," Carialle said, using
the IT through her own speakers. "You can go now. Keff
will also thank you later."

Brannel showed no signs of being ready to depart. In
fact, he didn't seem to have heard her at all. He was wan-
dering around the main cabin with the light of wonder in
his eyes beginning to alter. Carialle didn't like the specula-
tive look on his face. She was grateful enough to die furry

male for rescuing Keff to let him have a brief tour of the
facilities, but no more than that.

Thank you, Brannel. Good-bye, Brannel," Carialle said,
her tone becoming more pointed. "You can go. Please.
Now. Go. Leave!"

Brannel heard the staccato words spoken by the mage's
familiar in a much less friendly tone than it had used to
coax him inside Keffs stronghold. He didn't want to leave
such a fascinating place. Many objects lured him to exam-
ine them, many small enough to be concealed in the hand.
Some of them might even be objects of power. Surely the
great mage would not miss a small one.

He focused on a flattened ovoid of shiny white the
size of his hand lying on a narrow shelf below a rack of
large stiff squares that looked to be made of wood. Even
the quickest glance at the white thing told him that it
had the five depressions of an item of power in its sur-
face. His breathing quickened as he reached out to pick
it up.

"No!" said the voice. That's my palette." Out of the wall
shot a hand made of black metal and slapped his wrist.
Surprised, he dropped the white thing. Before it hit the
floor, another black hand jumped away from the wall and
caught it. Brannel backed away as the lower hand passed
the white object to the upper hand, which replaced it on
the shelf.

Thwarted, Brannel looked around for another easily
portable item. Showing his long teeth in an ingratiating
smile and wondering where the unseen watcher was con-
cealed, he sidled purposefully toward another small device
on top of a table studded with sparkling lights. His hand
lifted, almost of its own vohtion, toward his objective.

"Oh, no, you don't," Carialle said firmly, startling him
into dropping Keffs pedometer back onto the monitor
board. She watched as he swiveled his head around, trying

to discover where she was. "Didn't anyone ever tell you
shoplifting is rude?"

He backed away, with his hands held ostentatiously
behind him.

"You're not going to leave on your own, are you?" Cari-
alle said. "Perhaps a little push is in order."

Starting at the far side of the main cabin, Carialle gener-
ated complex and sour sonic tones guaranteed to be
painful to humanoid ears. The male fell to his knees with
his hands over his ears, his sheep's face twisted into a ric-
tus. Carialle turned up the volume and purposefully began
to sweep the noise along her array of speakers toward the
airlock. Protesting, Brannel was driven, stumbling and
crawling, out onto the ramp. As soon as she turned off the
noise, he did an abrupt about-face and tried to rush back
in. She let loose with a loud burst like a thousand hives of
bees and slid the door shut in his face before he could
cross the threshold.

"Some people just do not know when to leave," Carialle
grumbled, as she ordered out a couple of servos to begin
first aid on Keff.

Driven out into the open air by the sharp sounds, Bran-
nel hurried away from the flying castle and over the hill.
On the other side of the field, the others were crouched in
a noisy conference, arms waving, probably discussing the
strange mage. No one paid any attention to him, which was
good. He had much to think about, and he was hungry.
He'd been forced to consume some of the woozy food. He
hoped he hadn't had enough to dull what he had learned
this day.

During his youth, when he had fallen ill with fever,
vomiting and headache, he had been unable to eat any of
the food provided by the overlords. His parents had an
argument that night about whether or not to beg Klemay

for medical help. Brannel's mother thought such a request
would be approved since Brannel was a sturdy lad and
would grow to be a strong worker. His father did not want
to ask, fearing punishment for approaching one of the high
ones. Brannel overheard the discussion, wondering if he
was going to die.

In the morning, the floating eye came from Klemay to
oversee the day's work. Brannel's mother did not go run-
ning out to abase herself before it. Though he was no
better, she seemed to have forgotten all about the urgency
of summoning help for him. She settled Brannel, swathed
in hides, at the edge of the field, and patted his leg affec-
tionately before beginning her duties. She had forgotten
her concern of the previous night. So had his father. Bran-
nel was not resentful. This was the way it had always been
with the people. The curious thing was that he remem-
bered. Yesterday had not disappeared into an
undifferentiated grayness of mist and memory. Everything
that he'd heard or seen was as clear to him as if it was still
happening. The only thing that was different between yes-
terday and the day before was that he had not eaten.

Thereafter, he had avoided eating the peoples food
whenever possible. He experimented with edible native
plants that grew down by the river, but lived mostly by
stealing raw vegetables and grain from standing crops or
from the plough-beasts' mangers. As a result, he grew big-
ger and stronger than any of his fellows. If his mother
remarked upon it at all, when the vague fuzz of memory
lifted, she was grateful mat she had produced a fine strong
big son to work for the overlord. His wits sharpened, and
anything he heard he remembered forever. He didn't want
to lose the gift by poisoning himself with the people's food.
So far, the mages had had no cause to suspect him of being
different from the rest of his village. And he was careful
not to be disobedient or bring himself to their attention.

The worst fate he could imagine was losing his clarity of
mind.

That clear mind now puzzled over Keff: was he or was
he not a mage? He possessed objects of power, but he
spoke no mage-talk. His house familiar knew none of their
language either, but it used the same means that Mage
Klemay did to drive him out, as the workers of his cave
were driven by hideous noises outside to work every day of
their lives. Keff seemed to have power yet he was struck
down all unaware by the mage-bolt. Could Keff not have
sensed it coming?

Once on the far side of the field, Brannel squeezed
between bushes to the slope that led to his hiding place
near the river. Observed only by a few green-balls, he ate
some raw roots from the supply that he had concealed
there in straw two nightfalls before. All the harvests had
been good this year. No one had noticed how many basket
loads he had removed, or if they had, they didn't remem-
ber. Their forgetfulness was to his advantage.

His hunger now satisfied, Brannel made his way back to
the cavern, to listen to the remarkable happenings of the
day, the new mage, and how the mage had been struck
down. No one thought to ask what had happened to this
mage and Brannel did not enlighten them. They'd have
forgotten in the morning anyway. When nights darkness
fell, they all swarmed back into the warm cave. As they
found their night places, Alteis looked at his son, his face
screwed as he tried to remember something he had
intended to ask Brannel, but gave up the effort after a long
moment.

a CHAPTER FOUR

At a casual glance, the council room of the High Mage
of the South appeared to be occupied by only one man,
Nokias himself, in the thronelike hover-chair in the center,
picked out by the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. Plen-
nafrey realized, as she directed her floating spy-eye to gaze
around the palatial chamber, that more presence and
power was represented there and then than almost any-
where else on Ozran. She was proud to be included in that
number allied to Nokias, proud but awed.

Closest to the rear of the hover-chair hung the simple
silver globes of his trusted chief servants, ready to serve the
High Mage, but also guarding him. They were die eyes in
the back of his head, not actual fleshly eyes as Plennafrey
had imagined when she was a child. Ranged in random
display about the great chamber were the more ornate
globe eyes of the mages and magesses. In the darkest cor-
ner hovered the sphere belonging to gloomy Howet.
Mage-height above all the others flew the spy-eye ofAse-
dow, glaring scornfully down on everyone else. Iranikas
red ball drifted near the huge open window that looked

87

out upon the mountain range, seemingly inattentive to the
High Mages discourse. Immediately before Nokias at eye
level floated the gleaming metallic pink and gold eye of
Potria, an ambitious and dangerous enchantress. As if
sensing her regard, Potrias spy-eye turned toward hers,
and Plennafrey turned hers just in time to be gazing at
High Mage Noldas before the mystical aperture focused.

At home in her fortress sanctuary many klicks distant,
Plenna felt her cheeks redden. It would not do to attract
attention, nor would her inexperience excuse an open act
of discourtesy. That was how mages died. For security, she
tightened her fingers and thumb in the five depressions on
her belt buckle, her personal object of power, and began to
draw from it the weblike framework of a spell that would
both protect her and injure or kill anyone who tried to
cross its boundaries as well as generate an atmosphere of
self-deprecation and effacement. Her magical defenses
were as great as any mages: lack of experience was her
weakness. Plennafrey was the most junior of all the mages,
the sole survivor of her family. She had taken her fathers
place only two years ago. Thankfully, Potria appeared not
to have taken offense, and the pink-gold spy-eye spun in
air to stare at each of its fellows in turn. Plenna directed
her blue-green spy eye to efface itself so as not to arouse
further notice, and let the spell stand down, inactive but
ready.

"We should move now to take over Klemays strong-
hold," Potrias mental voice announced. Musical as a hom
call, it had a strong, deep flavor that rumbled with mystic
force. On the walls, the mystic art of the ancients quivered
slightly, setting the patterns in motion within their deeply
carved frames.

"Counsel first. Lady Potria," Nokias said, mildly. He was
a lean, ruddy-faced man, not so tall as Plennafreys late
father, but with larger hands and feet out of proportion to

his small stature. His light brown eyes, wide and innocent,
belied the quick mind behind them. He snapped his long
fingers and a servant bearing a tray appeared before him.
The fur-face knelt at Nokiass feet and filled the exquisite
goblet with sparkling green wine. The High Mage of the
South appeared to study the liquid, as if seeking advice
within its emerald lights. "My good brother to the east,
Femgal, also has a claim on Klemays estate. After all, it
was his argument with our late brother that led to his prop-
erty becoming... available."

Silence fell in the room as the mages considered that
position.

"Klemays realm lies on the border between East and
South," said Asedows voice from the electric blue sphere.
"It belongs not to Femgal nor to us until one puts a claim
on it. Let us make sure the successful claim is ours!"

"Do you hope for such a swift promotion, taking right of
leadership like that?" Noldas asked mildly, setting down
the half-empty goblet and tapping die base with one great
hand. A mental murmur passed between some of the other
mages. Plenna knew, as all of them did, how ambitious
Asedow was. The man was not yet bold enough nor strong
enough to challenge Nokias for the seat of Mage of the
South. He had a tendency to charge into situations, not
watching his back as carefully as he might. Plennafrey had
overheard others saying that it probably wouldn't be long
before carrion birds were squabbling over Asedow's
property.

"Klemay carried a staff of power that drew most
strongly from the Core ofOzran," Asedow stated. "Long as
your forearm, with a knob on the end that looked like a
great red jewel. He could control the lightning with it. I
move to take possession of it."

"What you can take, you can keep," Nokias said. The
words were spoken quietly, yet they held as much threat as

a rumbling volcano. Even then, Asedow did not concede.
Unless he was baiting Noldas into a challenge, Plenna
thought, with a thrill of terror. Not now, when they were
facing a challenge from a rival faction! Cautiously, she
made her spy-eye dip toward the floor, where it would be
out of the way of flying strikes of power. She'd heard of
one mage crisped to ash and cinders by a blast sent
through his spy-eye.

Noldas was the only one who noticed her cautious
deployment and turned a kindly, amused glance in her
drones direction. She felt he could see her through its
contracting pupil as she really was: a lass of barely
twenty years, with a pixie s pointed chin and large, dark
eyes wide with alarm. Ashamed of showing weakness,
Plenna bravely levitated her eye to a level just slightly
below the level held by the others. Noldas began to
study a comer of the ceiling as if meditating on its rele-
vance to the subject at hand.

'There is something stirring in the East," Iranika said in
her gravelly mental voice, rose-colored spy-eye bobbing
with her efforts to keep it steady. She was an elderly
magess who lived at the extreme end of the southern
mountain range. Plennafrey had never met her in person,
nor was she likely to. The old woman stayed discreetly in
her well-guarded fortress lest her aging reflexes fail to stop
an assassination attempt. 'Twice now I have felt unusual
emanations in the ley lines. I suspect connivance, perhaps
an upcoming effort by the eastern powers to take over
some southern territory"

"I, too, have my suspicions," Noldas said, nodding.

Iranika snorted. 'The Mage of the East wants his realm
to spread out like sunrise and cover the whole of Ozran.
Action is required lest he thinks you weak. Some of you fly
on magic-back at once to Klemays mountain. The power
must be seized now! Strange portents are abroad."

"'Some of you' fly to the mountain? You will not be of
our number, sister?" Howet rumbled from his comer.

"Nay. I have no need of additional power, as some feel
they do," Iranika said, an unsubtie thrust at Asedow, who
ignored it since she sided with him to attack. "I have
enough. But I don't want Klemays trove falling into the
hands of the East by default."

"One might say the same about yours," Potria said
offensively. "Why, I should claim yours now before your
chair falls vacant, lest someone move upon it from the
West."

"You are welcome to try, girl," Iranika said, turning her
eye fully upon Potria s.

"Shall I show you how I'll do it?" Potria asked, her voice
ringing in the huge chamber. The pink-gold sphere
loomed toward the red. Both levitated toward the ceiling
as they threw threats back and forth.

Plenna's eyes-eye view wobbled as she prepared for
what looked like another contretemps between the two
women. As Asedow yearned for the seat of Mage of the
South, Potria craved Iranika's hoard of magical devices.
Though Noldas was the senior mage in this quarter, Plen-
nafrey had heard he held the seat only because Iranika
didn't want it. She wished she was as secure in her position
as the old woman. Plennafrey would have given a great
deal to know if old Iranika kept her place by right or by
bluff. If one was seen as weakening, one became an almost
certain victim of assassination, and one's items of power
would be gone even before the carrion birds arrived to cir-
cle around the corpse.

To achieve promotion in the hierarchy, a mage or
magess must challenge and win against senior enchanters.
Such battles were not always fatal, nor were they always
magical. Sometimes, such matters were accomplished by
suborning a mage's servants to steal artifacts that weakened

power to the point where the mage could be overcome by
devious means. Kills gave one more status. Plennafrey
knew that, but she was reluctant to take lives. Even
thoughts of theft and murder did not come easily to her,
though she was learning them as a plain matter of survival.
Another way to get promotion was to acquire magical
paraphernalia from a secret cache left by the Ancient Ones
or the Old Ones-such things were not unknown-or to
take them from a mage no longer using them. Plenna
wouldn't get much of Klemays hoard unless she was bold.
She was determined to claim something no matter what it
cost her.

The items of power that descended from the Ancient
Ones to the Old Ones and thence to the mages varied in
design, but all had the same property, the ability to draw
power from the Core of Ozran, the mystic source. There
seemed to be no particular pattern the Ancient Ones fol-
lowed in creating objects that channeled power: amulets,
rings, wands, maces, staves, and objects of mysterious
shape that had to be mounted in belts or bracelets to be
carried. Plennafrey had even heard of a gauntlet the shape
of an animals head. Nokias bore upon his wrist the Great
Ring of Ozran and also possessed amulets of varying and
strange shapes. His followers had fewer, but all these arti-
facts had one feature in common: the five depressions into
which one fit ones fingertips when issuing the mental or
verbal Words of Command.

"Enough bickering," Nokias said wearily. "Are we
agreed then? To take what we can of Klemays power?
What we find shall be shared between us according to sen-
iority." Nokias settled back, the look in his eyes indicating
he did not expect a challenge. "And strength."

"Agreed," the voice issued forth from Potrias spy-eye.

"Yes," boomed Howet.

"All right," Asedow agreed sourly.

"Yes." Plenna added her soft murmur, which was almost
unheard among the other equally low voices around the
great room.

Iranika alone remained silent, having had her say.

'Then the eyes have it," Nokias said, jovially, slapping
his huge hands together.

Plennafrey joined in the chorus of groans that echoed
through the chamber. That joke was old when the Ancient
Ones walked Ozran.

"How shall we do this thing. High Mage?" Potria asked.
"Open attack or stealth?"

"Stealth implies we have something to hide," Asedow
said at once. "Ancient treasures belong to anyone who can
claim and hold them. I say we go in force and challenge
Femgal openly."

"Ah!" Potria cried suddenly. "Femgal and the Easter-
lings are on the move at this very moment! I sense a
disruption in the lines of power in the debated lands!
Unusual emanations of power."

"Femgal would not dare!" Asedow declared.

"Wait," Noldas said, his brows drawn over thoughtful
eyes. His gaze grew unfocused. "I sense what you do,
Potria. Dyrene"-he raised a hand to one of his minions
hovering just behind her masters chair. "You have a spy-
eye in the vicinity. Investigate."

"I obey, High Mage," Dyrenes voice said. The young
woman was monitoring several eyes at once for Nokias, to
keep the High Mage from having to occupy his attention
with simple reconnaissance. "Hmm-hmmm! It is not
Femgal, magical ones. There is a silver cylinder in the crop
fields among the workers. It is huge, High Mage, as large
as a tower. I do not know how it got mere! There is a man
nearby and... I do not know this person."

Iranika cackled to herself. The other spy-eyes spun on
hers, pupils dilated to show the fury of their operators.

"You knew about it all the time, old woman," Potria said,
accusingly.

"I detected it many hours ago," Iranika said, madden-
ingly coy. "I told you there had been strange movement in
the ley lines, but did you listen? Did you think to check for
yourselves? I have been watching. The great silver cylinder
fell through the sly with fire at its base. A veritable flying
fortress. It is a power object of incredible force. The man
who came from within has been consorting with Klemays
peasants."

"He is not tied to the Core of Ozran," Nokias declared
after a moments concentration, "and so he is not a mage.
That will make him easy to capture. We will find out who
he is and whence he comes. Lend me your eyes, Dyrene.
Open to me."

"I obey, lord," the tinny voice said.

Concentrating on his target, the Mage of the South laid
his left hand across his right wrist to activate the Great
Ring, and raised both hands toward the window. A bolt of
crackling, scarlet fire lanced from his fingertips into the
sly.

"He falls, High Mage," Dyrene reported.

"I must see this stranger for myself," Iranika said. With-
out asking for leave, her spy-eye rose toward the great
window.

"Wait, high ones!" Dyrene called. "A peasant moves the
strangers body. He carries it toward the silver tower." After
a moment, when all the spy-eyes hovered around Dyrene s
sphere, "It is sealed inside."

Iranika groaned.

"I want this silver cylinder," Asedow said in great excite-
ment. "What forces it would command! High Mage, I
claim it!"

"I challenge you, Asedow," Potria shrilled at once. "I
claim both the tower and the being."

Other voices raised in the argument: some supporting
Potria, some Asedow, while there were even a few clamor-
ing for their right to take possession of the new artifacts.
Nokias ignored these. Potria and Asedow would be per-
mitted to make the initial attempt. Subsequent challengers
would take. on the winner, if Nokias himself did not claim
liege right to the prizes.

'The challenge is heard and witnessed," Nokias declared,
shouting over the din. He raised the hand holding the Great
Ring. With a squawk, Plenna sent her spy-eye to take refuge
underneath Nokias s floating chair and warded the windows
of her mountain home. Humming, scarlet power beams
lanced in through Nokias s open window, one from each of
the two mages in their mountain strongholds. They struck
together in a crashing explosion sealed by the Great Ring.
"And the contest begins."

All the eyes flew out of the arching stone casement
behind the challengers to have a look at the objects of con-
tention.

"It is bigger than huge," Plennafrey observed, spiraling
her eye around and around the silver tower. "How beauti-
ful it is!"

'There are runes inscribed here," Iranikas old voice
said. Plennafrey felt the faint pull of the old woman trying
to attract attention, and followed the impulse to the red
spy-eye floating near the broad base. "Come here and see.
I have not seen anything in all my archives which resemble
these."

"I spy, with my little eye, an enigma of huge and signifi-
cant proportions," Nokias said, his golden sphere hovering
behind them as they tried to puzzle out the runes.

"It is a marvelous illusion," Howet said, streaking back a
distance to take in the whole object. "How do I know this
isn't a great trick by Femgal? Metal and fire-thats no
miracle. High Mage. I can build something like this myself."

"It is most original in design," Noldas said.
"Femgal hasn't the imagination," Potria protested.
"Its lovely," Plenna said, admiring the smooth lines.
Iranika sputtered. "Lovely but useless!"
"How do you know?" Potria snapped.

While her servos were taking care of Keff, Carialle kept
vigil on the mountain range to the south. No rain was fall-
ing, so where had that lightning, if it was lightning, come
from? An electrical discharge of that much force had to
have a source. She didn't read anything appropriate in that
direction, not even a concentration of conductive ore in
the mountains that could act as a natural capacitor. The
fact that the bolt had fallen so neatly at Keffs feet sug-
gested deliberate action.

The air around her felt ionized, empty, almost brittle.
After the bolt had struck, the atmosphere slowly began
to return to normal, as if the elements were flowing like
water filling in where a stone had hit the surface of a
pond.

Her sensors picked up faint rumbling, and the air
around her drained again. This time she felt a wind blow-
ing hard toward the mountain range. Suddenly the scarlet
bolts struck again, two jagged spears converging on one
distant peak. Then, like smithereens scattering from under
a blacksmiths hammer, minute particles flew outward
from the point of impact toward her.

She focused quickly on the incoming missiles. They
were too regular in shape to be shards of rock, and also
appeared to be flying under their own power, even increas-
ing in speed. The analysis arrived only seconds before the
artifacts did, showing perfect spheres, smooth and vividly
colored, with one sector sliced off the front of each to show
a lenslike aperture. Strangely, she scanned no mechanisms
inside. They appeared to be hollow.

The spheres spiraled around and over her, as if some
fantastic juggler was keeping all those balls in the air at
once. Carialle became aware of faint, low-frequency trans-
missions. The spheres were sending data back to some
source. She plugged the IT into her external array.

Her first-assumption-that the data was meant only for
whatever had sent each-changed as she observed the
alternating-pattern of transmission and the faint responses
to the broadcasts from the nontransmitting spheres. They
were talking to each other. By pinning down the fre-
quency, she was able to hear voices.

Using what vocabulary and grammar Keff had recorded
from Brannel and the others, she tried to get a sense of the
conversation.

The IT left long, untranslatable gaps in the transcript.
The Ozran language was as complex as Standard. Keffhad
only barely begun to analyze its syntax and amass vocabu-
lary. Carialle recorded everything, whether she understood
it or not.

"Dam you, Keff, wake up," she said. This was his spe-
cialty. He knew how to tweak the IT, to adjust the
arcane device to the variables and parameters of lan-
guage. The snatches of words she did understand
tantalized her.

"Come here," one of the colored balls said to the others
in a high-pitched voice. "... (something) not . . . like
(untranslatable)."

"... (untranslatable) . . . how do ... know . . ." Carialle
heard a deep masculine voice say, followed by a word
Brannel had been using to refer to Keff, then another
unintelligible sentence.

"... (untranslatable)."

"How do you know?"

An entire sentence came through in clear translation.
Carialle perked up her audio sensors, straining to hear

more. She ordered the servo beside the weight bench to
nudge Keffs shoulder.

"Keff. Keff, wake up! I need you. You have to hear this.
Aargh!" She growled in frustration, the bass notes of her
voice vibrating die tannoy diaphragms. "We get a group of
uninhibited, fluent native speakers, situated who knows
where, and you're taking a nap!"

The strange power arcs that she had sensed when they
first landed were stronger now. Did that power support the
hollow spheres and make them function? Whoever was
running the system was using up massive power like air:

free, limitless, and easy. She found it hard to believe it
could be the indigenous Noble Primitives. They didn't
have anything more technologically advanced than beast
harness. Carialle should now look for a separate sect, the
"overlords" of this culture.

She scanned her planetary maps for a power source and
was thwarted once again by the lack of focus. The lines of
force seemed to be everywhere and anywhere, defying
analysis. If there had been less electromagnetic activity in
the atmosphere, it would have been easier. Its very abun-
dance prevented her from tracing it. Carialle was
fascinated but nervous. With Keff hurt, she'd rather study
the situation from a safer distance until she could figure
out who was controlling things, and what with.

No time to make a pretty takeoff. On command, Cari-
alle's servo robots threw their padded arms across Keffs
forehead, neck, chest, hips, and legs, securing him to the
weight bench. Carialle started launch procedures. None of
the Noble Primitives were outside, so she wouldn't scare
them or fry them when she took off. The flying eye-balls
would have to shift for themselves. She kicked the engines
to launch.

Everything was go and on green. Only she wasn't
moving.

Increasing power almost to the red line, she felt the
heat of her thrusters as they started to slag the mineral-
heavy clay under her landing gear, but she hadn't risen a
centimeter.

"What kind of fardling place is this?" Carialle
demanded. "What's holding me?" She shut down thrust,
then gunned it again, hoping to break free of the invisible
bonds. Shut down, thrust! Shut down, thrust! No go. She
was trapped. She felt a rising panic and sharply put it down.
Reality check: this could not be happening to a ship other
capabilities.

Carialle ran through a complete diagnostic and found
every system normal. She found it hard to believe what her
systems told her. She could detect no power plant on this
planet, certainly not one strong enough to hold her with
thrusters on full blast. She should at least have felt a twitch
as such power cut in. Some incredible alien force of
unknown potency was holding her surface-bound.

"No," she whispered. "Not again."

Objectively, the concept of such huge, wild power con-
trolled with such ease fascinated the unemotional,
calculating part of Carialle's mind. Subjectively, she was
frightened. She cut her engines and let them cool.

Rescue from this situation seemed unlikely. Not even
Simeon had known their exact destination. Sector R was
large and unexplored. Nevertheless, she told herself
staunchly, Central Worlds had to be warned about the
power anomaly so no one else would make the mistake of
setting down on this planet. She readied an emergency
drone and prepared it to launch, filling its small memory
with all the data she and Keff had already gathered about
Ozran. She opened the small drone hatch and launched it.
Its jets did not ignite. The invisible force held it as firmly as
it did her.

Frequency analysis showed that an uncapsuled mayday

was unlikely to penetrate the ambient electromagnetic
noise. Even if she could have gotten one in orbit, who was
likely to hear it in the next hundred years? She and Keff
were on their own.

"Ooooh." A heartfelt groan from the exercise equip-
ment announced Keffs return to consciousness.

"How do you feel?" she asked, switching voice location
to the speaker nearest him.

"Horrible." Keff started to sit up but immediately
regretted any upward movement. A sharp, seemingly
pointed pain like a saw was attempting to remove the rear
of his skull. He put a hand to the back of his head, clamped
his eyes shut, then opened them as wide as he could, hop-
ing to dispel his fuzzy vision. His eyelids felt thick and
gritty. He took a few deep breaths and began to shiver.
"Why is it cold in here, Can? I'm chilled to the bone."

"Ambient temperature of this planet is uncomfortably
low for humans," Carialle said, brisk with relief at his
recovery.

"Brrr! You're telling me!" Keff slid his legs around and
put his feet on the ground. His sight cleared and he real-
ized that he was sitting on his weight bench. Carialles
servos waited respectfully a few paces away. "How did I get
in here? The last thing I remember was talking to Brannel
out in the field. What's happened?"

"Brannel brought you in, my poor wounded knight. Are
you sure you're well enough to comprehend all?" Carialle s
voice sounded light and casual, but Keff wasn't fooled. She
was very upset.

The first thing to do was to dissolve the headache and
restore his energy. Pulling an exercise towel over his shoul-
ders like a cape and moving slowly so as not to jar his head
more than necessary, Keff got to the food synthesizer.

"Hangover cure number five, and a high-carb warm-
up," he ordered. The synthesizer whirred obediently. He

drank what appeared in the hatch and shuddered as it
oozed down to his stomach. He burped. "I needed that.
And I need some food, too. Warm, high protein.

"While I replenish myself, tell all, fair lady," Keff said. "I
can take it." With far more confidence than he felt, he
smiled at her central pillar and waited.

"Now, let's see, where were we?" she began in a tone
that was firm enough, but his long association with Carialle
told him that she was considerably agitated. "You got hit by
scarlet lightning. Not, I think, a natural phenomenon, since
none of the necessary meteorological conditions existed.
There's also the problem with its accuracy, landing right at
your feet and knocking you, and you only, unconscious. I
refuse to entertain coincidence. Someone shot that lighting
right at you! I persuaded Brannel to bring you inside."

"You did?" Keff was admiring, knowing how little of the
language she would have had to do any persuading.

"After he scooted, and not without persuasion, I add for
accuracy's sake, we had a plague of what I would normally
class as reconnaissance drones, except they have no per-
ceptible internal mechanisms whatsoever, not even flight
or anti-grav gear." Carialles screens shifted to views of the
outside, telephoto and close-angle. Small, colored spheres
hovered at some distance, flat apertures all facing the
brainship.

"Someone has very pretty eyes," Keff said with interest.
"No visible means of support, as you say. Curious." The
buzzer sounded on the food hatch, and he retrieved the
large, steaming bowl. "Ahhh!"

On the screen, a waveguide graph showing frequency
modulation had been added beside the image of each
drone. The various sound levels rose and fell in patterns.

"Here's what I picked up on the supersonics."

"Such low frequencies," Keff said, reading the graphs.
'They can't be transmitting very sophisticated data."

'The/re broadcasting voice signals to one another,"
Carialle said. "I ran the tapes through IT, and here's what I
got." She played the datafile at slightly higher than normal
speed to get through it all. Keffs eyebrows went up at the
full sentence in clear Standard. He went to the console
where Carialle had allowed him to install IT'S mainframe
and fiddled with the controls.

"Hmm! More vocabulary, verbs, and I dare to suggest
we've got a few colloquialisms or ejaculations, though I've
no referents to translate them fully. This is a pretty how-
de-do, isn't it? Whoever's running these artifacts is
undoubtedly responsible for the unexpected power emis-
sions the freighter captain reported to Simeon." He
straightened up and cocked his head wryly at Carialle s pil-
lar. ''Well, my lady, I don't fancy sneak attacks with
high-powered weapons. I'd rather not sit and analyze lan-
guage in the middle of a war zone. Since we're not armed
for this party, why don't we take off, and file a partial report
on Ozran to be completed by somebody with better
shields?"

Carialle made an exasperated noise. T would take off in
a Jovian second, but we are being held in place by a tractor
beam of some kind. I can read neither the source nor the
direction the power is coming from. It's completely impos-
sible, but I can't move a centimeter. I've been burning fuel
trying to take off over and over-and you know we don't
have reserves to spare."

Keff finished his meal and put the crockery into the syn-
thesizers hatch. With food in his belly, he felt himself
again. His head had ceased to revolve, and the cold had
receded from his bones and muscles.

'That's why I'm your brawn," he said, lightly. "I go and
find out these things."

"Sacrificing yourself again, Keff? To pairs of roving
eyes?" Carialle tried to sound flip, but Keff wasn't fooled.

He smiled winningly at her central pillar. All his protective
instincts were awake and functioning.

"You are my lady," he said, with a gallant gesture. "I seek
the object of my quest to lay at your feet. In this case,
information. Perhaps an Ozran's metabolism only gets a
minor shock,when touched with this mystical power beam.
We don't know that the folk on the other end are hostile."

"Anything that ties my tail down is hostile."

"You shall not be held in durance vile while I, your
champion, live." Keff picked up the portable IT unit,
checked it for damage, and slung it around his chest. "At
least I can find Brannel and ask him what hit me."

"Don't be hasty," Carialle urged. On the main screen
she displayed her recording of the attack on Keff. 'The
equation has changed. We've gone suddenly from dealing
with indigenous peasantry at no level of technology to an
unknown life-form with a higher technology than we have.
This is what you're up against."

Keff sat back down and concentrated on the screen,
running the frames back and forth one at a time, then at
speed.

"Good! Now I know what I need to ask about," he
said, pointing. "Do you see that? Brannel knew what the
lightning was, he knew it was coming, and he got out of
its way. Look at those reflexes! Hmmm. The bolt came
from the mountains to the south. Southwest. I wonder
what the terms are for compass directions in Ozran? I
can draw him a compass rose in the dust, with planetary
sunrise for east..."

Carialle interrupted him by filling the main cabin with a
siren wail.

"Keff, you're not listening. It might be too dangerous.
To unknown powers who can-tie up a full-size spaceship,
one human male isn't a threat. And they've downed you
once already."

"Its not that easy to kill Von Scoyk-Larsens," Keff said,
smiling. 'They may be surprised I'm still moving around.
Or as I said, perhaps they didn't think the red bolt would
affect me the way it did. In any case, can you think of a way
to get us out of here unless I do?"

Carialle sighed. "Okay, okay, gird your manly loins and
join the fray, Sir Galahad! But if you fall down and break
both your legs don't come running to me."

"Nay, my lady," Keff said with a grin and a salute to her
titanium pillar. "With my shield or upon it. Back soon."

a CHAPTER FIVE

Keff walked into the airlock. He twitched down his
tunic, checked his equipment, and concentrated on loos-
ening his muscles one at a time until he stood poised and
ready on the balls of his feet. With one final deep breath
for confidence, he nodded to Carialles camera and
stepped forward.

Regretting more every second that she had been talked
into his proposed course of action, Carialle slid open her
airlock and dropped the ramp slowly to the ground. As she
suspected, the flying eyes drifted closer to see what was
going on. She fretted, wondering if they were capable of
shooting at Keff. He had no shields, but he was right: if he
didn't find the solution, they'd never be able to leave this
place.

Keff walked out to the top of the ramp and held out
both hands, palms up, to the levitating spheres. "I come in
peace," he said.

The spheres surged forward in one great mass, then
flit!, they disappeared in the direction of the distant
mountains.

105

'That's rung the bell," Keffsaid, with satisfaction. "Spies
of the evil wizard, my lady, cannot stand where good
walks."

A whining alarm sounded. Carialle read her monitors.
"Do you feel it? The mean humidity of the immediate
atmosphere has dropped. Those arching lines of stray
power I felt crisscrossing overhead are strengthening
directly above us. Power surge building, building..."

T feel it," Keff said, licldng dry lips. "My nape hair is
standing up. Look!" he shouted, his voice ringing. "Here
come our visitors!"

Nothing existed beyond three hundred meters away,
but from that distance at point south-southwest, two
objects came hurtling out of nonexistence one after the
other, gaining dimensionality as they neared Carialle, until
she could see them clearly. It took Keff a few long millisec-
onds more, but he gasped when his eyes caught sight of
the new arrivals.

"Not the drones again," Keffsaid. "Its our wizard!"
"Not a wizard," Carialle corrected him. 'Two."
Keff nodded as the second one exploded into sight after
the first. 'They're not Noble Primitives. They're another
species entirely." He gawked. "Look at them, Cari! Actual
humanoids, just like us!"

Carialle zoomed her lenses in for a good look. For once
KefFs wishful thinking had come true. The visitor closest
to Carialle's video pickup could have been any
middle-aged man on any of the Central Worlds. Unlike
the cave-dwelling farmers, the visitor had smooth facial
skin with neither pelt, nor beard, nor mustache; and the
hands were equipped with four fingers and an opposable

thumb.

"Extraordinary. Vital signs, pulse elevated at eighty-five
beats per minute, to judge by human standards from the
flushed complexion and his expression. He's panting and

cursing about something. Respiration between forty and
sixty," Carialle reported through KefFs mastoid implant.

"Just like humans in stress!" Keff repeated, beatifically.

"So were Brannel and his people," Carialle replied,
overlaying charts on her screen for comparison. "Except
for superficial differences in appearance, this male and our
Noble Primitives are alike. That's interesting. Did this new
species evolve from the first group? If so, why didn't the
Noble Primitive line dead-end? They should have ceased
to exist when a superior mutation arose. And if the bald-
faced ones evolved from the hairy ones, why are there so
many different configurations of Noble Primitives like
sheep, dogs, cats, and camels?"

'That's something I can ask them," Keff said, now sub-
vocalizing as the first airborne rider neared him. He
started to signal to the newcomer.

The barefaced male exhibited the haughty mien of one
who expected to be treated as a superior being. He had
beautiful, long-fingered hands folded over a slight belly
indicative of a sedentary lifestyle and good food. Upright
and dignified, he rode in an ornate contraption which
resembled a chair with a toboggan runner for a base. In
profile, it was an uncial "h" with an extended and flared
bottom serif, a chariot without horses. Like the metal
globes that had heralded the visitors' arrival, the dark
green chair hovered meters above the ground with no vis-
ible means of propulsion.

"What is holding that up?" Keff asked. "Skyhooks?"
"Sheer, bloody, pure power," Carialle said. 'Though, by
the shell that preserves me, I can't see how he's manipulat-
ing it. He hasn't moved an extra muscle, but he's
maneuvering like a space jockey."

"Psi," Keff said. 'They've exhibited teleportation, and
now telekinesis. Super psi. All the mentat races human-
kind has encountered in the galaxy rolled together aren't as

strong as these people. And they're so like humans. Hey,
friend!" Keff waved an arm.

Paying no attention to Keff, the sledlike throne veered
close to Carialle s skin and then spun on its axis to face the
pink-gold chariot that followed, making the occupant of
that one pull up sharply to avoid a midair collision. She sat
up tall in her seat, eyes blazing with blue-green fire, waves
of crisp bronze hair almost crackling with fury about her
set face. Her slim figure attired in floating robes of ochre
and gold chiffon, she seemed an ethereal being, except for
her expression of extreme annoyance. She waved her long,
thin hands in complex gestures and the man responded
sneeringly in land. Keffs mouth had dropped open.

"More sign language," Carialle said, watching the
woman's gestures with a critical eye. "New symbols. IT
didn't have them in the glossary before."

"I'm in love," Keff said, dreamily. "Or at least in lust.

Who is she?"

"I don't know, but she and that male are angry at each
other. They're fighting over something."

"I hope she wins." Keff sighed, making mooncalf eyes at
the new arrival. "She sure is beautiful. That's some figure
she's got. And that hair! Just the same color as her skin.
Wonderful." The female sailed overhead and Keffs eyes lit
up as he detected a lingering scent. "And she's wearing the
most delicious perfume."

Carialle noted the rise in his circulation and respiration
and cleared her throat impatiently.

"Keff! She's an indigenous inhabitant of a planet we
happen to be studying. Please disengage fifteen-year-old
hormones and re-enable forty-five-year-old brain. We
need to figure out who they are so we can free my tail and
get off this planet."

"I can't compartmentalize as easily as you can," Keff
grumbled. "Can I help it if I appreciate an attractive lady?"

"I'm no more immune to beauty than you are," Carialle
reminded him. "But if she's responsible for our troubles, I
want to know why. I particularly want to know how\"

Across the field, some of the Noble Primitives had
emerged from their burrow. Stooping in postures indica-
tive of respect and healthy fear, they scurried toward the
floating chairs, halting some distance away. Keff noticed
Brannel among them, standing more erect than any of the
others. Still defying authority, Keff thought, with wry
admiration.

"Do you want to ask him what's going on?" Carialle said
through the implant.

"Remember what he said about being punished for
curiosity," Keff reminded her. 'These are the people he's
afraid of. If I single him out, he's in for it. I'll catch him
later for a private talk."

The elder, Alteis, approached and bowed low to the two
chair-holders. They ignored him, continuing to circle at ten
meters, calling out at one another.

"I knew I could not trust you to wait for Nokias to lead
us here, Asedow," Potria shouted angrily. "One day, your
eagerness to thrust out your hand for power will result in
having it cut off at the shoulder."

"You taunt me for breaking the rules when you also
didn't wait," Asedow retorted. "Where s Nokias, then?"

"I couldn't let you claim by default," Potria said, "so your
action forced me to follow at once. Now that I am here, I
restate that I should possess the silver cylinder and the
being inside. I will use it with greater responsibility than
you."

'The Ancient Ones would laugh at your disingenuous-
ness, Potria," Asedow said, scornfully. "You want them just
to keep them from me. I declare," he shouted to the skies,
"that I am the legitimate keeper of these artifacts sent

down through the ages to me, and by my hope of promo-
tion, I will use them wisely and well."

Potria circled Asedow, trying to get nearer to the great
cylinder, but he cut her off again and again. She directed
her chair to fly up and over him. He veered upward in a
flash, cackling maddeningly. She hated him, hated him for
thwarting her. At one time they had been friends, even
toyed with the idea of becoming lovers. She had hoped
that they could have been allies, taking power from Nokias
and that bitch Iranika and ruling the South between them
despite the fact that the first laws of the First Mages said
only one might lead. She and Asedow could never agree
on who that would be. As now, he wouldn't support her
claim, and she wouldn't support his. So they were forced
to follow archaic laws whose reasoning was laid down
thousands of years ago and might never be changed. The
two of them were set against one another like mad vermin
in a too-small cage. She or Asedow must conquer, must be
the clear winner in the final contest. Potria had
determined in her deepest heart that she would be the

victor.

The rustle in her mystic hearing told her that Asedow
was gathering power from the ley lines for an attack. He
had but to chase her away or knock her unconscious, and
the contest was his. Killing was unnecessary and would
only serve to make High Mage Nokias angry by depriving
him of a strong subject and ally. Potria began to wind in the
threads of power between her fingers, gathering and gath-
ering until she had a web large enough to throw over him.
It would contain the force of Asedow s spell and knock him

out.

'That one is unworthy," she heard Asedow call out. "Let

me win, not her!"

Stretching the smothering web on her thumbs, she
spread out her arms wide in the prayer sign, hands upright

and palms properly turned in toward her to contain the
blessing.

"In the name ofUreth, the Mother World of Paradise, I
call all powers to serve me in this battle," she chanted.

Asedow flashed past her in his chariot, throwing his
spell. Raising herself, Potria dropped her spread counter-
spell on top of him and laughed as his own blast of power
caught him. His chair wobbled unsteadily to a halt a hun-
dred meters distant. His cursing was audible and he was
very angry. He switched his chair about on its axis. She saw
his face, dark with blood as a thundercloud. He panted
heavily.

'Thought you would have an easy win, did you?" Potria
called, tauntingly. She began to ready an attack other own.
Something not fatal but appropriate.

She felt disturbances in the ether. More mages were
coming, probably attracted by the buildup of power in this
barren, uninteresting place. Potria changed the character
of the cantrip she was molding. If she was to have an audi-
ence, she would give a good show and make a proper fool
of Asedow.

By now, her opponent hovered invisible in a spell-
cloud of dark green smoke that roiled and rumbled.
Potria fancied she even saw miniature lightnings flash
within its depths. He, too, had observed the arrival of
more of their magical brethren, and it made him impa-
tient. He struck while his spell was still insufficiently
prepared. Potria laughed and raised a single, slim hand,
fingers spread. The force bounced off the globe of pro-
tection she had wrought about herself, rushed outward,
and exploded on contact with the nearest solid object, a
tree, setting it ablaze. Some of it rebounded upon Ase-
dow, shaking his chariot so hard that he nearly lost
control of it.

Having warded offAsedow's pathetic attack, Potria stole

a swift look at the newly arrived mages. They were all
minor lights from the East, probably upset that she and
Asedow had crossed the border into their putative realm.
By convention, they were bound to stay out of the middle
of a fairly joined battle, and so they hovered on the side-
lines, swearing about me invasion by southern mages. So
long as they kept out of her way until she won, she didn't
care what they thought other.

Keff saw the five new arrivals blink into existence, well
beyond the battleground. The first two came to such a
screeching halt that he wondered if they had hurried to the
scene at a dead run and were having trouble braking. The
others proceeded with more caution toward the circling

combatants.

'The first arrivals remind me of something," Keff said,

"but I can't put my finger on what. Great effect, that sud-
den stop!"

"It looked like Singularity Drive," Carialle said, critically.

"Interesting that they've duplicated the effect unprotected
and in atmosphere."

'That's big magic," Keff said.

The new five were no sooner at the edge of the field
than the magiman and magiwoman let off their latest vol-
ley at each other.

Smoke exploded in a plume from the green storm
cloud. It was shot along its expanse with lightning and
booms of thunder. Enwrapping the magiwoman in its
snakelike coils, it closed into a murky sphere with the
golden female at its center. Lights flashed inside and Keff
heard a scream. Whether it was fury, fear, or pain he

couldn't determine.

Suddenly, the sphere broke apart. The smoke dissipated

on the evening sly, leaving the female free. Her hair had
escaped from its elegant coif and stood out in crackling

tendrils. The shoulder of her robe was burned away,
showing the tawny flesh beneath. Eyes sparking, she
levitated upward, arms gathering and gathering armfuls of
nothing to her breast. Her hands chopped forward, and
lightning, liquid electricity, flew at her opponent.

The male crossed his forearms before himself in a ges-
ture intended to ward away the attack, but only managed
to deflect some of it. Tiny fingers of white heat peppered
his legs and the runner of his chair, burning holes in his
robe and scorching the vehicles ornamentation. In order
to escape, he had to move away from Carialle toward the
open fields, where the lightning ceased to pursue him. Tri-
umphantly, the female sailed in and spiraled around the
brainship in a kind of victory lap. In front of the ship, a
translucent brick wall built itself up row by row, until it was
as tall as Carialle herself.

Keff stared.

"Are they fighting over us?" he asked in disbelief.

Carialle took umbrage at the suggestion. "How dare
they?" she said. 'This is my ship, not the competition
trophy!"

The male did not intend to give up easily. As soon as the
cloud of lightning was gone, he headed back toward the
ship. Between his hands a blue-white globe was forming.
He threw it directly at the brick wall and the enchantress
behind it.

The female was insufficiently prepared and the ball
caught her in the belly. It knocked her chair back hundreds
of meters, past the hovering strangers who hastily shifted
out of her way. The illusory wall vanished. With a cry, the
female flew in, arching her fingers like a cats claws. Scarlet
fire shot from each one, focusing on the male. His chair
bounced up in the air and turned a full loop. Miraculously,
he kept his seat. He tried to regain his original position
near Carialle.

'They are fighting over me. The unmitigated gall of the
creatures!"

At the first sign of mystic lightning, the workers had
judiciously fled to a safe distance from which they avidly
watched the batde. Ignoring Alteiss hissed commands to
keep his head down, Brannel watched the overlords
hungrily, as his eyes had earlier fed on Keff. Maybe tills
time a miracle would occur and one of them would drop
an object of power. In the confusion of batde, it would go
unnoticed until he, Brannel, dove for it and made it his
own. Mere possession of an object of power might not
make one a mage, but he wanted to find out. All his life he
had cherished dreams of learning to fly or control

lightning.

The odds against his success were immense. The mages
were the mages, and the workers were the workers, to live,
die, or serve at the whim of their overlords, never permit-
ted to look above their lowly station. Until today, when
Mage Keff arrived out of the sky, Brannel had never
thought there was a third way of life. The stranger was not
a mage by Ozran standards, since the overlords were fight-
ing over him as if he wasn't there; but he was certainly not
a worker. He must be something in between, a stepping
stone from peasant to power. Brannel knew Keff could
help him rise above his lowborn status and gain a place
among mages, but how to win his favor and his aid? He
had already been of service to Mage Keff. Perhaps he
could render other services, provided that Keff survived
the contest going on above his head.

Brannel had recognized Magess Potria and Mage Ase-
dow by their colors while his peers were too afraid to lift
their heads out of the dust. He'd give his heart and the rest
of his fingers to be able to spin spells as they did. In spite
of the damage that the combatants were doing to one

another, not a tendril of smoke nor a tongue of flame had
even come close to Keff, who was watching the battle rage
calmly and without fear. Brannel admired the strangers
courage. Keff would be a powerful mentor. Together they
would fight the current order, letting worthy ones from the
lowest caste ascend to rule as their intelligence merited.
That is, if Keff survived the war in which he was one of the
prizes.

"A world of wizards, my lady!" Keff chortled gleefully to
Carialle. 'They're doing magic! No wonder you can't find a
power source. There isn't one. This is pure evocation of
power from the astral plane of the galaxy."

The beautiful woman zipped past him in her floating
chair, hands busy between making signs and spells. He
adjusted IT to register all motions and divide them
between language and ritual by repeat usage and context.
He was also picking up on a second spoken language or
dialect. IT had informed him that Brannel had used some
of the terms, and Keff wondered at the linguistic shift from
one species to the other.

"Magical evocation is hardly scientific, Keff," Carialle
reminded him. 'They're getting power from somewhere,
that's for sure. I can even follow some of the buildup a
short way out, but then I lose it in the random emana-
tions."

"It comes from the ether," Keff said, rapt. "It's magic."

"Stop calling it that. We're not playing the game now,"
Carialle said sharply. "We're witnessing sophisticated
manipulation of power, not abracadabra-something-out-of-
nothing."

"Look at it logically," Keff said, watching the male lob a
hand-sized ball of flame over his head at his opponent.
"How else would you explain being able to fly without
engines or to appear in midair?"

2~1<WM> i.fAUV-'iyi I <-/M  <^ -/<-/M'l/

'Telekinesis."

"And how about knitting lightning between your hands?
Or causing smoke and fireballs without fuel? This is the
stuff of legends. Magic."

"Its sophisticated legerdemain, I'll grant that much, but
there's a logical explanation, too."

Keff laughed. 'There is a logical explanation. We've dis-
covered a planet where the laws of magic are the laws of
science."

"Well, there's physics, anyhow," Carialle said. "Our
magimen up there are beginning to fatigue. Their energy
levels aren't infinite."

Ripostes and return attacks were slowing down. The
magiwoman maintained an expression of grim amusement
throughout the conflict, while the magiman couldn't dis-
guise his annoyance.

As if attracted by the conflict, a bunch of globe-frogs
appeared out of the brushy undergrowth at the edge of the
crop fields. They rolled into the midst of the Noble Primi-
tives, who were huddled into the gap, watching the aerial
battle. The indigenes avoided contact with the small crea-
tures by kicking out at them so that the globes turned
away. The little group trundled their conveyances labori-
ously out into the open and paused underneath the
sky-bome battle. Keff watched their bright black eyes
focus on the combatants. They seemed fascinated.

"Look, Carialle," Keff said, directing his contact-button
camera toward them. "Are they attracted by motion, or
light? You'd think they'd be afraid of violent beings much
larger than themselves."

"Perhaps they are attracted to power, like moths to a
candle flame," Carialle said, "although, mind you, I've
never seen moths or candles in person. I'm not an expert
in animal behaviorism, but I don't think the attraction is
unusual. Incautious, to the point of self-destructive,

perhaps. Either of our psi-users up there could wipe them
out with less power than it would take to hold up those
chairs."

The two mages, sailing past, parrying one another's
magic bolts and making their own thrusts, ignored the
cluster which trailed them around the field. At last the lit-
tle creatures gave up their hopeless pursuit, and rolled in a
group toward Keff and Carialle.

'Tour animal magnetism operating again," Carialle
noted. The globe-frogs, paddling hard on the inner wall of
their spherelike conveyances with their oversize paws,
steered over the rocky ground and up the ramp, making
for the inside of the ship. "Ooops, wait a minute! You can't
come in here. Out!" she said, in full voice on her hatchway
speakers. "Scat!"

The frogs ignored her. She tracked them with her inter-
nal cameras and directed her servos into the airlock to
herd them out the door again. The frogs made a few deter-
mined tries to get past the low-built robots. Thwarted, they
reversed position inside their globes and paddled the other
way.

"Pests," Carialle said. "Is everyone on this planet intent
on a free tour of my interior?"

The globe-frogs rolled noisily down the ramp and off
the rise toward the underbrush at the opposite end of the
clearing. Keff watched them disappear.

"I wonder if they're just attracted to any vibrations or
emissions," he said.

"Could be- Heads up!" Carialle trumpeted suddenly
She put her servos into full reverse to get them out of
Keffs way Without waiting to ask why or what, Keff dove
sideways into Carialle's hatch and hit the floor. A split
second later, he felt a flamethrowerlike blast of heat
almost singe his cheek. If he'd remained standing where
he was, he'd have gotten a faceful of fire.

'They're out of control! Get in here!" Carialle cried.

Keff complied. The battle had become more serious,
and the magic-users had given up caring where their bolts
hit. Another spell flared out of the tips of the woman's fin-
gers at the male, only a dozen meters from Keff.

The brawn tucked and rolled through the inner door.
Carialle slid the airlock door shut almost on his heels. Keff
heard a whine of stressed metal as something else hit the
side of the ship.

"Yow!" Carialle protested. That blast was cold! How are
they doing that?"

Keff ran to the central cabin viewscreens and dropped
into his crash seat.

"Full view, please, Cari!"

The brain obliged, filling the three surrounding walls
with a 270# panorama.

Keff spun his pilots couch to follow the green contrail
across the sky, as the male magician retreated to the far
end of the combat zone. He looked frustrated. The last,
unsuccessful blast that hit Carialles flank must have been
his. The female, beautiful, powerful, sitting up high in her
chair, prepared another attack with busy hands. Her green
eyes were dulling, as if she didn't care where her strike
might land. The five magimen on the sidelines looked
bored and angry, just barely restraining themselves from
interfering. The battle would end soon, one way or
another.

Even inside the ship, Keff felt the sudden change in the
atmosphere. His hair, including his eyebrows and eye-
lashes and the hair on his arms, crackled with static.
Something momentous was imminent. He leaned in
toward the central screen.

Out of nothingness, three new arrivals in hover-chairs
blinked into the heart of the battle zone. Inadvertentiy
Keff recoiled against the back of his chair.

Tow! They mean business," Carialle said. "No hundred
meters of clearance space. Just smack, right into the mid-
dle."

The spells the combatants were building dissipated like
colored smoke on the wind. Carialle's gauges showed a
distinct drop in the electromagnetic fields. The mage and
magess dropped their hands stiffly onto their chair arms
and glared at the obstacles now hovering between them. If
looks could have ignited rocket fuel, the thwarted
combatants would have set Carialles tanks ablaze.
Whatever was powering them had been cut off by the
three in the center.

"Uh-oh. The Big Mountain Men are here," Keff said,
flippantly, his face guarded.

The newcomers' chairs were bigger and gaudier than
any Keff and Carialle had yet seen. A host of smaller seats,
containing lesser magicians, popped in to hover at a
respectful distance outside the circle. Their presence was
ignored by the three males who were obviously about to
discipline the combatants.

"Introductions," Keff said, monitoring IT. "High and
mighty. The lad in the gold is Nokias, the one in black is
Femgal, and the silver one in the middle who looks so
nervous is Chaumel. He's a diplomat."

Carialle observed the placatory gestures of the mage in
the silver chair. T don't think that Femgal and Nokias like
each other much."

But Chaumel, nodding and smiling, floated suavely back
and forth between the gold and black in his silver chair and
managed to persuade them to nod at one another with
civility if not friendliness. The lesser magicians promptly
polarized into two groups, reflecting their loyalties.

"Compliments to the Big Mountain Men from my
pretty lady and her friend," Keff continued. "She's Potria,
and he's Asedow. One of the sideliners says they were

something-bold? cocky?-to come here. Aha, that's what
that word Brannel used meant: forbidden! That gives me
some roots for some of the other things they're saying. I'll
have to backtrack the datahedrons-I think a territorial

dispute is going on."

Nokias and Femgal each spoke at some length. Keff

was able to translate a few of the compliments the magi-
men paid to each other.

"Something about high mountains," he said, running IT

over contextual data. "Yes, I think that repeated word must
be 'power,' so Femgal is referring to Nokias as having
power as high, I mean, strong as the high mountains and
deep as its roots." He laughed. "It's the same pun we have
in Standard, Cari. He used the same word Brannel used
for the food 'roots.' The farmers and the magicians do use
two different dialects, but they're related. It's the cognitive
differences I find fascinating. Completely alien to any lan-
guage in my databanks."

"All this intellectual analysis is very amusing," Carialle
said, "but what are they saying? And more to the point,

how does it affect us?'

She shifted cameras to pick up Potria and Asedow on
separate screens. After the speeches by me two principals,
the original combatants were allowed their say, which they
had with many interruptions from the other and much

pointing towards Carialle.

'Those are definitively possessive gestures," Keff said

uneasily.

"No one puts a claim on my ship," Carialle said firmly.

"Which one of them has a tractor beam on me? I want it

off."

Keff listened to the translator and shook his head. "Nei-
ther one did it, I think. It may be a natural phenomenon."
'Then why isn't it grounding any of those chairs?"
"Cari, we don't know that's what is happening."

"I have a pretty well-developed sense of survival, and
that's exactly what its telling me."

"Well, then, we'll tell them you own your ship, and they
can't have it," Keff said, reasonably. "Wait, the diplomats
talking."

The silver-robed magician had his hands raised for
attention and spoke to the assemblage at some length, only
glancing over his shoulder occasionally. Asedow and Potria
stopped shouting at each other, and the other two Big
Mountain Men looked thoughtful. Keff tilted his head in
amusement.

"Look at that: Chaumel's got them all calmed down. Say,
he's coming this way."

The silver chariot left the others and floated toward
Carialle, settling delicately a dozen feet from the end of
the ramp. The two camps of magicians hovered expec-
tantly over the middle of the field, with expressions that
ranged from nervous curiosity to open avarice. The magi-
cian rose and walked off the end of the chairs finial to
stand beside it. Hands folded over his belly, he bowed to
the ship.

"So they can stand," Carialle said. "I gather from the
shock on the faces of our Noble Primitives over there that
that's unusual. I guess these magicians don't go around on
foot very often."

"No, indeed. When you have mystic powers from the
astral plane, I suppose auto-ambulatoly locomotion is rele-
gated to the peasants."

"He's waiting for something. Does he expect us to signal
him? Invite him in for tea?"

Keff peered closely at Chaumel's image. "I think we'd
better wait and let him make the first move. Ah! He's com-
ing to pay us a visit. A state visit, my lady."

Chaumel got over his internal debate and, with solemn
dignity, made his way to the end of the ramp, every step

slow and ponderous. He reached the tip and paused, bow-
ing deeply once again.

"I feel honored," Carialle said. "If I'd'a known he was
coming I'd'a baked a cake."

a CHAPTER SIX

'The initiative is ours now," Keffsaid. He kept watch on
the small screen of his Intentional Translator as it
processed all the hedrons Carialle had recorded while he
was unconscious and combined it with the dialogue he had
garnered from Brannel and the magicians' discussions.
The last hedron popped out of the slot, and Keff slapped it
into his portable IT unit on the control panel. 'That's it.
We have a working vocabulary of Ozran. I can talk with
him."

"Enough to ask intelligent questions?" Carialle asked.
"Enough to negotiate diplomatically for our release, and
inform them, 'by the way, folks, we're from another
planet'?"

"Nope," Keff said, matter-of-factiy. "Enough to ask stu-
pid questions and gather more information. IT will pick up
on the answers I get and, I hope, translate them from con-
text."

'That IT has never been worth the electrons to blow it
up," Carialle said in a flat voice.

"Easy, easy, lady," Keffsaid, smiling at her pillar.

123

"Sorry," she said. "I'm letting the situation get to me. I
don't like being out of control of my own functions."

"I understand perfectly," Keff said. "That's why the
sooner I go out and face this fellow the better, whether or
not I have a perfect working knowledge of his language."

"If you say something insulting by accident, I don't think
you'll survive a second blast of that lightning."

"If they're at all as similar to humans as they look, their
curiosity will prevent them killing me until they leam all
about me. By then, we'll be friends."

"Good sir knight, you assume them to be equal in cour-
tesy to your good self," Carialle said.

"I must face the enchanters knight, if only for the sake
of chivalry."

"Sir Keff, I don't like you leaving the Castle Strong
when there's a dozen enchanters out there capable of fling-
ing bolts of solid power down your gullet, and there's not a
thing I can do to protect you."

'The quest must continue, Carialle."

"Well..." she said, then snorted. "I'm being too protec-
tive, aren't I? It isn't exactly first contact if you stay inside
and let them pelt away at us. And we'll never get out of
here. We have to establish communications. Xeno will die
of mortification if we don't, and mere go our bonuses."

'That's the spirit," Keff said, buckling on his equipment
harness.

Carialle tested her exterior links to IT. "Anything we say
will come out in pidgin Ozran. Right?"

Keff paused, looked up at her pillar. "Should you speak
at all? Are they ready for die concept of a talking ship?"

"Were we ready for flying chairs?" Carialle countered.
"We're at least as strange to them as they are to us."

"I'd rather not have them know you can talk," Keff said
thoughtfully.

"But they already know I can speak independently. I

talked to Brannel while you were unconscious. Unless he
thought you were having an out-of-body experience."

"Supposing Brannel had the nerve to approach our
magicians, he wouldn't be able to explain the voice he
heard. He was gutsy with me, but you'll notice on the
screen that he's staying well out of the way of the
chair-riders. They're in charge and he's a mere peon."

"He is scared of them," Carialle agreed. "Remember
how he explained punishment came from the mountains
when one of his people is too curious. It's no problem for
them to dispense punishment. They're endlessly creative
when it comes to going on the offensive."

"Contrariwise, I take leave to doubt that any of the
magicians would give him a hearing if he did come forward
with the information. There's a big crowd of Brannel's folk
out there on the perimeter and the wizards haven't so
much as glanced their way. No one pays the least attention
to the peasants. Your secret is still safe. That's why I want
you to keep quiet unless need arises."

"All right," Carialle said at last. 'Til keep mumchance.
But, if you're in danger... I don't know what I'll do."

"Agreed." And Keff shot her column an approving grin.

"Let's test the system," Carialle said. The small screen to
the right of the main computer lit up with a line diagram of
Keffs body. He rose and stood before it, holding his arms
away from his sides to duplicate the posture.

'Testing," he said. "Mah, may, mee, mo, mu. The quick
brown fox jumped over the lazy dog. Maxwell-Corey is a
fardling, fossicking, meddling moron." He repeated the
phrases in a subvocal whisper. Small green lights in the
image's cheeks lit up.

"Got you," Carialles voice said in his ear. Lights for the
mastoid implants clicked on, followed by the fiber optic
pickups implanted in the skin at the outer comers of his
eyes. "I'm not trusting the contact buttons alone. The

lightning earlier knocked them out for a while." Heart,
respiration, skin tension monitors in his chest cavity and
the muscles of his thighs lighted green. The lights flicked
out and came on again as Carialle did double backup tests.
"You're wired for sound and ready to go. I can see, hear,
and just about feel anything that happens to you."

"Good," Keffsaid, relaxing into parade rest. "Our guest
is waiting."

"Here comes the stranger."

Keffs implant translated Asedow's comment as he
stepped outside. He assumed the same air of dignity that
Chaumel displayed and walked to the bottom of the ramp.
He paused, wondering if he should stay there, which gave
him a psychological advantage over his visitor who had to
look up at him. Or join the fellow on the ground as a mark
of courtesy. With a smile, he sidestepped. Chaumel backed
up slightly to make room for him. Face-to-face with the sil-
ver magician, Keff raised his hand, palm out.

"Greetings," he said. "I am Keff."

The eyewitness report had been correct, Chaumel real-
ized with a start. The stranger was one of them. The
oddest thing was that he did not recognize him. There
were only a few hundred of the caste on all of Ozran. A
family of mages could not conceal a son like this one,
grown to mature manhood and in possession of such an
incredible power-focus as the silver cylinder.

"Greetings, high one," Chaumel said politely, with the
merest dip of a nod. "I am Chaumel. You honor us with
your presence."

The man cocked his head, as if listening to something
far away, before he responded. Chaumel sensed the faint-
est hint of power during the pause, and yet, as Nokias had
informed him, it did not come from die Core of Ozran.
When at last he spoke, the strangers words were arranged

in uneducated sentences, mixed with the odd word of
gibberish.

"Welcome," he said. "It is ... my honor meet you."

Chaumel drew back half a pace. The truth was that the
stranger did not understand the language. What could pos-
sibly explain such an anomaly as a mage who used power
that did not come from the core of all and a man of Ozran
who did not know the tongue?

The stranger seemed to guess what he was thinking and
continued although not ten words in twenty made sense.
And the intelligible was unbelievable.

"I come from the stars," Keffsaid, pointing upward. He
gestured behind him at the brainship, flattened his hand
out horizontally, then made it tip up and sink heel first
toward the ground. "I flew here in the, er, silver house. I
come from another world."

"... Not. . . here," Chaumel said. IT missed some of
the vocabulary but not the sense. He beckoned to Keff,
turned his back on the rest of his people.

"You don't want me to talk about it here?" Keffsaid in a
much lower voice.

"No," Chaumel said, with a cautious glance over his
shoulder at the other two Big Mountain Men. "Come . . .
mountain ... me." IT rewound the phrase and restated the
translation using full context. "Come back to my mountain
with me. We'll talk there."

"No, thanks," Keffsaid, with a shake of his head. "Let's
talk here. It's all right. Why don't you ask the others-uh!"

"Keff!" Carialle's voice thudded against his brain. He
knew then why all the Noble Primitives were so submis-
sive and eager to avoid trouble. Chaumel had taken a
gadget like a skinny flashlight from a sling on his belt and
jabbed it into Keffs side. Fire raced from his rib cage up
his neck and through his backbone, burning away any con-
trol he had over his own muscles. For the second time in

as many hours, he collapsed bonelessly to the ground. The
difference this time was that he remained conscious of
everything going on around him. Directly in front of his
eyes, he saw that, under the hem of his ankle-length robe,
Chaumel wore black and silver boots. They had very thick
soles. Even though the ground under his cheek was dry,
dust seemed not to adhere to the black material, which
appeared to be some kind of animal hide, maybe skin from
a six-pack. He became aware that Carialle was speaking.

"... Fardle it, Keff! Why didn't you stay clear of him? I
know you're conscious. Can you move at all?"

Chaumel s feet clumped backward and to one side, out
from Keffs limited field of vision. Suddenly, the ground
shot away. Unable to order his muscles to move, Keff felt
his head sag limply to one side. He saw, almost disinterest-
edly, that he was floating on air. It felt as if he were being
carried on a short mattress.

Unceremoniously, Keff was dumped off the invisible
mattress onto the footrest of Chaumel s chariot, his head
tilted at an uncomfortable upward angle. The magician
stepped inside the U formed by Keifs body and sat down
on the ornamented throne. The whole contraption rose
suddenly into the air.

Telekinesis," Keff muttered into the dental implant.
He found he was slowly regaining control of his body. A
finger twitched. A muscle in his right calf contracted. It
tingled. Then he was aware that the chair was rising above
the fields, saw the upper curve of the underground cavern
in which Brannel's people lived, the mountains beyond,
very high, higher than he thought.

"Good!" Carialles relief was audible. "You're still con-
nected. I thought I might lose the links again when he hit
you with that device."

"Wand," Keff said. He could move his eyes now, and he
fixed them on the silver magicians belt. "Wand."

"It looked like a wand. Acted more like a cattle prod."
There was a momentary pause. "No electrical damage. It
seems to have affected synaptic response. That is one
sophisticated psi device."

"Magic," Keff hissed quietly.

"We'U argue about that later. Can you get free?"

"No," Keff said. "Motor responses slowed."

"Blast and damn it, Galahad! I can't come and get you.
You're a hundred meters in the air already. All right, I can
track you wherever you're going."

Carialle was upset. Keff didn't want her to be upset, but
he was all but motionless. He managed to move his head
to a slightly more comfortable position, panting with the
strain of such a minor accommodation. Empathic and
psionic beings in the galaxy had been encountered before,
but these people s talents were so much stronger than any
other. Keff was awed by a telekmetic power strong enough
to carry the chair, Chaumel, and him with no apparent
effort. Such strength was beyond known scientific reality.

"Magic," he murmured.

"I do not believe in magic," Carialle said firmly. "Not
with all this stray electromagnetic current about."

"Even magic must have physics," Keff argued.

"Bah." Carialle began to run through possibilities, some
of which bordered a trifle on die magic she denied, but
something which would bring Keff back where he
belonged-inside her hull-and both of them off this
planet as soon as her paralysis, like Keffs, showed any signs
of wearing off.

Brannel hid alone in the bushes at the far end of the
field, waiting to see if Mage Keff came out again. After
offering respect to the magelords, the rest of his folk had
taken advantage of the great ones' disinterest in them and
rushed home to where it was warm.

The worker male was curious. Perhaps now that the
battle was over, the magelords would go away so he could
approach Keff on his own. To his dismay, the high ones
showed no signs of departing. They awaited the same
event he did: the emergence of Magelord Keff. He was
awestruck as he watched Chaumel the Silver approach the
great tower on foot. The mage waited, eyes on the
tight-fitting door, face full of the same anticipation Brannel
felt.

Keff did not come. Perhaps Keff was making them all
play into his hands. Perhaps he was wiser than the
magelords. That would be most satisfyingly ironic.

Instead, when Keff emerged and exchanged words with
the mage, he suddenly collapsed. Then he was bundled
onto the chariot of Chaumel the Silver and carried away.
All Brannels dreams of freedom and glory died in that
instant. All the treasures in the silver tower were now out
of his reach and would be forever.

He muttered to himself all the way back to the cave.
Fralim caught him, asked him what he was on about.

"We ought to follow and save Magelord Keff."

"Save a mage? You must be mad," Fralim said. "It is
night. Come inside and go to sleep. There will be more
work in the morning."

Depressed, Brannel turned and followed the chiefs son
into the warmth.

Q CHAPTER SEVEN

"Why . . . make things more . . . harderest . . . than
need?" Chaumel muttered as he steered the chair away
from the plain. IT found the root for the missing words
and relayed the question to Keff through his ear-link.
"Why must you make things more difficult than they need
to be? I want to talk... in early..."

"My apologies, honored one," Keff said haltingly.

He had sufficiently recovered from the bolt to sit up on
the end of Chaumel s chair. The magician leaned forward
to clasp KefFs shoulder and pulled him back a few inches.
Once he looked down, the brawn was grateful for the reas-
suring contact. From the hundred meters Carialle had last
reported, they had ascended to at least two hundred and
were still rising. He still had no idea how it was done, but
he was beginning to enjoy this unusual ride.

The view was marvelous. The seven-meter square
where Brannel and his people laid their gathered crops
and the mound under which the home cavern lay had each
shrunk to an area smaller than Keffs fingernail. On the
flattened hilltop, the brainship was a shining figure like a

131

literary statuette. Nearby, the miniature chairs, each con-
taining a colorfully dressed doll, were rising to disperse.

Keff noticed suddenly that their progress was not unat-
tended. Gold and black eye spheres flanked the silver chair
as it rose higher still and began to fly in the direction of the
darkening sky. More spheres, in different colors, hung
behind like wary sparrows trailing a crow, never getting too
close. This had to be the hierarchy again, Keff thought. He
doubted this constituted an honor guard since he had gath-
ered that Nokias and Femgal outranked Chaumel. More
on the order of keeping watch on both the Silver Mage and
the stranger. Keff grinned and waved at them.

"Hi, Mum," he said.

"It'll take you hours at that rate to reach one of those
mountain ranges," Carialle said through the implant. "I'd
like to know how long he can fly that thing before he has to
refuel or rest, or whatever."

Keff turned to Chaumel.

"Where are we ..."

Even before the question was completely out of his
mouth, the view changed.

"             #     f^??

# # # going?

Keff gaped. They were no longer hanging above Bran-
nels fields. Between one meter and another the silver
chariot had transferred effortlessly to a point above snow-
capped mountain peaks. The drop in temperature was so
sudden Keff suffered a violent, involuntary shudder before
he knew he was cold.

"-Ramjamming  fardling  flatulating  dagnabbing
planet!" Carialle's voice, missing from his consciousness for
just moments, reasserted itself at full volume. 'There you
are! You are one hundred and seventy four kilometers
northeast from your previous position."

"Lady dear, what language!" Keff gasped out between
chatters. "Not at all suitable for my lady fair."

"But appropriate! You've been missing a long time.
Confound it, I was worried!"

"It only felt like a second to me," Keff said, apologeti-
cally.

"Fifty-three hundredths of a second," Carialle said
crisply. "Which felt like eons to my processing gear. I had
to trace your vital signs through I don't know how many
power areas before I found you. Luckily your evil wizard
told us you were going to a mountain. That did cut down
by about fifty percent the terrain I had to sweep."

"We teleported," Keff said, wonderingly. "I ... tele-
ported! I didn't feel as if I was. It's effortless!"

"I hate it," Carialle replied. "You were off the air while
you were in transit. I didn't know where you had gone, or if
you were still alive. Confound these people with their
unelectronic toys and nonmechanical machines!"

"My . . . mountain home," Chaumel announced, inter-
rupting Keffs subvocal argument. The silver magician
pointed downward toward a gabled structure built onto
the very crest of the highest peak in the range.

"How lovely," Keff said, hoping one of the expressions
he had gleaned from Carialle's tapes of the broadcasting
drones was appropriate. By Chaumel's pleased expression,
it was.

At first all he could see was the balcony, cantilevered out
over a bottomless chasm, smoky purple and black in the
light of the setting sun. Set into the mountaintop were tall,
arched glass windows, shining with the last highlights of
day. They were distinguishable from the blue-white ice cap
only because they were flat and smooth. What little could
be seen of the rest of the mountain was jagged outthrusts
and steep ravines.

"Mighty . . . not. . . from the ground," Chaumel said,
pantomiming something trying to come up from under-
neath and being met above by a fist. IT rewound the

comment and translated it in Keffs ear as 'This is a
mighty stronghold. Nothing can reach us from the
ground."

"No, to be sure." Well, that stood to reason. No mage
would want to live in a bastion that could be climbed to.
Much less accessible if it could be reached only by an aer-
ial route.

The balcony, as they got nearer, was as large as a com-
mercial heliport, with designated landing pads marked out
in different colored flush-set paving stones. One square,
nearest the tall glass doors, was silver-gray, obviously
reserved for the lord of the manor.

The chariot swung in a smooth curve over the pad and
set down on it as daintily as a feather. As soon as it landed,
the flock of spy-eyes turned and flew away. Chaumel ges-
tured for Keffto get down.

The brawn stepped off the finial onto the dull stone
tiles, and found himself dancing to try and keep his bal-
ance. The floor was smooth and slick, frictionless as a
track-ball surface. Losing his footing, Keff sprawled back-
ward, catching himself with his hands flat behind him, and
struggled to an upright position. The feel of the floor dis-
concerted him. It was heavy with power. He didn't hear it
or feel it, but he sensed it. The sensation was extremely
unnerving. He rubbed his palms together.

'What's the matter?" Carialle asked. 'The view keeps
changing. Ah, that's better. Hmm. No, it isn't. What's that
dreadful vibration? It feels mechanical."

"Don't know," Keff said subvocally, testing the floor
with a cautious hand. Though dry to look at, it felt tacky,
almost clammy "Slippery," he added, with a smile up at his
host.

Dark brows drawn into an impatient V, Chaumel ges-
tured for Keff to get up. Very carefully, using his hands,
Keff got to his knees, and tentatively, to his feet. Chaumel

nodded, turned, and strode through the tall double doors.
Walking ding-toed like a waterfowl, Keff followed as
quickly as he could, if only to get off the surface.

Each time he put a foot down, the disturbing vibration
rattled up his leg into his spine. Keff forced himself to
ignore it as he tried to catch up with Chaumel.

The silver maglman nattered on, half to Keff, half to
himself. Keff boosted the gain on IT to pick up every
word, to play back later.

The glass doors opened out from a grand chamber like a
ballroom or a throne room. Ceilings were unusually high,
with fantastic ornamentation. Keff stared straight up at a
painted and gilded trompe d'oeil fresco of soaring native
avians in a cloud-dotted sky. Windows of glass, rock crystal,
and colored minerals were set at every level on the wall.
There was one skylight cut pielike into the ceiling. Consid-
ering that his host and his people flew almost everywhere,
Keff wasn't surprised at the attention paid to the upper
reaches of the rooms. The magifolk seemed to like light,
and living inside a mountain was likely to cause claustro-
phobia. The walls were hewn out of the natural granite,
but the floor everywhere was that disconcerting track-ball
surface.

'This (thing)... mine ... old," Chaumel said, gesturing
casually at a couple of framed pieces of art displayed on
the wall. Keff glanced at the first one to figure out what it
represented, and then wished he hadn't. The moire
abstract seemed to move by itself in nauseous patterns.
Keff hastily glanced away, dashing tears from his eyes and
controlling the roil of his stomach.

"Most original," he said, gasping. Chaumel paused
briefly in his chattering to beam at Keffs evident perspi-
cacity and pointed out another stomach-twister. Keff
carefully kept his gaze aimed below the level of the frames,
offering compliments without looking. Staring at the silver

100

magicians heels and the hem of his robe, Keff padded

faster to catch up.

They passed over a threshold into an anteroom where

several servants were sweeping and dusting. Except when
raising their eyes to acknowledge the presence of their
master, they also made a point of watching the ground in
front of them. It was no consolation to Keff to realize that
others had the same reaction to the "artwork."

Chaumel was the only bare-skin Keff saw. The staff
appeared to consist solely of fur-skinned Noble Primitives,
like Brannel, but instead of having just four fingers on each

hand, some had all five.

'The missing links?" Keff asked Carialle. These beings

looked like a combination between Chaumel s people and
Brannels. Though their faces were hairy, they did not bear
the animal cast to their features that the various villagers
had. They looked more humanly diversified. "Do you sup-
pose that the farther you go away from the overlords, the
more changes you find in facial structure?" He stopped to
study the face of a furry-faced maiden, who reddened
under her pelt and dropped her eyes shyly. She twisted her

duster between her hands.

"Ahem! A geographical cause isn't logical," Carialle said,

"although you might postulate inbreeding between the two
races. That would mean that the races are genetically

close. Very interesting."

Chaumel, noticing he'd lost his audience, detoured

back, directed Keff away from the serving maid and

toward a stone archway.

"Will you look at the workmanship in that?" Keff said,

admiringly. 'Very fine, Chaumel."

"I'm glad you . . ." the magiman said, moving on
through the doorway into a wide corridor. "Now, this . . .

my father. . ."

This" proved to be a tapestry woven, Carialle informed

Keff after a microscopic peek, of dyed vegetable fibers
blended with embroidered colorful figures in six-pack hair.

"Old," she said. "At least four hundred years. And expert
craftwork, I might add."

"Lovely," Keff said, making sure the contact button
scanned ft in full for his xenology records. "Er, high
worker-ship, Chaumel."

His host was delighted, and took him by the arm to
show him every item displayed in the long hall.

Chaumel was evidently an enthusiastic collector of
objets d'art and, except for the nauseating pictures, had
a well-developed appreciation of beauty. Keff had no
trouble admiring handsomely made chairs, incidental
tables, and pedestals of wood and stone; more tapes-
tries; pieces of scientific equipment that had fallen into
disuse and been adapted for other purposes. A primitive
chariot, evidently the precursor of the elegant chairs
Chaumel and his people used, was enshrined under-
neath the picture of a bearded man in a silver robe.
Chaumel also owned some paintings and repre-
sentational art executed with great skill that were not
only not uncomfortable but a pleasure to behold. Keff
exclaimed over everything, recording it, hoping that he
was also gathering clues to help free Carialle so they
could leave Ozran as soon as possible.

A few of Chaumel s treasures absolutely defied descrip-
tion. Keff would have judged them to be sculpture or
statuary, but some of the vertical and horizontal surfaces
showed wear, the polished appearance of long use. They
were furniture, but for what kind of being?

"What is this, Chaumel?" Keff asked, drawing the magi-
mans attention to a small grouping arranged in an alcove.
He pointed to one item. It looked like a low-set painters
easel from which a pair of hardwood tines rose in a V. 'This
is very old."

"Ah!" the magiman said, eagerly. "... from old, old day-
day." IT promptly interpreted into "from ancient days,"
and recorded the usage.

"I'm getting a reading of between one thousand six hun-
dred and one thousand nine hundred years," Carialle said,
confirming Chaumel's statement. The magiman gave Keff
a curious look.

"Surely your people didn't use these things," Keff said.
"Can't sit on them, see?" He made as if to sit down on the
narrow horizontal ledge at just above knee level.

Chaumel grinned and shook his head. "Old Ones
used ... sit-lie," he said.

'They weren't humanoid?" Keff asked, and then clari-
fied as the magiman looked confused. "Not like you, or
me, or your servants?"

"Not, not. Before New Ones, we."

'Then the humanoids were not the native race on this
planet," Carialle said excitedly into Kerfs implant. 'They
are travelers. They settled here alongside the indigenous
beings and shared their culture."

'That would explain the linguistic anomalies," Keff said.
"And that awful artwork in the grand hall." Then speaking
aloud, he added, "Are there any of the Old Ones left,
Chaumel?"

"Not, not. Many days gone. Worked, move from empty
land to mountain. Gave us, gave them." Chaumel strug-
gled with a pantomime. "All... gone."

"I think I understand. You helped them move out of the
valleys, and they gave you . . . what? Then they all died?
What caused that? A plague?"

Chaumel suddenly grew wary. He muttered and moved
on to the next grouping of artifacts. He paused dramati-
cally before one item displayed on a wooden pedestal. The
gray stone object, about fifty centimeters high, resembled
an oddly twisted um with an off-center opening.

"0\d-0ld-0nes," he said with awe, placing his hands
possessively on the um.

"Old Ones-Ancient Ones?" Keff asked, gesturing one
step farther back with his hand.

"Yes," Chaumel said. He caressed the stone. Keff
moved cipser so Carialle could take a reading through the
contact button.

"It's even older than the Old Ones' chair, if that's what
that was. Much older. Ask if this is a religious artifact. Are
the Ancient Ones their gods?" Carialle asked.

"Did you, your father-father, bring Ancient Ones with
you to Ozran?" Keff asked.

"Not our ancestors," Chaumel said, laying three imagi-
nary objects in a row. "Ozran: Ancient Ones; Old Ones;

New Ones, we. Ancient," he added, holding out the wand
in his belt.

"Carialle, I think he means that artifact is a leftover from
the original culture. It is ancient, but there has been some
modification on it, dating a couple thousand years back."
Then aloud, he said to Chaumel. "So they passed usable
items down. Did the Ancient Ones look like the Old Ones?
Were they their ancestors?"

Chaumel shrugged.

"It looks like an entirely different culture, Keff," Carialle
said, processing the image and running a schematic overlay
of all the pieces in the hall. 'There're very few Ancient
One artifacts here to judge by, but my reconstruction pro-
gram suggests different body types for the Ancients and
the Old Ones. Similar, though. Both species were upright
and had rearward-bending, jointed lower limbs-can't tell
how many, but the Old One furniture is built for larger
creatures. Not quite as big as humanoids, though."

"It sounds as if one species succeeded after another,"
Keff said. 'The Old Ones moved in to live with the Ancient
Ones, and many generations later after the Ancients died

off, the New Ones arrived and cohabited with the Old
Ones. They are the third in a series of races to live on this
planet: the aborigines, die Old Ones, and the New Ones,
or magic-using humanoids."

Carialle snorted. "Doesn't say much for Ozran as a host
for life-forms, if two intelligent races in a row died off
within a few millenia."

"And the humanoids are reduced to a nontechnologi-
cal existence," Keff said, only half listening to Chaumel,
who was lecturing him with an intent expression on his
broad-cheeked face. "Could it have something to do
with the force-field holding you down? They got stuck
here?"

"Whatever trapped me did it selectively, Keff!" Carialle
said. Td landed and taken off six times on Ozran already.
It was dehberate, and I want to know who and why."

"Another mystery to investigate. But I also want to know
why the Old Ones moved up here, away from their source
of food," Keff said. "Since they seem to be dependant on
what's grown here, that's a sociological anomaly."

"Ah," Carialle said, reading newly translated old data
from IT. 'The Old Ones didn't move up here with the
New Ones' help, Keff. They were up here when the
humanoids came. They found Ancient artifacts in the
valleys."

"So these New Ones had some predilection for talent
when they came here, but their contact with the Old Ones
increased it to what we see in them now. Two space-going
races, Carialle!" Keff said, greatly excited. "I want to know
if we can find out more about the pure alien culture. Later
on, let's see if we can trace them back to their original sys-
tems. Pity there's so little left: after several hundred years
ofhumanoid rule, it's all mixed up together."

"Isn't the synthesis as rare?" Carialle asked, pointedly.

"In our culture, yes. Makes it obvious where the sign

language comes from, too," Keff said. "Its a relic from
one of the previous races-useful symbology that helps
make the magic work. The Old Ones may never have
shared the humanoid language, being the host race, but
somehow they made themselves understood to the new-
comers. Worth at least a paper to Galactic Geographic.
Clearly, Chaumel here doesn't know what the Ancients
were like."

The magiman, watching Keff talking to himself, heard
his name and Keffs question. He shook his head regret-
fully. "I do not. Much before days of me."

"Where do your people come from?" Keff asked. "What
star, where out mere?" He gestured up at the sky.

"I do not know that also. Where from do yours come?"
Chaumel asked, a keen eye holding Keffs.

The brawn tried to think of a way to explain the Central
Worlds with the limited vocabulary at his disposal and
raised his hands helplessly.

'Vain hope." Carialle sighed. "I'm still trying to find any
records of settlements in this sector. Big zero. If I could get
a message out, I could have Central Worlds do a full-scan
search of the old records."

"So where do the Noble Primitives fit in, Chaumel?"
Keff asked, throwing a friendly arm over the man's shoul-
der before he could start a lecture on the next objet d'art.
He pointed at a male servant wearing a long, white robe,
who hurried away, wide-eyed, when he noticed the bare-
skinned ones looking at him. "I notice that the servants
here have lighter pelts than the people in the farm village."
He gestured behind him, hoping that Chaumel would
understand he meant where they had just come from. He
tweaked a lock of his own hair, rubbing his fingers together
to indicate "thin," then ran his fingers down his own face
and held out his hand.

'They're handsomer. And some of them have five

fingers, like mine." Keff waggled his forefinger. "Why do
the ones in the valley have only four?" He bent the finger

under his palm.

"Oh," Chaumel said, laughing. He stated something in a
friendly, off handed way that the IT couldn't translate,
scissors-chopping his own forefinger with his other hand
to demonstrate what he meant. "... when of few
days-babies. Low mind. ... no curiosity . . . worker." He
made the scissors motion again.

"What?" Carialle shrieked in Keffs ear. "Its not a muta-
tion. Its mutilation. There aren't two brands ofhumanoids,
just one, with most of the poor things exploited by a lucky

few."

Keff was shocked into silence. Fortunately, Chaumel
seemed to expect no reply. Carialle continued to speak
in a low voice while Keff nodded and smiled at the

magiman.

"Moreover, he's been referring to the Noble Primitives
as property. When he mentioned his possessions, IT went
back and translated his term for the villagers as 'chattel.' I
do not like these people. Evil wizards, indeed!"

"Er, very nice," Keff said in Ozran, for lack of any good

reply. Chaumel beamed.

"We care for them, we who commune with the Core of
Ozran. We lead our weaker brothers. We guard as they
working hard in the valleys to raise food for us all."

"Enslave them, you mean," Carialle sniffed. "And they
live up here in comfort while Brannel's people freeze. He
looks so warm and friendly-for a slave trader. Look at his
eyes. Dead as microchips."

"Weaker? Do you mean feeble-minded? The people
down in the valleys have strong bodies but, er, they don't
seem very bright," Keff said. 'These, your servants, are
much more intelligent than any of the ones we met." He
didn't mention Brannel.

"Ah," Chaumel said, guardedly casual, "the workers eat
stupid, not question... who know better, overlords."

"You mean you put something in the food to keep them
stupid and docile so they won't question their servitude?
That's monstrous," Keff said, but he kept smiling.

Chaumel didn't understand the last word. He bowed
deeply. 'Thank you. Use talent, over many years gone, we
give them," he pantomimed over his own wrist and arm,

showed it growing thicker, "more skin, hair, grow dense
flesh..."

IT riffled through a list of synonyms. Keff seized upon
one. "Muscles?" he asked. IT repeated Chaumel s last
word, evidently satisfied with Keffs definition.

"Yes," Chaumel said. "Good for living . . . cold valleys.
Hard work!"

"You mean you can skimp on the central heat if you give
them greater endurance," Carialle said, contemptuously.
"You bloodsucker."

Chaumel frowned, almost as if he had heard Carialle's
tone.

"Hush! Er, I don't know if this is a taboo question,
Chaumel," Keff began, rubbing his chin with thumb and
forefinger, "but you interbreed with the servant class, too,
don't you? Bare-skins with fur-skins, make babies?"

"Not I," the silver magiman explained hastily. "But yes.
Some lower . . . mages and magesses have faces with hair.
Never make their places as mages of... but not everyone
is ... sent for mightiness."

"Destined for greatness," Keff corrected IT. IT repeated
the word. "So why are you not great? I mean," he
rephrased his statement for tact, "not one of the mages
of-IT, put in that phrase he used?"

"Oh, I am good-satisfied to be what I am," Chaumel
said, complacently folding his fingers over his well-padded
rib cage.

"If they're already being drugged, why amputate their
fingers?" Carialle wanted to know.

"What do fingers have to do with the magic?" Keff
asked, making a hey-presto gesture.

"Ah," Chaumel said. Taking Keifs arm firmly under his
own, he escorted him down the hall to a low door set
deeply into the stone walls. Servants passing by showed
Keff the whites of their eyes as Chaumel slipped the silver
wand out of his belt and pointed at the lock. Some of the
fur-skins hurried faster as the red fire lanced laserlike into
the keyhole. One or two, wearing the same keen expres-
sion as Brannel, peered in as the door opened. Shooting a
cold glance to speed the nosy ones on their way, Chaumel
urged Keff inside.

The darkness lifted as soon as they stepped over the
threshold, a milky glow coming directly from the substance
of the walls.

"Cari, is that radioactive?" Keff asked. His whisper was
amplified in a ghostly rush of sound by the rough stone.

"No. In fact, I'm getting no readings on the light at all.
Strange."

"Magic!"

"Cut that out," Carialle said sulkily. "I say its a form of
energy with which I am unacquainted."

In contrast to all the other chambers Keff had seen in
Chaumel s eyrie, this room had a low, unadorned ceiling of
rough granite less than an arms length above their heads.
Keff felt as though he needed to stoop to avoid hitting the

roof.

Chaumel moved across me floor like a man in a chapel.
The furnishings of the narrow room carried out that
impression. At the end opposite the door was a molded,
silver table not unlike an altar, upon which rested five
objects arranged in a circle on an embroidered cloth. Keff
tiptoed forward behind Chaumel.

The items themselves were not particularly impressive:

a metal bangle about twelve centimeters across, a silver
tube, a flattened disk pierced with half-moon shapes all
around the edge, a wedge of clear crystal with a piece of
dull metal fused to the blunt end, and a hollow cylinder
like an empty jelly jar.

"What are they?" Keff asked.

"Objects of power," Chaumel replied. One by one he
lifted them and displayed them for Keff. Returning to the
bangle, Chaumel turned it over so Keff could see its inner
arc. Five depressions about two centimeters apart were
molded into its otherwise smooth curve. In turn, he
showed the markings on each one. With the last, he
inserted the tips of his fingers into the depressions and
wielded it away from Keff.

"Ah," Keff said, enlightened. "You need five digits to use
these."

"So the amputation is to keep the servers from organiz-
ing a palace revolt," Carialle said. "Any uppity server just
wouldn't have the physical dexterity to use them."

"Mmm," Keff said. "How old are they?" He moved
closer to the altar and bent over the cloth.

"Old, old," Chaumel said, patting the jelly jar.

"Old Ones," Carialle verified, running a scan through
Keffs ocular implants. "So is the bangle. The other three
are Ancient, with some subsequent modifications by the
Old Ones. All of them have five pressure plates incorpo-
rated into the design. That's why Brannel tried to take my
palette. It has five depressions, just like these items. He
probably thought it was a power piece, like these."

'There's coincidence for you: both the alien races here
were pentadactyl, like humans. I wonder if that's a recur-
ring trait throughout the galaxy for technologically capable
races," Keff said. "Five-fingered hands."

Chaumel certainly seemed proud of his. Setting down

the jelly jar, he mbbed his hands together, then flicked
invisible dust motes off his nails, taking time to admire
both fronts and backs.

"Well, they are shapely hands," Carialle said. 'They
wouldn't be out of place in Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel
frescoes except for the bizarre proportions."

Kefftook a good look at Chaumels hands. For the first
time he noticed that the thumbs, which he had noted as
being rather long, bore lifelike prostheses, complete with
nails and tiny wisps of hair, that made the tips fan out to.
the same distance as the forefingers. The little fingers were
of equal length to the ring fingers, jarring the eye, making
the fingers look like a thick fringe cut straight across.
Absently conscious of Keffs stare, Chaumel pulled at his
litde fingers.

"Is he trying to make them longer by doing that?"
Carialle asked. "It's physically impossible, but I suppose
telling him that won't make him stop. Superstitions are
superstitions."

'That's er, grotesque, Chaumel," Keffsaid, smiling with
what he hoped was an expression of admiration.

'Thank you, Keff." The silver magiman bowed.

"Show me how the objects of power work," Keff said,
pointing at the table. "I'd welcome a chance to watch with-
out being the target."

Chaumel was all too happy to oblige.

"Now you see how these are," he said graciously. He
chose the ring and the tube, putting his favorite, the wand,
back in its belt holster. 'This way."

On the way out of the narrow room, Chaumel resumed
his monologue. This time it seemed to involve the prove-
nance and ownership of the items.

"We are proud of our toys," Carialle said deprecatingly.
"Nothing up my sleeve, alakazam!"

"Whoops!" Keffsaid, as Chaumel held out his hand and

a huge crockery vase appeared on the palm. "Alakazam,
indeed!"

With a small smile, Chaumel blew on the crock, send-
ing it flying down the hall as if siddding on ice. He raised
the tube, aimed it, and squeezed lightly. The crock froze in
place, then, in delayed reaction, it burst apart into a
shower of jet-propelled sand, peppering the walls and the
two men.

"Marvelous!" Keff said, applauding. He spat out sand.
"Bravo! Do it again!"

Obligingly, Chaumel created a wide ceramic platter.
"My mother this belonged to. I do not ever like this," he
said. With a twist of his wrist, it followed the crock. Instead
of the tube, the silver magiman operated the ring. With a
crack, the platter exploded into fragments. A glass goblet,
then a pitcher appeared out of the air. Chaumel set them
dancing around one another, .then fused them into one
piece with a dash of scarlet lightning from his wand. They
dropped to the ground, spraying fragments of glass every-
where.

"And what do you do for an encore?" Keff asked, sur-
veying the hall, now littered with debris.

"Hmmph!" Chaumel said. He waved the wand, and
three apron-clad domestics appeared, followed by brooms
and pails. Leaving the magical items floating on the air, he
clapped his hands together. The servers set hastily to work
cleaning up. Chaumel folded his arms together with satis-
faction and turned a smug face to Keff.

"I see. You get all the fun, and they do all the nasty bits,"
Keffsaid, nodding. "Bravo anyway."

"I was following the energy buildup during that little
Wild West show," Carialle said in Keffs ear. 'There is no
connection between what Chaumel does with his toys, that
hum in the floors, and any energy source except a slight
response from that random mess in the sky. Geothermal is

148 Anne Mc^aJJrey u- ^oo.i/ i-ajiw iiyc

silent. And before you ask, he hasn't got a generator. Ask
him where they get their power from."

"Where do your magical talents come from?" Keff asked
the silver magiman. He imitated Potria's spell-casting tech-
nique, gathering in armfuls of air and thrusting his hands
forward. Chaumel ducked to one side. His face paled, and
he stared baletully at Keff.

"I guess it isn't just sign language," Keff said sheepishly.
"Genuine functionalism of symbols. Sorry for the breach in
etiquette, old fellow. But could the New Ones do that," he
started to make the gesture but pointedly held back from
finishing it, "when they came to Ozran?"

"Some. Most learned from Old Ones," Chaumel said,
not really caring. He flipped the wand into the air. It
twirled end over end, then vanished and reappeared in his
side-slung holster.

"Flying?" Keff said, imitating the way the silver magi-
man's chair swooped and turned. "Learned from Old
Ones?"

"Yes. Gave learning to us for giving to them."

"Incredible," Keff said, with awhisde. "What I wouldn't
give for magic lessons. But where does the power come
from?"

Chaumel looked beatific. "From the Core of Ozran," he
said, hands raised in a mystical gesture.

"What is that? Is it a physical thing, or a philosophical
center?"

"It is the Core," Chaumel said, impatiently, shaking his
head at Keffs denseness. The brawn shrugged.

'The Core is the Core," he said. "Of course.
Non-sequitur. Chaumel, my ship can't move from where it
landed. Does the Core of Ozran have something to do
with that?"

"Perhaps, perhaps."

Keff pressed him. "I'd really like an answer to that,

Chaumel. It's sort of important to me, in a strange sort of
way," he said, shrugging diffidently.

Chaumel irritably shook his head and waved his hands.

"I'll tackle him again later, Cari," Keff said under his
breath.

"Now is better . . . What's that sound?" Carialle said,
interrupting herself.

Keff looked around. "I didn't hear anything."

But Chaumel had. Like a hunting dog hearing a horn,
he turned his head. Keff felt a rise of static, raising the hair
on the back of his neck.

'There it is again," Carialle said. "Approximately fifty
thousand cycles. Now I'm showing serious power fluctua-
tions where you are. What Chaumel was doing in the
hallway was a spit in the ocean compared with this."

Chaumel grabbed Keffs arm and made a spiraling ges-
ture upward with one finger.

'This way, in haste!" Chaumel said, pushing him
through the hallway toward the great room and the landing
pad beyond. His hand flew above his head, repeating the
spiral over and over. "Haste, haste!"

a CHAPTER EIGHT

Night had fallen over the mountains. The new arrivals
seemed to glow with their own ghostlight as they flew
through the purple-dark sky toward Chaumels balcony.
Keff, concealed with Chaumel behind a curtain in the tall
glass door, recognized Femgal, Nokias, Potria, and some of
the lesser magimen and magiwomen from that afternoon.
There were plenty of new faces, including some in chairs
as fancy as Chaumel s own.

'The big chaps and their circle of intimates, no doubt.
Wish I had a chance to put on my best bib and tucker,"
Keff murmured to Carialle. To his host, he said, "Shouldn't
we go out and greet mem, Chaumel?"

"Hutt!" Chaumel said, hurriedly putting a hand to his
lips, and raising the wand at his belt in threat to back up his
command. Silently, he pantomimed putting one object
after another in a row. "... (untranslatable)..."

"I think I understand you," Keff said, interrupting ITs
attempt to locate roots for the phrase. "Order of prece-
dence. Protocol. You're waiting for everyone to land."

Pursing his lips, Chaumel nodded curtly and returned

150

to studying the scene. One at a time, like a flock of
enormous migratory birds, the chariots queued up beyond
the lip of the landing zone. Some jockeyed for better
position, then resumed their places as a sharp word came
from one of the occupants of the more elaborate chairs.
Keff sensed that adherence to protocol was strictly
enforced among the magifolk. Behave or get blasted, he
thought.

As soon as the last one was in place, Chaumel threw
open the great doors and stood to one side, bowing. Hast-
ily, Keff followed suit. Five of the chairs flew forward and
set down all at once in the nearest squares. Their occu-
pants rose and stepped majestically toward them.

"Zolaika, High Magess of the North," Chaumel said,
bowing deeply. "I greet you."

"Chaumel," the tiny, old woman of the leaf-green char-
iot said, with a slight inclination of her head. She sailed
regally into the center of the grand hall and stood there,
five feet above the ground as if fixed in glass.

"Ilnir, High Mage of the Isles." Chaumel bowed to a
lean man in purple with a hooked nose and a domed, bald
head. Nokias started forward, but Chaumel held up an
apologetic finger. "Femgal, High Mage of the East, I greet
you."

Nokias's face crimsoned in the reflected light from the
ballroom. He stepped forward after Femgal strode past
with a smug half-grin on his face. "I had forgotten, brother
Chaumel. Forgive my discourtesy."

"Forgive mine, high one," Chaumel said, suavely, hold-
ing his hands high and apart. "Ureth help me, but you
could never be less than courteous. Be greeted, Nokias,
High Mage of the South."

Gravely, the golden magiman entered and took his place
at the south point of the center ring. He was followed by
Omri of the West, a flamboyantly handsome man dressed

fittingly in peacock blue. Chaumel gave him an elaborate
salute.

With less ceremony and markedly less deference,
Chaumel greeted the rest of the visiting magi.

"He outranks these people," Carialle said in Kerfs
implant. "He's making it clear the/re lucky to get the time
of day out of him. I'm not sure where he stands in the soci-
ety. He's probably not quite of the rank of the first five, but
he's got a lot of power."

"And me where he wants us," Keffsaid in a sour tone.

As Nokias had, a few of the lesser ones were compelled
to take an unexpected backseat to some of their fellows.
Chaumel was firm as he indicated demotions and ignored
those who conceded with bad grace. Keff wondered if the
order of precedence was liquid and altered frequently. He
saw a few exchanges of hot glares and curt gestures, but no
one spoke or swung a wand.

Potria and Asedow had had time to change clothes and
freshen up after their battle. Potria undulated off her pink-
gold chariot swathed in an opaque gown of a cloth so fine it
pulsed at wrists and throat with her heartbeat. Her per-
fume should have been illegal. Asedow, still in dark green,
wore several chains and wristlets of hammered and
pierced metal that clanked together as he walked. The two
elbowed one another as they approached Chaumel, striv-
ing to be admitted first. Chaumel broke the deadlock by
bowing over Potrias hand, but waving Asedow through
behind her back. Potria smirked for receiving extra atten-
tion from the host, but Asedow had preceded her into the
hall, dark green robes aswirl. As Carialle and Keff had
observed before, Chaumel was a diplomat.

"How does one get promoted?" he asked Chaumel, who
bowed the last of the magifolk, a slender girl in a primrose
robe, into the ballroom. "What criteria do you use to tell
whos on first?"

"I will explain in time," the silver mage said. "Come."

Taking Keff firmly by the upper arm, he went forth to
make small talk with his many visitors. He brought Keff to
bow to Zolaika who began an incomprehensible conversa-
tion with Chaumel literally over Keffs head because the
host rose several feet to float on the same level as die lady.
Keff stood, staring up at the verbal Ping-Pong match, wish-
ing the IT was faster at simultaneous translation. He heard
his name several times, but caught little of the context.
Most of it was in the alternate, alien-flavored dialect, pep-
pered with a few hand gestures. Keff only recognized the
signs for "help" and "honor."

"I hope you're taking all this down so I can work on it
later," he said in a subvocal mutter to Carialle. Hands
behind his back, he twisted to survey the rest of the hall.

"With my tongue out," Carialle said. "My, you certainly
brought out the numbers. Everyone wants a peep at you.
What would you be willing to bet that everyone who could
reasonably expect admittance is here. I wonder how many
are sitting home, trying to think up a good excuse to call?"

"No bet," Keffsaid cheerfully. "Oh, look, the decorators
been in."

The big room, which had been empty until the guests
arrived, was beginning to fill in with appropriate pieces of
furniture. Two rows of sconces bearing burning torches
appeared at intervals along the walls. Three magifolk chat-
ting near the double doors discovered a couch behind
them and sat down. Spider-legged chairs chased mages
through the room, only to place themselves in a correct
and timely manner, for the mages never once looked
behind to see if there was something there to be sat on: a
seat was assumed. Fat, ferny plants in huge crockery pots
grew up around two magimen who huddled against one
wall, talking in furtive undertones.

A wing chair nudged the back of Zolaikas knees while

an ottoman insinuated itself lovingly under the old
woman's feet. She made herself comfortable as several of
the junior magifolk came to pay their respects. A small
table with a round, rimmed top appeared in their midst.
Several set down their magical items, initiating an appar-
ent truce for the duration.

After kissing Zolaikas hand, Chaumel detached himself
from the group and steered Keff toward the next of the
high magimen in the room. Engrossed in a conversation,
Ilnir barely glanced at Keff, but accorded Chaumel a cour-
teous nod as he made an important point using his
wrist-thick magic mace for emphasis. A carved pedestal
appeared under Ilnir's elbow and he leaned upon it.

Each of the higher magimen had a number of syco-
phants, male and female, as escort. Potria, gorgeous in her
floating, low-cut peach gown, was among the number sur-
rounding Nokias. Asedow was right beside her. They
glared at Chaumel, evidently taking personally the slight
done to their chief. As Chaumel and Keff passed by, they
raised their voices with the complaint that they had been
wrongly prevented from finishing their contest.

Femgal and Noldas were standing together near the
crystal windows beyond their individual circles. The two
were exchanging pleasantries with one another, but not
really communicating. Keff, boosting the gain of his audio
pickup with a pressure of his jaw muscles, actually heard
one of them pass a remark about the weather.

Chaumel stopped equidistant between the two high
mages. His hand concealed in a fold of his silver robe, he
used sharp pokes to direct Keff to bow first to Femgal,
then Nokias. Keff offered a few polite words to each. IT
was working overtime processing the small talk it was pick-
ing up, but it gave him the necessary polite phrases slowly
enough to recite accurately without resorting to ITs
speaker.

"I feel like a trained monkey," Keffsubvocalized.

As he straightened up, Carialle got a look at his audi-
ence. "That's what they think you are, too. They seem
surprised that you can actually speak."

Chaumel turned him away from his two important
guests and.tilted his head conspiratorially close.

"You see, my young friend, I would have preferred to
have you all to myself, but I can't refuse access to the pre-
eminent magis when they decide to call at my humble
home for an evening. One climbs higher by power . . .
(power-plays, IT suggested) managed, as ordered by the
instructions left us by our ancestors. Such power-plays
determine ones height (rank, IT whispered). Also, deaths.
They are most facile at these."

"Deaths?" Keff asked. "You mean, you all move up one
when someone dies?"

"Yes, but also when one makes a death," Chaumel said,
with an uneasy backward glance at the high mages. Keff
goggled.

"You mean you move up when you kill someone?"

"Sounds like the promotion lists in the space service to
me," Carialle remarked to Keff.

"Ah, but not only that, but through getting more secrets
and magical possessions from those, and more. But Fem-
gal of the East has just, er, discarded..."

"Disposed of," Carialle supplied.

"... Mage Klemay in a duel, so he has raised/ascended
over Mage Nokias of the South. I must incorporate the
change of status smoothly, though"-his face took on an
exaggerated mask of tragedy-"it pains me to see the
embarrassment it causes my friend, Nokias. We attempt to
make all in harmony."

Keff thought privately that Chaumel didn't look that
uncomfortable. He looked like he was enjoying the dis-
comfiture of the Mage of the South.

'This is a nasty brood. They make a point of scoring off
one another," Carialle observed. 'The only thing that har-
monizes around here is the color-coordinated outfits and
chariots. Did you notice? Everyone has a totem color. I
wonder if they inherit it, earn it, or just choose it." She gig-
gled in Keffs ear. "And what happens when someone else
has the one you want?"

"Another assassination, I'm sure," Keff said, bowing and
smiling to one side as Femgal made for Ilnirs group.

As the black-clad magimans circle drifted off, Noldas's
minions spread out a little, as if grateful for the breathing
room. Keff turned to Potria and gave her his most winning
smile, but she looked down her nose at him.

"How nice to see you again, my lady," he said in slow
but clear Ozran. The lovely bronze woman turned point-
edly and looked off in another direction. The puff of gold
hair over her right ear obscured her face from him com-
pletely. Keff sighed.

"No sale," Carialle said. "You might as well have been
talking to her chair. Tsk-tsk, tsk-tsk. Your hormones don't
have much sense."

'Thank you for that cold shower, my lady," Keff said,
half to Potria, half to Carialle. "You're a heartless woman,
you are." The brain chuckled in his ear.

"She's not that different from anyone else here. I've
never seen such a bundle of tough babies in my life. Stay
on your guard. Don't reveal more about us than you have
to. We're vulnerable enough as it is. I don't like people
who mutilate and enslave thousands, not to mention cap-
turing helpless ships."

"Your mind is like unto my mind, lady dear," Keff said
lightly. "That one doesn't look so tough."

Near the wall, almost hiding in the curtains behind a
rose-robed crone was the last magiwoman Chaumel had
bowed into the room. IT reminded him her name was

Plennafrey. Self-effacing in her simple primrose gown and
metallic blue-green shoulder-to-floor sash, her big, dark
eyes, pointed chin, and broad cheekbones gave her a
gamine look. She glanced toward Keff and immediately
turned away. Keff admired her hair, ink-black with rusty
highlights, woven into a simple four-strand plait that fell
most of the way down her back.

"I feel sorry for her," Keff said. "She looks as though
she's out other depth. She's not mean enough."

Carialle gave him the raspberry. "You always do fall for
the naive look," she said. 'That's why it's always so easy to
lure you into trouble in Myths and Legends."

"Oho, you've admitted it, lady Now I'll be on guard
against you."

"Just you watch it with these people and worry about
me later. They're not fish-eating swamp dwellers like the
Beasts Blatisant."

Keff had time to nod politely to the tall girl before
Chaumel yanked him away to meet the last of the five high
magimen. "I know how she feels, Cari. I'm not used to
dealing with advanced societies that are more complicated
and devious than the one I come from. Give me the half-
naked swamp dwellers every time."

"Look at that," Potria said, sourly. "My claim, and
Chaumel is parading it around as if he discovered it."

"Mine," Asedow said. "We have not yet settled the ques-
tion of ownership."

"He has a kind face," Plennafrey offered in a tiny voice.
Potria spun in a storm of pink-gold and glared at her.

"You are mad. It is not fully Ozran, so it is no better than
a beast, like the peasants."

Remembering her resolution to be bolder no matter
how terrified she felt, Plennafrey cleared her throat.

"I am sure he is not a mere thing, Potria. He looks a true

man." In fact, she found his looks appealing. His twinkling
eyes reminded her of happy days, something she hadn't
known since long before her father died. If only she could
have such a man in her life, it would no longer be lonely.

Potria turned away, disgusted. "I have been deprived of
my rights."

"You have? I spoke first." Asedows eyes glittered.

"I was winning," Potria said, lips curled back from grit-
ted white teeth. She flashed a hand signal under Asedows
nose. He backed off, making a sign of protection. Plenna
watched, wild-eyed. Although she knew they wouldn't dare
to rejoin their magical battle in here, neither of them was
above a knife in the ribs.

Suddenly, she felt a wall of force intrude between the
combatants. The thought of a possible incident must also
have occurred to Nokias. Asedow and Potria retreated
another hand-span apart, continuing to harangue one
another. Plenna glanced over at the other groups of mages.
They were beginning to stare. Nokias, having been disgraced
once already this evening, would be furious if his underlings
embarrassed him in front of the whole assemblage.

Asedow was getting louder, his hands flying in the old
signs, emphasizing his point. "It is to my honor, and the
tower and the beast will come to me!"

Potrias hands waved just as excitedly. "You have no
honor. Your mother was a fur-skin with a dray-beast jaw,
and your father was drunk when he took her!"

At the murderous look in Asedows eye, Plenna warded
herself and planted her hand firmly over her belt buckle
beneath the concealing sash. At least she could help pre-
vent the argument from spreading. With an act of will, she
cushioned the air around them so no sound escaped past
their small circle. That deadened the shouting, but it didn't
prevent others from seeing the pantomime the two were
throwing at one another.

"How dare you!" Zolaikas chair swooped in on the pair,
knocking them apart with a blast of force which dispelled
Plennas cloud of silence. "You profane the sacred signs in a
petty brawl!"

"She seeks to take what is rightfully mine," Asedow bel-
lowed. Freed, his voice threatened to shake down the
celling.

"High one, I appeal to you," Potria said, turning to the
senior magess. "I challenged for the divine objects and I
claim them as my property." She pointed at Keff.

Keffwas taken aback.

"Now just a minute here," he said, starting forward as he
recognized the words. "I'm no one's chattel."

"Hurt!" Zolaika ordered, pointing an irregular, hand-
sized form at him. Keff ducked, fearing another bolt of
scarlet lightning. Chaumel pulled him back and, keeping a
hand firmly on his shoulder, offered a placatory word to
Potria.

"She's not the enchantress I thought she was," Keff said
sadly to Carialle.

"A regular La Belle Dame Sans Merci," Carialle said.
'Treat with courtesy, at a respectable distance."

"Speaking of stating one's rights," Femgal said as he and
the other high magimen moved forward. He folded his
long fingers in the air before him and studied them. "May
I mention that the objects were found in Klemay's terri-
tory, which is now my domain, so I have the prior claim.
The tower and the male are mine." He crushed his palms
together deliberately.

"But before that, they were in my venue," the old
woman in red cried out from her place by the window. Her
chair lifted high into the air. "I had seen the silver object
and the being near my village when first it fell on Ozran. I
claim precedence over you for the find, Femgal!"

"I am no ones find!" Keff said, breaking away from
Chaumel. "I'm a free man. My ship is my magical object,
no one else's."

"I'm mine," Carialle crisply reminded him.

"I'd better keep you a piece of magical esoterica, lady, or
they'll kill me without hesitation over a talking ship with its
own brain."

La Belle Dame Sans Merci raised a shrill outcry.
Chaumel, eager to keep the peace in his own home, flew
to the center of the room and raised his hands.

"Mages and magesses and honored guest, the hour is
come! Let us dine. We will discuss this situation much
more reasonably when we all have had a bite and a sup.
Please!" He clapped his hands, and a handful of servants
appeared, bearing steaming trays. At a wave of their mas-
ter's hand they fanned out among the guests, offering
tasty-smelling hors d'oeuvres. Keff sniffed appreciatively.

"Don't touch," Carialle cautioned him. "You don't know
what's in them."

"I know," Keff said, "but I'm starved. It's been hours
since I had that hot meal." He felt his stomach threatening
to rumble and compressed his diaphragm to prevent it
being heard. He concentrated on looking politely
disinterested.

Chaumel clapped his hands, and fur-faced musicians
strumming oddly shaped instruments suddenly appeared
here and there about the room. They passed among the
guests, smiling politely. Chaumel nodded with satisfaction,
and signaled again.

More Noble Primitives appeared out of me air, this time
with goblets and pitchers of sparkling liquids in jewel col-
ors. A chair hobbled up to Keff and edged its seat sideways
toward his legs, as if offering him a chance to sit down.

"No thanks," he said, stepping away a pace. The chair,
unperturbed, tottered on toward the next person standing




next to him. "Look around, Cari! Its like Merlins house-
hold in The Sword in the Stone. I feel a litde drunk on
glory, Cari. We've discovered a race of magicians. This is
the pinnacle of our careers. We could retire tomorrow and
they'd talk about us until the end of time."

"Once<we get off this rock and go home! I keep telling
you, Keff, what they're doing isn't magic. It can't be. Real
magic shouldn't require power, least of all the kind of
power they're sucking out of the surrounding area. Mental
power possibly, but not battery-generator type power,
which is what is coming along those electromagnetic lines
in the air."

"Well, there's invocation of power as well as evocation,
drawing it into you for use," Keff said, trying to remember
the phrases out of the Myths and Legends rule book.

Carialle seemed to read his mind. "Don't talk about a
game! This is real life. This isn't magic. Ah! There it is:

proof."

Keff glanced up. Chaumel was bowing to something
hovering before him at eye level. It was a box of some kind.
It drifted slightly so that the flat side that had been
directed at Chaumel was pointing at him. Looking out
from behind a glass panel was a man's face, dark-skinned
and ancient beyond age. The puckered eyelids compressed
as the man peered intently at Keff.

"See? It's a monitor," Carialle said. "A corn unit. Its a
device, not magic, not evoked from the person of the user.
He's transmitting his image through it, probably because
he's too weak to be here in person."

"Maybe the box is just a relic from the old days," Keff
said, but his grand theory did have a few holes in it. "Look,
there's nothing feeding it."

"You don't need cable to transmit power, Keff. You
know that. Even Chaumel isn't magicking the food up
himself. He's calling it from somewhere. Probably in the

depths of the dungeon, there's a host of fuzzy-faced cooks
working their heads off, and furry sommeliers decanting
wine. I think he's acting like the teleportative equivalent of
a maitre d'."

"All right, I concede that they might be technicians.
What I want to know is just what they want with us so
badly that they have to trap us in place."

"What we appear to be, or at least I appear to be, is a
superior technical gizmo. Your girlfriend and her green
sidekick at least don't want something this big to get away.
The greed, by the way, is not limited to those two. At least
eighty percent of the people here experience increased
respiration and heartbeat when they look at you and the IT
box, and by proxy, me. It's absolutely indecent."

Chaumel went around the room like a zephyr, defusing
arguments and urging people to sit down to prepare for
the meal. Keff admired his knack of having every detail at
his fingertips. Couches with attached tables appeared out
of the ether. The guests disported themselves languidly on
the velvet covers while the tables adjusted themselves to
be in easy range. The canape servers vanished in midstep
and the remains of the hors d'oeuvres with them. Napery,
silver, and a translucent dinner service appeared on every
table followed by one, two, three sparkling crystal goblets,
all of different design. White, embroidered napkins
opened out and spread themselves on each lap.

Something caught Keff squarely in the belly and behind
the knees, making him fold up. A padded seat caught him,
lifted him up and forward several feet into the heart of the
circle of magifolk, and the tray across his middle clamped
firmly down on the other arm of the chair. Under his heels,
a broad bar braced itself to give him support. A napkin
puffed up, settled like swansdown on his thighs.

"Oh, I'm not hungry," he said to the air. The invisible
maitre d' paid no attention to his protest. He was favored

with china and crystal, and a small finger bowl on a doily.
He picked up a goblet to examine it. Though the glass was
wafer-thin, it had been incised delicately with arabesques
and intricate interlocking diamonds.

"How beautiful."

"Now.that is contemporary. Not bad," Carialle said, with
grudging approval. Keff turned the goblet and let it catch
the torchlight. He pinged it with a fingernail and listened
to the sweet song.

A hairy-faced server bearing an earthen pitcher
appeared next to Keff to fill his glass with dark golden
wine. Keff smiled at him and sniffed the liquid. It was fra-
grant, like honey and herbs.

"Don't drink that," Carialle said, after a slight hesitation
to assess the readouts from Keffs olfactory implant. "Full
ofsulfites, and just in case you think the Borgias were a fun
family, enough strychnine in it to kill you six times over."

Shocked, Keff pushed the glass away. It vanished and
was replaced by an empty one. Another server hovered and
poured a cedar-red potation into its bowl. He smiled at the
furry-faced female who tipped up the comers other mouth
tentatively before hurrying away to the next person.

"Who put poison in my wine?" Keff whispered, staring
around him.

Chaumel glanced over at him with a concerned expres-
sion. Keff nodded and smiled to show that everything was
all right. The silver magiman nodded back and went on his
way from one guest to another.

"I don't know," Carialle said. "It wasn't and isn't in the
pitcher, but I wasn't quick enough to follow the burst of
energy back to its originator. Seems it isn't an unknown
incident, though."

All around the room, a Noble Primitive was appearing
beside each mage. Full of curiosity, Keff eyed them. Each
bore a different cast of features, some more animal than

others, so they were undoubtedly from the magimen's
home provinces. Asedow's servant did look like a six-pack.
The pretty girls servant was hardly mutated at all, except
for something about the eyes that suggested felines. Potria
didn't look at her pig-person, but stiff-armed her goblet
toward him. Cautiously, the Noble Primitive took a sip.
Nothing happened to him, but two other servants nearby
fell over on the floor in fits of internal anguish. They van-
ished and were replaced by others. Whites showing all
around the irises of his eyes, the pig-man handed the gob-
let back to his mistress, and waited, hands clenched, for
her nod of approval. Other mages, their first drink satisfac-
tory, held their glasses aloft, calling loudly to the wine
servers for refills.

"Food-tasters! There's more in heaven and on earth
than is dreamed of in your philosophy, Horatio," Keffsaid.

"Hmph!" Carialle said. 'That's an understatement. I
wish you could see what I do. Those langorous poses are
just that: poses. I'm recording everything for your benefit,
and its taking approximately eighteen percent of my total
memory capacity to absorb it. I'm not merely monitoring
three language forms. There is a lot more going on sub
rosa. Every one of our magifolk is tensed up so much I
don't know how they can swallow. The air is full of power
transmissions, odd miniature gravity wells, low-frequency
signals, microwaves, you name it."

"Can you trace any of it back? What is it all for?"

"The low-frequency stuff is easy to read. It's chatter.
They're sending private messages to one another, forming
conspiracies and so on against, as nearly as I can tell, every-
one else in the room. The power signals correspond to
dirty tricks like the poison in your wine. As for the micro-
waves, I can't tell what they're for. The transmission is
slightly askew to anything I've dealt with before, and I can't
intercept it anyway because I'm not on the receiving end."

"Tight point-to-point beam?"

"I wish I could transmit something with as little spill-
over," Carialle admitted. "Somebody is very good at what
they're doing."

IT continued to translate, but most of what it reported
was small talk, mostly on the taste of the wine and the cur-
rent berry harvests. With their chairs bobbing up and
down to add emphasis to their discourse, two magiwomen
were conversing about architecture. A couple of the magi-
folk here and there leaned their heads toward one another
as if sharing a confidence, but their lips weren't moving.
Keff suspected the same kind of transference that the
magifolk used to control their eye spheres. He looked up,
wondering where all the spy-eyes had gone. That after-
noon on the field the air had been thick with them.

Keff contrasted the soup that appeared in huge silver
tureens with the swill that Brannel's people had to eat. And
he and Cari were still not free to leave the planet. Still, in
spite of the shortcomings, he had a feeling of satisfaction.

'This is the race everyone in Exploration has always
dreamed of finding," he said, surveying the magifolk. "Our
technical equals, Cari. And against all odds, a humanoid
race that evolved parallel to our own. They're incredible."

"Incredible when they amputate fingers from babies?"
asked Carialle. "And keep a whole segment of the race
under their long thumbs with drugged food and drink? If
they're our equals, thank you, I'll stay unequal. Besides,
they don't appear to be makers, they're users. Chaumel's
mighty proud of those techno-toys left to him by the Old
Ones and the Ancient Ones, but he doesn't know how to
fix 'em. And neither does anyone else. Over there, in the
comer."

Keff glanced over as Carialle directed. On the floor lay
Chaumel's jelly jar. He gasped.

"Does he know he lost it?"

"He didn't lose it. I saw him drop it there. It doesn't
work anymore, so he discarded it. Everybody else has
looked at it with burning greed in their eyes and, as soon as
they realized it doesn't work anymore, ignored it. They're

operators, not engineers."

They're still tool-using beings with an advanced civili-
zation who have technical advantages, if you must call it
that, superior in many ways to ours. If we can bring them
into the Central Worlds, I'm sure they'll be able to teach us

plenty."

"We already know all about corruption, thank you,"

Carialle said.

A servant stepped forward, bowed, and presented the

tureen to him. Keff sniffed. The soup smelled wonder-
ful. He gave them a tight smile. Another popped into
being beside him bearing a large spoon, and ladled some
into the bowl on his tray. The rich golden broth was
thick with chunks of red and green vegetables and tiny,
doughnut-shaped pasta. Keff poked through it with his

silver spoon.

"Cari, I'm starved. Is any of this safe to eat? They didn't
assign me a food-taster, even if I'd trust one."

"Hold up a bite, and I'll tell you if anyone's spiked it."
Keff obliged, pretending he was cooling the soup with his
breath. "Nope. Go ahead."

"Ahhhh." Keff raised it all the way to his lips.

His chair jerked sideways in midair. The stream of soup
went flying off into the air past his cheek and vanished
before it splashed onto his shoulder. He found himself fac-
ing Omri.

1.11!

'Tell me, strange one," said the peacock-clad mage,
lounging back on his floating couch, one hand idly spoon-
ing up soup and letting it dribble back into his bowl.
"Where do you come from?"

"Watch it," Carialle barked.

"From far away, honored sir," KefF said. "A world that
circles a sun a long way from here."

'That's impossible."

Keff found himself spun halfway around until he was
nose to nose with a woman in brown with night-black eyes.

'There, are no other suns. Only ours."

Keff opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get
the words out, his chair whirled again.

"Pay no attention to Lacia. She's a revisionist," said
Ferngal. His voice was friendly, but his eyes were two dead
circles of dark blue slate. 'Tell me more about this star.
What is its name?"

"Calonia," Keff said.

'That leaves them none the wiser," Carialle said.

'That leaves us none the wiser," Chaumel echoed, turn-
ing Keffs seat in a flat counterclockwise spin
three-quarters around. "How far is it from here, and how
long did it take you to get here?" Keff opened his mouth to
address Chaumel, but the silver magiman became a blur.

"What power do your people have?" Asedow asked.
Whoosh!

"How many are they?" demanded Zolaika. Hard jerk,
reverse spin.

"Why did you come here?" asked a plump man in
bright yellow. Blur.

"What do you want on Ozran?" Nokias asked. Keff tried
to force out an answer.

"Not-" Short jerk sideways.

"How did you obtain possession of the silver tower?"
Potria asked.

"It's my sh-" Two half-arcs in violently different direc-
tions, until he ended up facing an image of Femgal that
swayed and bobbed.

"Will more of your folk be coming here?" Keff heard.
His stomach was beginning to head for his esophagus.

"I. .." he began, but his chair shifted again, this time to
twin images of Ilnir, who gabbled something at him in a
hoarse voice that was indistinguishable from the roar in his

ears.

"Hey!" Keff protested weakly.

'The Siege Perilous, Galahad," Carialle quipped. "Be
strong, be resolute, be brave."

"I'm starting to get motion sick," Keff said. "Even flyer
training wasn't like this! I feel like a nardling lazy Susan."
The chair twisted until it was facing away from Ilnir. A
blurred figure of primrose yellow and teal at the comer of
his eye sat up slightly.

Beside Keffs hand, a small glass appeared. It was filled
with a sparkling liquid of very pale green. Keffs vision
abruptly cleared. Was he being offered another shot of poi-
son? The silver blob that was Chaumel shot a suspicious
look at the tall girl, then nodded to Keff. The brawn
started to take the ornate cup, when two more tasters
abruptly keeled over and let their glasses crash to the
ground. Two more servants appeared, always four-fingered
fur-faces. Keff regarded the cup suspiciously.

"What about it, Cari? Is it safe to drink?"

"It's a motion sickness drug," Carialle said, after a quick
spectroanalysis. Hastily, before he was moved again, Keff
gulped down the green liquid. It tasted pleasantly of mint
and gently heated his stomach. In no time, Keff felt much
better, able to endure this ordeal. He winked at me pretty
girl the next time he was whirled past her. She returned
him a tentative grin.

The Siege Perilous halted for a moment and Keff
realized his soup plate had vanished. In its place was a
crescent-shaped basket of fruit and a plate of salad. His
fellow diners were also being favored with the next course.
Some of them, with bored expressions, waved it away and
were instantly served tall, narrow crockery bowls with

salt-encrusted rims. Before he spun away again, he
watched Zolaika pull something from it and yank apart a
nasty-looking crustacean.

"Ugh," Keff said. "No fish course for me."

Thanks to the young woman's potion he felt well enough
to eat. Wlyle trying to field questions from the magifolk,
he picked up one small piece of fruit after another. Carialle
tested them for suspicious additives.

"No," Carialle said. "No, no, no, yes-oops, not any-
more. No, no, yes!"

Before it could be tainted by long-distance assassins,
Keff popped the chunk of fruit in his mouth without look-
ing at it. It burst in a delightful gush of soft flesh and
slightly tart juice. His next half-answer was garbled,
impeded by berry pulp, but it didn't matter, since he was
never allowed to finish a sentence anyway before the next
mage greedily snatched him away from his current inquisi-
tor. He swallowed and sought for another wholesome bite.

The basket disappeared out from under his hand and
was replaced by the nauseating crock. His fingers splashed
into the watery gray sauce. It sent up an overwhelming
odor of rotting oil. Keffs stomach, tantalized by the morsel
of fruit, almost whimpered. He held his breath until his
invisible waiter got the hint and took the crock away. In its
place was a succulent-smelling vol au vent covered with a
cream gravy.

"No!" said Carialle as he reached for his fork.

"Oh, Cari." His chair revolved, pinning him to the back,
and the meat pastry evaporated in a cloud of steam. "Oh,
damn."

"Why have you come to Ozran?" Ilnir asked. "You have
not answered me."

T haven't been allowed," Keff said, bracing himself,
expecting any moment to be turned to face another magi-
man. When the chair didn't move, he sat up straighten

"We come to explore. This planet looked interesting, so we
landed."

"We?" Ilnir asked. "Are there more of you in your silver
tower?"

"Oops," Carialle said.

"Me and my ship," Keff explained hastily. "When you
travel alone as I do, you start talking out loud."

"And do you hear answers?" Asedow asked to the gen-
eral laughter of his fellows. Keff smiled.

"Wouldn't that be something?" Keff answered sweetly.
Asedow smirked.

'That mans been zinged and he doesn't even know it,"
Carialle said.

"Look, I'm no danger to you," Keff said earnestly. "I'd
appreciate it if you would release my ship and let me go on
my way."

"Oh, not yet," Chaumel said, with a slight smile Keff
didn't like at all. "You have only just arrived. Please allow
us to show you our hospitality."

"You are too kind," Keff said firmly "But I must con-
tinue on my way."

The spin took him by surprise.

"Why are you in such a hurry to leave?" Zolaika asked,
narrowing her eyes at him. The face with the monitor, hov-
ering beside her, looked him up and down and said
something in the secondary, more formal dialect. Keff bat-
ted the IT unit slung around his chest, which burped out a
halting query.

"What teUest thou from us?"

"What will I say about you?" Keff repeated, and thought
fast. "Well, that you are an advanced and erudite people
with a strong culture that would be interesting to study."

He was slammed sideways by the force of the reverse

spm.

"You would send others here?" Femgal asked.

"Not if you didn't want me to," Keff said. "If you prefer
to remain undisturbed, I assure you, you will be." He suf-
fered a fast spin toward Omri.

"We'll remain more undisturbed if you don't go back to
make a report at all," the peacock magiman said. A half-
whirl this time, and he ended up before Potria.

"Oh, come, friends," she said, with a winning smile.
"Why assume ill where none exists? Stranger, you shall
enjoy your time here with us, I promise you. To our new
friendship." She flicked her fingers. A cup of opal glass
materialized in front of her and skimmed across the air to
Keffs tray. Keff, surprised and gratified, picked it up and
tilted it to her in salute.

"What's in it, Cari?" he subvocalized.

"Yum. Its a nice mugful of mind-wipe," she said. "Stabi-
lized sodium pentothal and a few other goodies
guaranteed to make her the apple of your eye." Keff gave
the enchantress a smile full of charm and a polite nod,
raised the goblet to her once again, and put it down
untasted. "Sorry, ma'am. I don't drink."

The bronze woman swept her hand angrily to one side,
and the goblet vanished.

"Nice try, peachie," Cari said, triumphantly.

Keff seized a miniature dumpling from the next plate
that landed on his tray.

"Yes," Carialle whispered. Keff popped it into his mouth
and swallowed. His greed amused the magifolk of the
south, whose chairs bobbed up and down in time to their
laughter. He smiled kindly at them and decided to turn the
tables.

"I am very interested in your society. How are you gov-
erned? Who is in charge of decision-making that affects
you all?"

That simple question started a philosophical discussion
that fast deteriorated into a shouted argument, resulting in

the death or discomfort of six more fur-skinned foodtas-
ters. Keff smiled and nodded and tried to follow it all while
he swallowed a few bites.

Following Carialle's instructions, he waved away the
next two dishes, took a morsel from the third, ignored the
next three when Carialle found native trace elements that
would upset his digestive tract, and ate several delightful
mouthfuls from the last, crisp, hot pastries stuffed with
fresh vegetables. Each dish was more succulent and
appealing than the one before it.

"I can't get over the variety of magic going on in here,"
Keff whispered, toying with a souffle that all but defied
gravity.

"If it was really magic, they could magic up what you
wanted to eat and not just what they want you to have. As
for the rest, you know what I think."

'Well, the food is perfect," Keff said stubbornly. "No
burnt spots, no failed sauces, no gristle. That sounds like
magic."

"Oh, maybe its food-synths instead," Carialle coun-
tered. "If I was working for Chaumel, I'd be terrified of
making mistakes and ruining the food. Wouldn't you?"

Keff sighed. "At least I still have my aliens."

"Enough of this tittle-tattle," Chaumel called out, rising.
He clapped his hands. The assemblage craned their necks
to look at him. "A little entertainment, my friends?" He
brought his hands together again.

Between Nokias and Femgal, a fur-skinned tumbler
appeared halfway through a back flip and bounded into
the center of the room. Keffs chair automatically backed
up until it was between two others, leaving the middle of
the circle open. A narrow cable suspended from the ceiling
came into being. On it, a male and a female hung ankle to
ankle ten meters above the ground. Starting slowly, they
revolved faster until they were spinning flat out, parallel to

the floor. There was a patter of insincere applause. The
rope and acrobats vanished, and the tumbler leaped into
the air, turned a double somersault, and landed on one
hand. A small animal with an ornamented collar appeared
standing on his upturned feet. It did flips on its perch, as
the male boosted it into the air with thrusts of his powerful
legs. Omri yawned. The male and his pet disappeared to
make room for a whole troupe of juvenile tumblers.

Keff heard a gush of wind from the open windows. The
night air blew a cloud of dust over the luminescent para-
pet, but it never reached the open door. Chaumel flashed
his wand across in a warding gesture. The dust beat itself
against a bellying, invisible barrier and fell to the floor.

"Was that part of the entertainment?" Keff said
subvocally.

"Another one of those power drains," Carialle said
"Somehow, what they do sucks all the energy, all the
cohesive force out of the surrounding ecology. The air
outside of Chaumel s little mountain nest is dead, clear to
where I am."

"Magic doesn't have to come from somewhere," Keff
said.

"Keff, physics! Power is leaching toward your location.
Therefore logic suggests it is being drawn in that direction
by need."

"Magic doesn't depend on physics. But I concede your
point."

"Its true whether or not you believe in it. The concen-
trated force-fields are weakening everywhere but there."

"Any chance it weakened enough to let you go?"

There was a slight pause. "No."

A prestidigitator and his slender, golden-furred assistant
suddenly appeared in midair, floating down toward the
floor while performing difficult sleight-of-hand involving
fire and silk cloths. They held up hoops, and acrobats

bounded out of the walls to fly through them. More acro-
bats materialized to catch the flyers, then disappeared as
soon as they were safely down. Keff watched in fascination,
admiring the dramatic timing. Apparently, the spectacle
failed to maintain the interest of the other guests. His chair
jerked roughly forward toward Lacia, nearly ramming him
through the back. The acrobats had to leap swiftly to one
side to avoid being run over.

"You are a spy for a faction on the other side of Ozran,
aren't you?" she demanded.

'There aren't any other factions on Ozran, madam,"
Keff said. "I scanned from space. All habitations are lim-
ited to this continent in the northern hemisphere and the
archipelago to the southwest."

"You must have come from one of them, then," she
said. "Whose spy are you?"

Just like that, the interrogation began all over again.
Instead of letting him have time to answer their demands,
they seemed to be vying with one another to escalate their
accusations of what they suspected him of doing on Ozran.
Potria, still angry, didn't bother to speak to him, but occa-
sionally snatched him away from another magifolk just for
the pleasure of seeing his gasping discomfort. Asedow
joined in the game, tugging Keff away from his rival.
Chaumel, too, decided to assert his authority as curator of
the curiosity, pulling him away from other magifolk to pre-
vent him answering their questions. In the turmoil, Keff
spun around faster and faster, growing more irked by the
moment at the magi using him as a pawn. He kept his
hands clamped to his chair arms, his teeth gritted tightly as
he strove to keep from being sick. Their voices chattered
and shrilled like a flock of birds.

"Who are you ... ?"

"I demand to know...!"

"What are you ... ?"

"Tell me...."

"How do...?"

"Why... ?"

"What...?"

Fed up at last, Keff shouted at the featureless mass of
color. "Enpugh of this boorish interrogation. I'm not play-
ing anymore!"

Heedless of the speed at which he was spinning, he
pushed away his tray, stepped out from the footrest, and
went down, down, down....

a CHAPTER NINE

Keff fell down and down toward a dark abyss. Frigid
winds screamed upward, freezing his face and his hands,
which were thrust above his head by his descent. The hori-
zontal blur that was the faces and costumes of the magifolk
was replaced by a vertical blur of gray and black and tan.
He was falling through a narrow tunnel of rough stone
occasionally lit by streaks of garishly colored light. His
hands grasped out at nothing; his feet sought for support

and found none.

Gargoyle faces leered at him, ^bbering. Flying crea-
tures with dozens of clawed feet swooped down to worry
his hair and shoulders. Momentum snapped his head back
so he was staring up at a point of light far, far above him
that swayed with every one of his heartbeats. The move-
ment made him giddy. His stomach squeezed hard against
his rib cage. He was in danger of losing what litde he had
been able to eat. The wind bit at his ears, and his teeth
chattered. He forced his mouth closed, sought for control.

"Carialle, help! I'm falling! Where am I?"

The brains tone was puzzled.

176

"You haven't moved at all, Keff. You're still in the mid-
dle of Chaumel's dining room. Everyone is watching you,
and having a good time, I might add. Er, you're staring at
the ceiling."

Keff tried to justify her observation with the terrifying
sensation of falling, the close stone walls, and the gar-
goyles, and suddenly all fear fled. He was furious. The
abyss was an illusion! It was all an illusion cast to punish
him. Damn their manipulation!

'That is enough of this nonsense!" he bellowed.

Abruptly, all sensation stopped. The buzzing he sud-
denly felt through his feet bothered him, so he moved, and
found himself lurching about on the slick floor, struggling
for balance. With a yelp, he tripped forward, painfully
bruising his palms and knees. He blinked energetically,
and the points of light around him became ensconced
torches, and the pale oval Plennafrey's face. She looked
concerned. Keff guessed that she was the one who had
broken the spell holding his mind enthralled.

'Thank you," he said. His voice sounded hollow in his
own ears. He sat back on his haunches and gathered him-
self to stand up.

He became aware that the other magifolk were glaring
at the young woman. Chaumel was angry, Nokias shocked,
Potria mute with outrage. Plenna lifted her small chin and
stared back unflinchingly at her superiors. Keff wondered
how he had ever thought her to be weak. She was

magnificent.

"Her heartbeats up. Respiration, too. She's in trouble
with them," Carialle said. "She's the junior member here-
I'd say the youngest, too, by a decade-and she spoiled her
seniors' fun. Naughty. Oops, more power spikes."

Keff felt insubstantial tendrils of thought trying to
insinuate themselves into his mind. They were rudely
slapped away by a new touch, one that felt/scented lightly

of wildflowers. Plennafrey was defending him. Another
sally by other minds managed to get an image of bloody,
half-eaten corpses burning in a wasteland into his
consciousness before they were washed out by fresh, cool

air.

"Keff, what's wrong?" Carialle asked. "Adrenaline just
kicked up."

"Psychic attacks," he said, through gritted teeth. 'Trying
to control my mind."

He fought to think of anything but the pictures ham-
mering at his consciousness. He pictured a cold beer, until
it dissolved inexorably into a river of green, steaming poi-
son. He switched to the image of dancing in an anti-grav
disco with a dozen girls. They became vulpine-winged har-
pies picking at his flesh as he swung on a gibbet. Keff
thought deliberately of exercise, mentally pulling the Roto-
flex handles to his chest one at a time, concentrating on the
burn of his chest and neck muscles. Such a small focus
seemed to bewilder his tormentors as they sought to cor-
rupt that one thought and regain control.

Sooner or later the magifolk would break through, and
he would never know the difference between his own con-
sciousness and what they planted in his thoughts. He felt a
twinge of despair. Nothing in his long travels had prepared
him to defend himself against this kind of power. How
much more could he withstand? If they continued, he'd
soon be blurting out the story of his life-and his life with
Carialle.

Not that-he wouldn't! Angrily, he steeled his will. If he
couldn't protect himself, he couldn't guard Carialle. Even
at the cost of his own life he must prevent them from find-
ing out about her. Her danger would be worse than his,
and worse than what had happened to her that time before
they became partners.

The Rotoflex handles of his imagination became knives

that he plunged agonizingly again and again into his own
breast. He forced his mental self to drop them. They burst
into flames that rose up to bum his arms. He could feel the
hair crackling on his forearms. Then a soft rain began to
fall. The fire died with hisses of disappointment. Keff
almost smiled. Plennafrey again.

He was grateful for the young magiwomans interces-
sion. How long could she hold out against the combined
force other elders? He could almost feel the mental sparks
flying between Plennafrey and the others. She was actually
holding her own, which was causing consternation and
outrage among them. The outwardly calm standoff threat-
ened to turn into worse.

"Small power spikes," Carialle announced. "A jab to the
right. Ooh, a counter to the left. A roundhouse punch-
what was that?"

Keff felt himself gripped by an invisible force. Slowly,
like the rope-dancers, he began to revolve in midair, this
time without his chair. He turned faster and faster and
faster. What little remained of his original delight at having
discovered a race of magicians was fast disappearing in the
waves of nausea roiling his long-suffering stomach. He
tried to touch the floor, or one of the other mages, but
nothing was within reach. Faster, faster, faster he turned,
until the room was divided into strata of light and color.
Images began to invade his consciousness, accompanied
by shrieks tinged with fear and anger, shriveling his nerves.
He could feel nothing but pain, and the roaring in his head
overwhelmed his other senses.

Keff felt a touch on the arm, and suddenly he was stag-
gering weak-kneed across the slick floor behind
Plennafrey. She had abandoned the battle in favor of sav-
ing him. Holding his hand firmly, she made for the open
doors.

Chaumels transparent wall proved no barrier. Plennafrey

plunged her hand under her sash to her belt, and a hole
opened in the wall just before they reached it, letting a cloud
of dust whip past them into the room. Coughing, she and
Keff dashed out onto the landing pad. Keff remembered
what Carialle had said about color coordination and ran after
the girl toward the blue-green chair at the extreme edge of
the balcony. His feet were unsteady on the humming floor,
but he forced himself to cover the distance almost on the
young woman's heels.

She threw herself into her chariot, hoisted him in, too.
Without ceremony, the chair swept off into the night.
Behind him, Keff saw other magifolk running for their
chairs. He saw Chaumel shake a fist up at them, and sud-
denly, the image blanked out.

They emerged into a vast, torchlit, stony cavern that
extended off into the distance to both left and right.
Plenna paused a split second and turned the chair to the
right. Her big, dark eyes were wide open, her head turning
to see first one side, then the other as they passed. Keff
hung on as the chair skipped up to miss a stalagmite and
ducked a low cave mouth. He gasped. The air tasted moist
and mineral heavy.

'"Where are you?" Carialles voice exploded in his ear.
"Damnation, I hate that!"

'"Watch the volume, Cari!"

Sound level much abated, Carialle continued. "You are
approximately nine hundred meters directly below your
previous location, heading south along a huge system of
connected underground caverns. Hmm!"

"What?" he demanded, then bit his tongue as Plenna-
freys chair dodged through a narrow pipe and out into a
cavern the bottom of which dropped away like the illusion-
aiy abyss.

'Tm reading some of those electromagnetic lines down

there, not far from you, but not intersecting the tunnel you
are currently traveling."

"Where are we going?" he asked the girl.

"Where we will be safe," she said curdy. Her forehead
was wrinkled and she was hunched forward as if straining
to push something with her shoulders.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Its the lee lines," she said. "Where we are is weak. I'm
drawing on ones very far away. We must reach the strong
ones to escape, but Chaumel stops me."

"Lee lines?" Keff said, asking for further explanation.
Then a memory struck him and he sent IT running
through similar-sounding names in Standard language. It
came up with "ley," which it defined as "adjective, archaic,
related to mystical power." Very similar, Keff noted, and
turned his head to mention it.

The chair bounced, hitting a small outcropping of rock,
and Keff felt his rump leave the platform. He gripped the
edges until his knuckles whitened. The air whistled in his

ears.

"What if you can't reach the strong ley lines?" he
shouted.

"We can get most of the way to my stronghold
through down here," the girl said, not looking down at
him. "It will take longer, but the mountains are hollow
below. Oh!"

Ahead of them, the air thickened, and a dozen chariots
took shape. These swooped in at Keff and the girl, who
took a hairpin curve in midair and looped back toward the
narrow passage. Keff caught a glimpse of Chaumel in the
lead, glittering like a star. The silver mage grinned
ferociously at them.

Asedow spurred his green chariot faster to beat
Chaumel to Plennas vehicle. He succeeded only in
creating a minor traffic jam blocking the neck of stone as

10Z

Plennafrey disappeared into it. By the time they
straightened themselves out, their prey had a head start.

Plennafrey retraced their path through the forest of
onyx pillars. Keff leaned back against her knees as she cut a
particularly sharp turn to avoid the same outcropping as on
the way out. Keff glanced up at her face and found it calm,
intense, alert, pale and lovely as a lily. He shook his head,
wondering how he had possibly missed noticing her
before. He risked a quick glance back.

Far behind them, the magimen in pursuit were coming
to grief amidst the stalactite clusters. Keff heard shouts of
anger, then warning, and not long after, a crash. Their pur-
suers were down to eleven.

'The passage widens out beyond the junction where you
first appeared," Carialle said, narrating from her soundings
of the underground system. "Life-forms ahead."

They swooped under a low overhang that marked the
boundary of the next limestone bubble cavern. Keff
smelled food and squinted ahead in the torchlight. The
smell of hot food blended with the cold, wet, limestone
scent of the caves. Before them lay the subterranean kitch-
ens whose existence Carialle had postulated. Compared to
the frosty ambient temperature above, this place was posi-
tively tropical. Keff felt his cheeks reddening from the heat
that washed them. Plennafrey turned slightly pink. Scores
of fur-faced cooks and assistants hurried around like ants,
carrying pots and pans to the huge, multi-burner stoves
lined up against the walls or hauling full platters of cooked
food to vast tables mat ran down the center of the cham-
ber.

"Natural gas, geothermal heat," Carialle said. 'The
catering service for me nine circles of Hell."

In one corner, discarded like toy dishes in a dolls tea set,
were hundreds of bowls, plates, and platters, sent back
untouched from upstairs by fussy diners.

"What a waste," Keff said as they passed over the trash
heap. The reeking fumes of deteriorating food made his
eyes water. He gasped.

Avoiding a low point in the ceiling, the chariot bore
down on the cooks, who dropped their pans and dishes
and dove for cover. The bottom of the runner struck some-
thing soft, but kept going. Keff glanced behind them and
saw the ruins of a tall cake and the pastry chefs stricken
face.

"Sony!" Keff called.

Behind them, the magimen on their chariots swooped
into the cavern, shouting for Plennafrey to surrender her
prize. Bolts of red fire struck past them, impacting the
stone walls with explosive reports. Chunks of stone rained
down on the screaming cooks. Plennafrey jerked the
chariot downward, and a lightning stroke passed over
them, shattering a stalactite into bits just before they
reached it. Keff threw his hands up before his face just a
split second too late, and ended up spitting out limestone
sand.

"Don't damage anything!" Chaumel yelled. "My
kitchen!" Keff saw him frantically making warding symbols
with his hands, sending spells to protect his property.

Plennafrey stole a look over her shoulder and poured on
the speed. She pulled Keffs body back against her legs. He
looked up at her for explanation.

She said, T need my hands," and immediately began
weaving her own enchantments in a series of complex
passes. Keff braced himself between the end of the chariot
back and the chair legs to keep Plennafrey from bouncing
out of her seat.

The cavern narrowed sharply at its far end, forcing them
farther and farther toward the floor. Fur-faced Noble
Primitives who had been throwing themselves down to get
out of their way went entirely flat or slammed into the wall

184

Anne McCaffrey o- joay L,y 11,11 ^yc-

as Plennafrey's chariot flashed by. Females shrieked and

males let out hoarse-voiced cries of alarm.

Scarlet fire ricocheted from wall to wall, missing the

blue-green chariot by hand-spans. The young magiwoman
launched off fist-sized globes of smoky nothingness, fling-
ing them behind her back. Keff, intent on the wall above
the cave mouth zooming toward them, heard cries and

protests, followed by a series of explosive puffs.

Plennafrey resumed control of her chair just in time to
direct them sharply down and into the stone tunnel. This
must have been the central corridor of Chaumels under-
ground complex. Hundreds of Noble Primitives dropped
their burdens and dove for cover as he and Plennafrey
zoomed through. Skillfully zigzagging, dipping, and rising,
she avoided each living being and stone pillar in the long

tube.

"She's good on this thing," Keff confided to Carialle.

"What a rocket-cycle jockey she'd make."

To right and left, several smaller tunnels offered them-
selves. Plennafrey glanced at each one as they passed. With
the inadequate light of torches, Keff could see no details
more than a dozen feet up each one. The magiwoman bit
her lip, then banked a turn into the ninth right.

"Keff, not that one!" Carialle said urgently.

"Aha!"
Keff heard Chaumels crow of victory, and view-halloo

cries from the other pursuers. He wondered why they

sounded so pleased.

Plenna dodged against the left wall to avoid colliding

with a grossly-wheeled wagon pulled by six-packs and piled
high with garbage. There was barely enough space for both
of them, but somehow the magiwoman made it by. After a
short interval, Keff heard a few loud scrapes, and a couple
of hard splats, followed by furious and derisive yells. Two
more magimen would be abandoning the race as they

went home to clean refuse out of their gorgeous robes.
Another scrape ended in a sickening-sounding crunch.
Keff guessed the magiman on that chariot had misjudged
the space between the cart and the wall. That left eight in
pursuit. Keff risked a glance. The silver glimmer at the
front was Chaumel, and behind him the dark green ofAse-
dow, the pink-gold ofPotria, Nokias's gold, and the shadow
that was Femgal were grouped in his wake. More ranged
behind them, but he couldn't identify them.

Plennafrey wound her way through the irregular, nar-
rowing corridor, tossing spells over her shoulder to slow
her pursuers.

"I would turn around and weave a web to snare them,"
she said, "but I dare not take my eyes off our path."

"I agree with you wholeheartedly, lady," Keff said.
"Keep your eyes on the road. Look, its lighter up ahead."

A lessening of the gloom before them suggested a
larger chamber, with more room to maneuver. Plenna
crested the high threshold and let out a moan of dismay.
The room widened out into a big cavern, but it was as
smooth and featureless as a bubble. Racks and racks of
bottles lined the lower half of the walls. No spaces
between them suggested any way out.

"A dead end," Keff said, in a flat tone. "We're in
Chaumels wine cellar. No wonder he was gloating."

"I was trying to tell you," Carialle spoke up in a contrite
voice. "You weren't listening."

"I'm sorry, Can. It was a wild ride," Keff said

Plennafrey turned in a loop that brought Keffs heart up
into his throat and made for the narrow entrance, but it
was suddenly filled by Chaumel and the rest of the posse.
Plennafrey reversed her chair until she was hovering in the
center of the room. Eight chairs surrounded her, looking
like a hanging jury.

"... And it looks like its over."

186        Anne McCaffrey <b- jody Liynn ^\yc

'There you are, my friends. You left us too soon,"
Chaumel said. "Magess Plennafrey, you overreached your-
self. You misunderstand how reluctant we are to allow such
prizes as this stranger and his tower to be won by the least

of our number."

Keff felt Plenna's knees tighten against his back.

"Perhaps he does not want to be anyone's property," she

said. "I will leave him his freedom."

"You do not have the right to make that choice,

Magess," Nokias said. He stretched out his arms and
planted one big hand across the ring that encircled his
other wrist. Keff braced himself as red bolts shot out of the
bracelet, enveloping him and the floating chair.

An invisible rod collected the bolts, diverting them
harmlessly down into nothingness. The astonished look on
Nokiass face said that he neither expected Plennafrey to

defy him nor to be able to counteract his attack.

'That's what hit you on the plain," Carialle whispered in
Keffs ear. "Same frequency. It must have been Nokias.

My, he looks surprised."

The other magimen lifted their objects of power, pre-
paring an all-out assault on their errant member.

"Please, friends," Chaumel said, moving between them
toward the wary pair in the center. His eyes were glowing

with a mad, inner light. "Allow me."

He took the wand from the sleeve on his belt and raised

it. Keff glanced up at Plennafrey. The magiwoman, glaring

defiance, began to wind up air in her arms.

T see what she's doing," Carialle said, her voice

alarmed. "Keff, tell her not to teleport again. I wont-"
The cavern exploded in a brilliant white flash.

Except for the absence of eight angry magimen, Keff
and Plennafrey might not have moved. They were in the
center of a globe hewn from the bare rock. Then Keff

noticed that the walls were rougher and the ceiling not so
high. Plennafrey hastily brought the chair to earth. She
sighed a deep breath of relief. Keff seconded it.

He sprang up and offered her his hand. With a small
smile, she reached out and took it, allowing him to assist
her from jthe chair.

"My lady, I want to thank you very sincerely for saving
my life," Keff said, bowing over their joined hands. When
he looked up, Plenna was pink, but whether with pleasure
or embarrassment Keff wasn't sure.

"I could not let them treat you like chattel," she said. T
feel you are a true man for all you are not one of us."

"A true man offers homage to a true lady," Keff said,
bowing again. Plennafrey freed herself and turned away,
clutching her hand against herself shyly. Keff smiled.

"What pretty manners you have," Carialle's voice said. It
sounded thin and very far away. "You're forty-five degrees
of planetary arc away from your previous location. I just
had time to trace you before your power burst dissipated.
You're in a small bubble pocket along another one of those
long cavern complexes. What is this place?"

T was just about to ask that." Keff looked around him.
"Lady, where are we?"

Unlike Chaumel's wine cellar, this place didn't smell
overpoweringly of wet limestone and yeast. The slight
mineral scent of the air mixed with a fragrant, powdery
perfume. Though large, the room had the sensation of
intimacy. A comfortable-looking, overstuffed chair
sprawled in the midst of little tables, fat floor pillows,
and toy animals. Against one wall, a small bed lay
securely tucked up beneath a thick but worn counter-
pane beside a table of trinkets. Above it, a hanging lamp
with a cobalt-blue shade, small and bright like a jewel,
glowed comfortingly. Keff knew it to be the private
bower of a young lady who had taken her place as an

adult but was not quite ready to give up precious child-
hood treasures.

"It is my . . . place," Plennafrey said. IT missed the
adjective, but Keff suspected the missing word was "secret"
or "private." Seeing the young woman's shy pride, he felt
sure no other eyes but his had ever seen this sanctuary.
"We are safe here."

"I'm honored," Keff said sincerely, returning his gaze
to Plennafrey. She smiled at him, watchful. He glanced
down at the bedside shelf, chose a circular frame from
which the images of several people projected slightly.
He picked it up, brought it close to his eyes for Carialle
to analyze.

"Holography," Carialle said at once. "Well, not exactly.
Similar effect, but different technique."

Keff turned the frame in his hands. The man standing at
the rear was tall and thin, with black hair and serious eye-
brows. He had his hands on the shoulders of two boys who
resembled him closely. The small girl in the center of the
grouping had to be a younger version of Plennafrey. "Your
family?"

"Yes."

"Handsome folks. Where do they live?"

She looked away. 'They're all dead," she said.

"I am sorry," Keff said.

Plennafrey turned her face back toward him, and her
eyes were red, the lashes fringed with tears. She fumbled
with the long, metallic sash, lifted it up over her head, and
flung it as far across the room as she could. It jangled
against the wall and slithered to the floor.

"I hate what that means. I hate being a magess. I would
have been so happy if not for .. ." IT tried to translate her
speech, and fell back to suggesting roots for the words she
used. None of it made much sense to Keff, but Carialle
interrupted him.

"I think she killed them, Keff," she said, alarmed.
"Didn't Chaumel say that the only way to advance in the
ranks was by stealing artifacts and committing murder?
You're shut up in a cave with a madwoman. Don't make
her angry. Get out of there."

"I don't believe that," Keff said firmly. 'They all died,
you said? Do you want to tell me about it?" He took both
the girl's hands in his. She flinched, trying to pull away, but
Keff, with a kind, patient expression, kept a steady, gentle
pressure on her wrists. He led her to the overstaffed foot-
rest and made her sit down. 'Tell me. Your family died,
and you inherited the power objects they had, is that right?
You don't mean you were actually instrumental in their
deaths."

"I do," Plenna said, her nose red. "I did it. My father
was a very powerful mage. He ... ed Nokias himself."

"Rival," IT rapped out crisply. Keff nodded.

'They both wished the position of Mage of the South,
but Noldas took it. Losing the office troubled him. Over
days and days-time, he went-" Helplessly, she fluttered
fingers in the vicinity of her temple, not daring to say the
word out loud.

"He went mad," Keff said. Plenna dropped her eyes.

"Yes. He swore he would rival the Ancient Ones. Then
he decided having children had diminished his power. He
wanted to destroy us to get it back."

"Horrible," Keff said. "He was mad. No one in his right
mind would ever think of killing his children."

"Don't say that!" Plennafrey begged him. "I loved my
father. He had to keep his position. You don't know what
it's like on Ozran. Any sign of weakness, and someone else
will... step in."

"Go on," Keff said gravely. Aided occasionally by IT,
Plennafrey continued.

'There is not much to tell. Father tried many rituals to

build up his connection with the Core of Ozran and
thereby increase his power, but they were always unsuc-
cessful. One day, two years ago, I was studying ley lines,
and I felt hostile power stronging up...."

"Building up," interjected IT.

"As I had been taught to do, I defended myself, making
power walls...."

"Warding?" Keff asked, listening to IT'S dissection of the
roots other phrase.

"Yes, and feeding power back along the lines from
which they came. There was more than I had ever felt."
The girls pupils dilated, making her eyes black as she
relived the scene. "I was out on our balcony. Then I was
surrounded by hot fire. I built up and threw the power
away from me as hard as I could. It took all the strength I
had. The power rushed back upon its sender. It went past
me into our stronghold. I felt an explosion inside our
home. That was when I knew what I had done. I ran." Her
face was pale and haunted. 'The door of my fathers sanc-
tum was blown outward. My brothers lay in the hall
beyond. All dead. All dead. And all my fault." Tears started
running down her cheeks. She dabbed at them with the
edge of a yellow sleeve. "Nokias and the others came to the
stronghold. They said I had made my first coup. I had
achieved the office ofmagess. I didn't want it. I had force-
killed my family."

"But you didn't do it on purpose," Keff said, feeling in
his tunic pocket for a handkerchief and extending it to her.
"It was an accident."

'T could have let my father succeed. Then he and my
brothers might be alive," Plennafrey said. "I should have
known." A tear snaked down her cheek. Angrily, she wiped
her eye and sat with the cloth crumpled in her fists.

"You fought for your life. That's normal. You shouldn't
have to sacrifice yourself for anyone's power grab."

"But he was my father! I respected his will. Is it not like
that where you live?" the girl asked.

"No," Keff said with more emphasis than he intended.
"No father would do what he did. To us, life is sacred."

Plenna stared at her hands. She gave a little sigh. "I wish
I lived there, too."

"I hate this world more than ever," said Carialle, for
whom special intervention to save her life had begun
before she was bom. "Corruption is rewarded, child mur-
der not even blinked at; power is the most important thing,
over family, life, sanity. Let's have them put an interdict on
this place when we get out of here. They haven't got space
travel, so we don't have to worry about them showing up in
the Central Worlds for millenia more to come."

"We have to get out of here first," Keff reminded her.
"Perhaps we can help them to straighten things out before
we go."

Carialle sighed. "Of course you're right, knight in shin-
ing armor. Whatever we can do, we should. I simply
cannot countenance what this poor girl went through."

Keff turned to Plennafrey. She stared down toward the
floor, not seeing it, but thinking other past.

"Please, Plennafrey," Keff said, imbuing the Ozran
phrases with as much persuasive charm in his voice as pos-
sible, "I'm new to your world. I want to learn about you
and your people. You interest me very much. What is
this?" he asked, picking up the nearest unidentifiable gew-
gaw.

Distracted, she looked up. Keff held the little cylinder
up to her, and she smiled.

"It is a music," she said. At her direction, he shook the
box back and forth, then set it down. The sides popped
open, and a sweet, tinny melody poured out. "I have had
that since, oh, since a child."

"Is it old?"

"Oh, a few generations. My fathers fathers father," she
giggled, counting on her fingers, "made it for his wife."

"Its beautiful. And what's this?" Keff got up and
reached for a short coiled string and the pendant bauble at
the end of it. The opaline substance glittered blue, green,
and red in the lamplight.

"Its a plaything," Plennafrey said, with a hint of her
natural vitality returning to her face. "It takes some skill to
use. No magic. I am very good with it. My brothers were
never as skilled."

"Show me," Keff said. She stood up beside him and
wound the string around the central core of the pen-
dant. Inserting her forefinger through the loop at the
strings end, she cradled the toy, then threw it. It
spooled out and smacked back into her palm. She
flicked it again, but this time moved her hand so the
pendant ricocheted past her head, dove between their
knees, then shot back into her hand.

"Ayo-yo!" Keff said, delighted.

"You have such things?" Plennafrey asked. She smiled
up into his face.

Keff grinned. "Oh, yes. This is far nicer than the ones I
used to play with. In fact, its a work of art. Can I try?"

"All right." Plenna peeled the string off her finger and
extended the toy to him. He accepted it, his hands cradling
hers for just a moment. He did a few straight passes with
the yo-yo, then made it fly around die world, then swung it
in a trapeze.

"You are very good, too," Plenna said, happily. "Will you
show me how you did die last tiling?"

"It would be my pleasure," Keff told her. He returned
die toy to her hands. As his palms touched hers, he felt an
almost electric shock. He became aware diey were stand-
ing very close, dieir tilighs brushing slighdy so diat he
could feel die heat of her body. Her breatii caught, dien

came more quickly. His respiration sped up to match hers.
To his delight and astonishment he knew that she was as
attracted to him as he was to her. The yo-yo slipped unno-
ticed to die hassock as he clasped her hands tightiy. She
smiled at him, her eyes full of trust and wonder. Before she
said a word, his arms slid along hers, encompassing her
narrow waist, hands flat against her back. She didn't pro-
test, but pressed her slim body to his. He felt her quiver
slighdy, then she nesded urgentiy against him, settling her
head on his shoulder. Her skin was warm dirough die thin
stuff of her dress, and her flowery, spicy scent tantalized
him.

She felt so natural in his arms he had to remind himself
diat she was an alien being, dien he discarded inhibition. If
things didn't work out physically, weU, diey were sharing
die intense closeness of people who had been in danger
togetiier, a kind of comfort in itself. Yet he let himself
believe diat all would be as he desired it. There were too
many other outward similarities to humanity in Plenna-
frey s people. With luck, they made love die same way.

Plennafrey had none of die seductive art of die gauze-
draped Potria, but he found her genuine responsiveness
much more desirable. While her elders were tormenting
Keff, it had probably not occurred to her to diink of him as
anything but an abused "toy."

She was merely being kind to an outsider, or less chari-
tably, to a dumb animal that couldn't defend itself. Now
that they were together, intriguing chemistry bubbled up
between them. He watched die long fringe of her lashes
lift to reveal her large, dark eyes. He admired the long
throat and die way her pulse jumped in die small shadow
at die hollow inside her collarbone. The comers of her
moudi lifted while she, too, stopped to study him.

"What are you diinking?" he asked, looking up at her.

"I am diinking diat you are handsome," she said.

"Well, you are very beautiful, lady magess," he whis-
pered, bending down to loss the curve of her shoulder.
"I hate being a magess," Plennafrey said in a voice that

was nearly a sob.

"But I am glad you are a magess," Keff said. "If you
hadn't been, I would never have met you, and you are the
nicest thing I have seen since I came to Ozran."

He put his hand under her chin, stroked her soft throat
with a gende finger like petting a cat. Almost felinely,
Plenna closed her eyes to long slits and let her head drift
back, looking like she wanted to purr. She raised her face
to his, and her hand crept up the back of his neck to pull
his head down to her level. Keff tasted cherries and cinna-
mon on her lips, delighted to lose himself in her perfume.
He deepened the kiss, and Plenna responded with ardor.
He bent down to kiss the curve of her shoulder, felt her
brush her cheek against his ear.

Suddenly she let go of him and stepped back, looking
up at him half-expectandy, half-afraid, Keff gathered up
her hands and kissed them, pulled Plenna close, and
brushed her lips with soft, feather-light caresses until they
opened. She sighed.

"Sight and sound off, please, Cari," Keff whispered.
Plennafrey nestled her head into the curve of his shoulder,
and he kissed her.

Carialle considered for a moment before shutting off
the sensory monitors. While in a potentially hostile
environment, especially with hostiles in pursuit, it was
against Courier Service rules to break off all

communications.

The Ozran female let out a wordless ciy, and Keff
matched it with a heartfelt moan. Carialle weighed the
requirement with Keffs right to privacy and decided a lim-
ited signal wasn't unreasonable. Such a request was

permissible as long as the brain maintained some kind of
contact with her brawn partner.

"As you wish, my knight errant," she said, hastily turning
off the eye and mouth implants. She monitored transmis-
sion of his cardial and pulmonary receivers instead. They
were getting a strenuous workout.

With her brawn otherwise occupied, Carialle turned her
attention to the outside of Ozran. Most of the power and
radio signals were still clustered on and inside Chaumels
peak. Each magiman and magiwoman proved to have a
slightly different radio frequency which she or he used for
communication, so Carialle could distinguish them. The
eight remaining hunters who had pursued Keff and his
girlfriend down the subterranean passages fanned out
again and again across the planetary surface, and
regrouped. The search was proving futile. Carialle men-
tally sent them a raspberry

"Bad luck, you brutes," she said, merrily.

On the plain, the eye-globes came out of nowhere and
circled around and around her. Carialle peered at each one
closely, and recorded its burblings to the others through
IT. Keff was building up a pretty good Ozran vocabulary
and grammar, so she could understand the messages of
frustration and fury that they broadcast to one another.

Some time later, Keffs heartbeat slowed down to its
resting rate. His brain waves showed he had drifted off to
sleep. Carialle occupied herself in the hours before dawn
by doing maintenance on her computer systems and keep-
ing an eye on the hunters who had to be wearing
themselves out by now.

Carialle gave Keff a decent interval to wipe out sleep
toxins,' and then switched on again. Her video monitors
beside his eyes offered her a most romantic tableau.

On the small bed against the bower wall, the young

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magiwoman was cuddled up against Keffs body. They
were both naked, and his dark-haired, muscular arm was
thrown protectively over her narrow, pale waist. Their
ankles overlapped and then he started running a toe up
and down her calf. Carialle took the opportunity to scan
KefFs companion and found her readings of great interest.
Keff snorted softly, the sound he always made when he

was on the edge ofwakefulness.

"Ahem!" Carialle said, just loudly enough to alert, but
not loud enough to startle Keff. "Are you certain this is
what Central Worlds means by first contact?"

Keff gave a deep and throaty chuckle. "Ah, but it was
first contact, my lady," he said, allowing her to infer the

double or triple entendre.

"A gentleman never kisses and tells, you muscled ape,"

Carialle chided him. He laughed softly. The girl stirred
slightly in her sleep, and her hand settled upon the hair on
his chest. She smiled gently, dreaming. "Keff, I have some-
thing I need to tell you about Plennafrey, in fact about all

the Ozrans: they're human."

'Very similar, but they're humanity's cousins," Keff cor-
rected her. "And wait until I show the tapes to Xeno. Not

of this, of course. They'll go wild."

"She is human, Keff. She must be the descendant of
some lost colony or military ship that landed here eons ago.
Her reactions, both emotional and bodily, let alone blood
pressure, structure, systems-she was close enough to
your contact implants for me to make sure. And I am sure.
We have met the Ozrans, and they is us."

"Genetic scan?" Keff was disappointed. Carialle could
tell he was still hoping, but he was a good enough exobi-
ologist to realize he knew it himself.

"Bring me a lock other hair, and I'll prove it."
"Oh, well," he said, gathering Plennafrey closer and
tucking her head into his shoulder. "I can still rejoice in

having found a mutation of humanity that has such power-
ful TK abilities."

Carialle sighed. Bless his stubbornness, she thought.

"It's not TK. It's sophisticated tool-using. Take away her
toys and see if she can do any other magic tricks."

Keff reached over the edge of the small bed and picked
up the heavy belt by its buckle. He weighed it in his hand,
then let it slip on his palm so his fingers were pointing
toward the five depressions. "Does that mean I can use
these things, too?"

"I should say so."

The links of the belt clanked softly together. The slight
noise was enough to wake the young magiwoman in alarm.
She sat up, her large eyes scanning the chamber.

"Who is here?" she asked. Keff held out her belt to her
and she snatched it protectively.

"Only me," Keff said. "I'm sorry. I wanted to see how it
worked. I didn't mean to wake you up."

Plenna looked apologetic for having overreacted to sim-
ple curiosity, and offered the belt to him with both hands
and a warning. "We mustn't use it here. It is the reason that
my bower is secure. We are just on the very edge of the ley
lines, so my belt buckle and sash resonate too slightly to be
noticed by any other mage." She swept a hand around.
"Everything in this room was brought here by hand. Or
fashioned by hand from new materials, using no power."

'That's in the best magical tradition," Keff noted
approvingly. 'That means there's no vibes' left over from
previous users. In this case, tracers or finding spells."

"Or circuits," Carialle said. "How does their magic
work?"

Her question went unanswered. Before Keff could relay
it to Plenna, he found himself gawking up toward the ceil-
ing. As neatly as a conjurer pulling handkerchiefs out of his
sleeve, the air disgorged Chaumels flying chair, followed

by Potria's, then Asedows. Chaumel swooped low over the
bed. The silver mage glared at them through bloodshot

eyes.

"What a pretty place," he said, showing all his teeth in a
mirthless grin. "I'll want to investigate it later on." He eyed
Plennafreys slender nakedness with an arrogant posses-
siveness. "Possibly with your . . . close assistance, my lady.
You've been having a nice time while we've looked every-
where for you!"

Keffand Plennafrey scrambled for their clothes. One by
one, the other hunters appeared, crowding the low bubble
of stone.

"Ah, the chase becomes interesting again," Potria said.
She didn't look her best. The chiffon other gown drooped
limply like peach-colored lettuce, and her eye makeup had
smeared from lines to bruises. "I was getting so bored run-
ning after shadows."

"Yes, the prey emerges once again," Chaumel said. "But
this time the predators are ready."

Plenna glared at Chaumel as she threw her primrose
dress over her head.

"We should never have traveled in here by chair," she
snarled. Keff stepped into his trousers and yanked on his
right boot.

'That is correct," Chaumel said, easily, sitting back with
his abnormally long fingers tented on his belly. "It took us
some time to find the vein by which the heart of Ozran fed
your power, but we have you at last. We will pass judgment
on you later, young magess, but at this moment, we wish
our prize returned to us."

The two stood transfixed as Nokias, Femgal, and Omri
slid their chairs into line beside their companion.

"Your disobedience will have to be paid for," Nokias said
sternly to Plenna.

The young woman bowed her head, clasping her belt

and sash in her hands. "I apologize for my disrespect, High
Mage," she said, contritely. Keff was shocked by her sud-
den descent into submissiveness.

Nokias smiled, making Keff want to ram the mage's
teeth down his skinny throat. "My child, you were rash. I
can forgive."

The golden chair angled slightly, making to set down in
the clear space between Plennas small bed and her table.
With lightning reflexes, Plennafrey grabbed Keffs hand,
jumped over the lower limb of the chair, and dashed for
her own chair. Clutching his armload of clothes and one
boot, Keff had a split second to brace himself as Plenna
launched the blue-green chariot into the gap left by Nokias
and zoomed out into one of the tunnels that led out of the
bubble.

Keff threw his legs around the edges of Plennafreys
chariot to brace himself while he shrugged into his tunic.
The strap of the IT box was clamped tightly in his teeth.
He disengaged it, dragged it out from under his shirt, and
put it around his neck where it belonged. His boot would
have to wait.

"Well done, my lady," he shouted. His voice echoed off
the walls of the small passage that wound, widened, and
narrowed about them.

"How dare they invade my sanctum!" Plennafrey fumed.
Instead of being frightened by the appearance of the other
mages, she was furious. "It goes beyond discourtesy. It
is-like invading my mind! How dare they? Oh, I feel so
stupid for teleporting in. I should never have done that."

"I'm responsible again, Plenna," Keff said contritely. He
hung on as she negotiated a sharp turn. He pulled his legs
up just in time. The edge of the chair almost nipped a
stone outcropping. Plennafreys hand settled softly on his
shoulder, and he reached up to squeeze it. "You were
saving my life."

"Oh, I do not blame you, Keff," she said. "If only I had
been thinking clearly. It is all my fault. You couldn't know
what I should have kept in mind, what I have been trained
in all my life!" Her hand tightened in his, and he let it go.
"It is just that now I don't know where we can go."

The posse was once again in pursuit. Keff heard shout-
ing and bone-chilling scrapes as the hunters organized
themselves a single-file line and attempted to follow. This
tunnel was narrower than the ones underneath Chaumel's
castle. A fallen stalactite aimed a toothlike pike at them,
which Plenna dodged with difficulty. She scraped a few
shards of wood off the side of her vehicle on the opposite
wall. Keff curled his legs up under his chin away from the
edge and prayed he wouldn't bounce off.

"Usually I enter on foot," Plenna said apologetically. "A

chair was never meant to pass this way."

Keff was sure that Chaumel and the others were figur-
ing that out now. The swearing and crashing sounds were
getting louder and more emphatic. If Plenna wasn't such a
good pilot, they'd be coming to grief on the rocks, too.

"Can't we teleport out of here?" Keff asked.

"We can't teleport out of a place," Plenna said, staring
ahead of them. "Only in. Almost there. Hold on."

Keff, gripping the legs other chair, got brief impressions
of a series of vast caverns and corkscrewing passages as
they looped and flitted through a passage that wound in an
ever-widening spiral without the walls ever spreading far-
ther apart. To Keifs relief, they emerged into the open air.
They were over a steep-sided, narrow, dry riverbed
bounded by dun-colored brush and scrub trees. He had a
mere glimpse of the partly-concealed stone niche where
Plenna almost certainly landed her chair when here by
herself, then they were out over the ravine heading into
the sunrise. Keffs stomach turned over when he realized
how high up they were. He chided himself for a practical

coward; he wasn't afraid of heights in vacuum, but where
gravity ruled, he was acrophobic.

He turned at the sound of a shout. Through a lucky
fluke, Chaumel and Asedow were almost immediately
behind them. The others were probably still trying to get
out of Plenna's labyrinth, or had crashed into the stone
walls. As soon as he was clear, Asedow raised his mace.
Red fire lanced out at them. Plenna, apparently intuiting
where Asedow would strike, dodged up and down, slewing
sideways to let the beams pass. The dry brush of the deep
river vale smoldered and caught fire.

Chaumel was more subtle. Keff felt something creep
into his mind and take hold. He suddenly thought he was
being carried in the jaws of a dragon. Fiery breath crept
along his back and into his hair, growing hotter. The fierce,
white teeth were about to bite down on him, severing his
legs. He groaned, clenching his jaws, as he fought the illu-
sions hold on his mind. The image vanished in the sweet
breeze Keff had come to associate with Plenna, but it was
followed immediately by another horrible illusion. She bat-
ted it away at once without losing her concentration on the
battle. Chaumel was ready with the next sally.

"Don't want them taking my mind!" Keff ground out,
battling images of clutching octopi with needle-sharp teeth
set in a ring.

"Concentrate, Keff," Carialle said 'Those devious bas-
tards can't find a crack if you keep your focus small. Think
of an equation. Six to the eighth power is ... ?"

"Times six is thirty six, times six is two hundred sixteen,
times six is ..." Keff recited.

Plennafrey started forming small balls of gray nothing-
ness between her hands. Her chair wheeled on its own
axis, bringing her face-to-face with her pursuers. They
peeled off to the sides like expert dog-fighters, but not
before she had flung her spells at them. Explosions echoed

down the valley. Femgal's chair tipped over backward,
sending him plummeting into the ravine. Keff heard his
cry before the magiman vanished in midair. The black
chair vanished, too. Nokias zoomed in toward them, his
hand laid across his spell-casting ring. Plenna threw up a
wall of protection just in time to shield them from the scar-
let lightning.

"Divided by fourteen is . . . ? Come on!" Carialle said.
'To die nearest integer."

One by one, the last three mages appeared out of the
cave mouth and joined in the aerial batde. Keff couldn't
watch Plenna weaving spells anymore because the webs
made him think of giant spiders, which the illusion-casters
made creep toward him, threatening to eat him. He drove
them away with numbers.

"How long is a ninety-five kilohertz radio wave?" Cari-
alle pressed him. "Keff, late-breaking headline: a couple
hundred chariots just left Chaumel's residence. They're all
coming for you. Teleporting... now!"

"We're too vulnerable," Keff shouted hoarsely. "If they
get through to my mind the way they did in the banquet
hall, I'll end up their plaything. If they don't shoot us first!"

All six of the remaining mages positioned themselves
around Plenna like the sides of a cube, converging on her,
throwing their diverse spells and illusions. Hands flying,
Plennafrey warded herself and Keff in a translucent globe
of energy. Carialle s voice became suffused with static.

Suddenly, the chair under him dropped. Spells and
lightning bolts, along with the shield-globe, vanished. The
sides of the ravine shot upward like the stone walls in his
nightmare.

"What happened?" he shouted. All the other mages
were falling, too, their faces frozen with fear. Before his
question was completely out of his mouth, the terrifying
fall ceased. Keff felt his hair crackle with static electricity,

and bright sparks seemed to fly around all the mages'
chariots. Unhesitatingly, Plenna angled her chair upward,
flying out of the canyon. She crested the ridge and ran flat
out toward the east. "What was that?"

"Didn't you pay the power bill?" Carialle asked, in his
ear. 'That was a full blackout, a tremendous drop along the
electromagnetic lines. I think you overloaded the circuits
of whatever's powering them, but they're back on line.
Fortunately, it got everybody at once, not just you."

"Are you all right?" Keff asked.

The yearning and frustration in the brain's voice was
unmistakable. "For that one moment I was free, but unfor-
tunately I was too slow to take off! All the power on the
planet is draining toward you-even the plants seem to be
losing their color. Everyone is out in full force after you.
Keff, get her to bring you here!"

Like a hive of angry hornets, swarms of chariots poured
over the ridge in pursuit. Scarlet bolts whipped past Keffs
ear. He grabbed Plennafrey s knee, and turned his face up
to her.

"Plenna, if you can't teleport out, we have to teleport
into somewhere-my ship!" She nodded curtly.

Over his head, the girl's arms wove and wove. Keff
watched the mass of chairs fill the air behind them. He
prayed they wouldn't suffer another magical blackout.

"Great Mother Planet of Paradise, aid me!" Plenna
threw up her arms, and the whole scene, angry magicians
and all, vanished.

a CHAPTER TEN

Plonk! The chariot was abruptly surrounded by the walls
of Carialle s main cabin.

'That was a tight fit," Carialle remarked on her main
speaker. "You're nearly close enough to the bulkhead to
meld with the paint."

"But we made it," Keff said, scrambling out. Grate-
fully, he stretched his legs and reached high over his
head with joined hands until his back crackled in seven
places. "Ahhh ..."

Plenna rose and stared around her in wonder. "Yes, we
made it. So this is what the tower looks like inside. It is like
a home, but so many strange things!"

"I think she likes it," Carialle said, approvingly.

"Well, what's not to like?" Keff said. "Are the magimen
still coming?"

'They don't know where you've gone. They'll figure it
out soon enough, but I'm generating white noise to mask
my interior. It's making the spy-eyes crazy, but that's all
right with me, the nasty little metal mosquitoes."

"It is not you talking," Plennafrey said, watching his lips

204

as Carialle made her latest statement. 'There is a second
voice, a female's. Your tower can speak?"

Keff, realizing the habits of fourteen years were
stronger than discretion, glanced at Carialles pillar and
pulled an apologetic face.

"Oops," Carialle said.

"Er, it's not a tower, Plenna. It's a ship," Keff explained.

"And it's not his. It's mine." Carialle manifested her
Myths and Legends image of the Lady Fair on the main
screen. With tremendous and admirable self-control,
Plennafrey just caught her mouth before it could drop
open. She eyed the gorgeous silhouette, evidently
contrasting her own disheveled costume unfavorably with
the rose-colored gauze and satin of the Lady.

"You're ... only a picture," Plenna said at last.

"You want me three-dimensional?" Cari said, making
her image "step" off the wall and assume a moving holo-
graphic image. She held out her hands, making her long
sleeves flutter with a whisper of silk. "As you wish. But I
am real. I exist inside the walls of this ship. I am the other
halfofKeffs team. My name is Carialle."

The fierce expression Plenna wore told Carialle that
Plenna was jealous of all things pertaining to Keff. That
needed to be handled when the crisis had passed. To the
magiwomans credit, she understood that, too.

"I greet you, Carialle," Plenna said politely.

"She's a winner, Keff," Cari said, pitching her statement
for Keffs mastoid implant only. "Pretty, too. And just a lit-
tle taller than you are. That must have made things
interesting."

Keff colored satisfactorily. "Now that we're all
acquainted, we have to talk seriously before Chaumel and
his Wild Hunt catch up with us. What in the name of
Daylight Savings Time just happened out there?"

"I have never seen the High Mages so ... so insane,"

Plennafrey offered, shaking her head. 'They have gone
beyond reason."

'That's not what I mean," Keffsaid. 'The magic stopped
all at once when we were hanging over that riverbed."

Tt has happened before," Plenna said, nodding gravely.
"But not when I was in the sky. That was terrible."

'The huge drain on power obviously caused some kind
of imbalance in the system," Carialle said. She plotted a
chair for her image to sit down on and gestured for the
other two to seat themselves. 'The drop came after the
whole grid of what the lady called ley lines' bottomed out
all over the planet. There was, for an instant, no more
power to call. It came back after you all suffered a kind of
blackout. Look."

In their midst, Carialle projected a two-meter, three-
dimensional image of Ozran, showing the ley lines
etched in purple over the dun, green, and blue globe.
Geographical features, including individual peaks and
valleys on the continents, took shape.

"Oh," Plenna breathed, recognizing some of the terrain.
"Is this what Ozran looks like?"

'That's right," Keffsaid.

"How wonderful," she said, beaming at Carialle for the
first time. To be able to make beautiful pictures like mat."

Carialle ducked her head politely, acknowledging the
compliment.

'Thank you, miss. Now, this is the normal flow of those
mysterious electromagnetic waves. Here's what happened
when you got that blast of dust in Chaumels stronghold."

The translucent globe turned until the large continent
in the northern hemisphere was facing Keff and Plenna-
frey. The dark lines thickened toward a peak on a
mountain spine in the southeast region, thinning every-
where else. What remained were small "peaks" on the
lines here and there. "I think these are the mages who

didn't come to dinner. Now here"-the configurations
changed slightly, the bulges shifting southward- "is what
happened when you escaped from the dinner party. And
this next matches the moment when you teleported to
Magess Plennafrey s sanctum sanctorum."

The purple lines performed complicated dances. First, a
slight bulge opened out in lines near a river valley in the
southernmost mountain range of the continent, corre-
sponding to a slight drop in the forces in the southeast.
Chaumel's peak was nearly invisible amidst the power
lines, until the mages dispersed to points all over Ozran.
Occasionally, they reconverged.

'This big spike indicated when the eight mages found
Plennafreys hidey-hole," Carialle said, narrating, "followed
by the big one when everyone came to see the fun. Here
comes the chase scene. A huge buildup as the others left
Chaumels peak. And-"

Abruptly, the lines thinned, some even disappearing for
a moment.

'That has happened before," Plenna repeated. "Not
often, but more often now than before."

"Absolute power corrupts, and I'm not just talking about
political." Carialle finished the ley geographic review.

"Can you run that image again, Cari?" Keffsaid, leaning
close to study it. "Magic shouldn't cause imbalances in
planetary fields."

"But it does, depending on where it comes from," Cari-
alle said. "What's it for? Why is there a worldwide network
of force lines? It must have been put here for a reason."
She turned to Plenna. "Where does your power come
from, Magess?"

"Why, from my belt amulet," Plennafrey explained, dis-
playing the heavy buckle. The sash is an amulet, too, but it
was my fathers, and I don't like to use it." She undid her
waist cincture and held it out to Carialle.

Carialle had her image shake its head. "I'm not solid,
sweetie." Instead, she directed the artifact to Keff. Carialle
turned on an intense spotlight in the ceiling and aimed it
so she and her brawn could have a better look. Keff turned
the belt over in his hands. Carialle zoomed in a camera eye
to microscopic focus.

The five indentations were there, as Chaumel had said,
part of the original design. The buclde had been adapted
for wear by some unknown metal smith at least eight hun-
dred years ago, Carialle judged by a quick analysis. Braces
and a tongue had been welded to its sides. The whole
thing comprised approximately ninety cubic centimeters,
and was plated with fine gold, which accounted for its
retaining a noncorroded surface over the centuries. Cari-
alle recorded all data in accessible memory.

"Can you teach me how to use it?" Keff asked, smiling
hopefuUy at her. Plennafrey seemed uneasy, but allowed
herself to be persuaded by the fatal Von Scoyk-Larsen

charm.

"Well, all right," she said. "I'll trust you." Her expression
said that she didn't trust often or easily. Such behavior on
this world, Carialle noted, would not be a survival trait.

Plenna stood behind Keff and showed him how to place
his fingers in the depressions. "Do not push down, not...
solidly," she said.

"Physically," Keff corrected IT'S translation. He cradled
the buckle in his other hand, raising it to eye level.

"Correct," Plenna said, unaware of the box's simultane-
ous transmission as she spoke. "Imagine your fingers
pressing deep into the heart, where they will contact the

CoreofOzran."

"Is that why you wear the finger extensions?" Keff
asked, after trying to fit his hand into the depressions.
His thumb and little finger had to curve unnaturally to
touch all five spots, while Plenna, with her pinky

prosthesis, could cover them without effort, bending
only her thumb.

"Yes. Most mages do not have fingers long enough. It is
one way in which we are inferior to the great Ancient Ones
who left us these tools," Plenna said with a trace of awe.
"Now, think hard. Do you feel the fire inside? It should
run up inside your arm to your heart."

"I feel something," Keff said after a while. "Now what?"

She looked around and pointed at me pedometer lying
on the console. "Make that box fly," she said.

Keff stared fixedly at the pedometer. His face turned
red with effort. To Carialles satisfaction, the device
lifted a few centimeters before clattering back to its
resting place.

'There, you see?" she said. "Mechanics."

Plennafrey held out her hand for the belt, and Keff gave
it back. "Now, here is how I do it." Barely touching the five
depressions, the magiwoman glanced at the box. It shot up
to dangle in midair. Keff walked over and tried to push
down on the hovering device. It didn't budge. He yanked
at it with all his strength.

"It's as if you fixed it there," Keff said, sweeping Plenna
off her feet and kissing her. "CariaUe, we're both right.
They do use machines, but it's more than that. I can't
duplicate what she just did. I nearly got a hernia raising the
pedometer as far as I did. She set it like a point plotted in a
three-dimensional grid, and she's not even flushed."

The Lady Fair image didn't show the exasperation that
Carialle let creep into her voice.

"All right, so they have natural TK and psi abilities which
are amplified by the mechanism. Probably increased by
selective breeding over centuries-you see what they've
done to the Noble Primitives."

"Sour grapes," Keff said cheerfully. "And this gizmo can
work from anywhere on the planet?" he asked Plennafrey.

"Yes," the magiwoman said, "but closer to the Core of

Ozran makes it easier."

Keff nodded and sat down next to Plenna so he could
examine the buckle once again. "Chaumel mentioned that,
but he wouldn't say what it is. Is that the power source? Do

you know how it works?"

"I do-or I think I do." Plennafreys eyes grew dreamy
as she raised her hands to sketch in the air. "It is a great,
glowing heart of power, somewhere deep beneath the sur-
face of Ozran. It was the Ancient Ones' greatest work." For
a moment, die young woman looked sheepish. "My power
is weak compared with the others. I have tried to figure
out more about the Ancient Ones and the Core to try and
increase my power, though not . . . not in the way some
did." She glanced uneasily at Carialle.

"I know all about your father, Magess," Carialle said.
"Whatever Keff sees and hears, I do, too."

That reminded Plennafrey of what Carialle must have
seen and heard that morning, and she blushed from the
roots other hair to her neckline.

"Oh," she said. Carialle kindly tried to take the sting out

of the revelation.

"I also agree with everything he said about your situ-
ation. You're very brave, Magess."

'Thank you. Hem! As I said, I wished to make my con-
nection to the Core greater with harm to none. I have
some ancient documents that I am sure hold the key to the
power of the Core, but I cannot read them." She appealed
to both brain and brawn. "I dared not ask anyone for help,
lest they take away my small advantage. Perhaps you might

help me?"

"Documents?" Keff perked up. He rose and paced
around the cabin. "Documents possibly written by the
Ancients? Will you let me see them? I'm a stranger; I have
no reason to rob you. I'm also very good with languages.

Will you trust me?" He stopped at Plennafreys chair and
took her hand.

"All right," Plennafrey said. She looked lovingly up into
his eyes. "There is no one else I would rather trust."

"She's completely out other league in this game," Cari-
alle said .in Keffs ear. "What a pity there isn't a place on
this nasty planet for nice guys. ... We have one problem,"
she said aloud. "I can't lift tail from where I'm sitting, and
at present, there's a surveillance team of overgrown mar-
bles flying around my hull."

"Where are Chaumel and the others?" Keff asked.

Carialle consulted her monitors, reanimating the globe.
The enormous mass of purple had thinned away, leaving
single points scattered along the crisscrossing lines. "Eve-
ryone's gone home except a few who are hanging around
Chaumel's peak."

"I am sure they will be looking for me in my strong-
hold," Plenna said resignedly. "All is lost."

"We need a conspirator," Keff said. "And I know just the
fellow."

"Who? I told you all the others would steal my docu-
ments, and then you will be forced to read for them."

Keffs eyes twinkled. "He's not a mage. Cari, can you get
me out of here unobserved through the cargo hatch? I'm
going to go enlist Brannel."

"Who is Brannel?" Plenna asked, trailing behind Keff
and Carialle as they headed toward the cargo hold.

"He's one of the workers who lives in the cave out
mere," Keff said, pointing vaguely outward.

"A four-finger? You wish to entrust one of Klemays
farmers with secrets of the Core of Ozran?"

"You don't know what's in your files," Carialle said.
"Might be a book of recipes from the Dark Ages. Listen,
Magess." Carialle's image stopped in the hold as Keff
began to move containers out of die way. Plennafrey

trotted to a halt to avoid bumping into her. "We need help.
Something very wrong is happening to your world and I
think it has been going bad since your ancestors were
babies. Your documents are the first piece of real informa-
tion we've heard about. Brannel can do what none of us
can: he can go in and out of your house without being
noticed by the other magimen."

"Can?" Keff gestured at the larger boxes blocking the
ladder to the hatch. Service arms detached from the walls
and began to stack and move them to other shelves. "I'm
also going to have to jump down three meters. You'll have
to create a diversion."

"Leave that to me," Carialle said.

She led the magiwoman back toward the main cabin.
"Now, we're going to have some fun."

Devoting screens around the main console to three of
her external cameras for Plenna's benefit, Carialle tuned
into the eye-spheres, the service door, and the main hatch-
way.

They watched the eyes cluster as Carialle let down her
ramp and slid open her airlock to disgorge a servo. The low
robot rolled down onto the plateau and trundled off into
the bushes with the cluster of spy-eyes in pursuit. The door
slid closed.

"Go!" Carialle said, pitching her voice over the speaker
in the cargo hold. She slid open the door just a trifle.

Leaving some skin behind, Keff slipped out the narrow
opening, and dropped to tile ground in a crouch. He ran
down the hill and across the field toward where the
workers were gathering at the cave mouth for their daily
toil.

Trusting Keff to take care of that half of the arrange-
ments on his own, Carialle watched with amusement
through one of the servos guiding cameras as the spies fol-
lowed. It rumbled downhill into a gully and plunged into a

sudden puddle, splashing some of the eyes so they
recoiled. Plennafrey laughed.

The servo rumbled forward into the midst of a cluster of
globe-frogs, who rolled hastily backward and gesticulated
at one another inside their cases, croaking in alarm. They
moved into the servos path, continuing their tirade, as if
scolding the machine for scaring them. Cari guided it care-
fully so it wouldn't bump into any of them and headed it
for the deepest part of the swamp.

Low-frequency transmissions buzzed between the spy-
eyes. Carialle hooked the IT into the audio monitors.
From the look of concentration on her face, Plenna was
already listening to them in her own way, and enjoying
being in the know for a change.

"Where is it going?" asked Potrias voice. "Do you sup-
pose its going to where they are?"

Plennafrey giggled.

"Is the strangers house doing this on its own?" Noldas
asked. "It is a most powerful artifact."

Carialle huffed. 'They still think I'm an object! Oh, well,
there's nothing I can do about that yet."

"If they knew you were a living being," Plenna said,
"they would not treat you as an object. Oh," she said, real-
ity dawning, "they would, wouldn't they? They did with
Keff. Oh, my, what has my world become?"

Carialle felt sony for Plenna. She might be one of the
upper class, but she wasn't happy about the status.

On the screen, the spy-eyes were buzzing busily to one
another, circling the area, trying to second-guess the
servo's mission. Serenely, the robot rolled into a swampy
place where pink-flowering weeds grew. Carialle set its
parameters to seek out a marsh weed that had exactly fif-
teen leaves and twelve petals.

'That should keep it busy for a while," Carialle said.

"What does it want in that terrible wet place?" Asedow's

voice wailed. "I am getting aches in my bones just watch-
ing it!"

"Keep your eyes open," Nokiass voice cautioned them.
'There might be a clue in what this box seeks that will lead
us to the stranger."

Carialle joined Plennafrey's delighted chuckle.

Keff ran to the far side of the cave mouth so die hill
would block the view of him from the spy-eyes' position.
The Noble Primitives, still wiping traces of breakfast from
their faces and chest fur, were listening to their crew chiefs
assigning tasks for the day. Brannel, near Alteiss group,
seemed bored with the whole thing. Keff now suspected
that there was something in the Noble Primitives metabo-
lism that rejected the amnesia-inducing drug, or he was
cleverer than his masters knew. He was banking on the lat-
ter possibility.

"Ssst, Brannel!" he whispered. A child turned around at
the slight noise and saw him. Sternly, Keff shook his head
and twirled his finger to show the child she should turn
around again. Terrified, the youngster clamped her hands
together and returned to her original posture, spine rigid.
Keff fancied he could see her quivering and regretted the
necessity of scaring her. It was easier to frighten the child
into submission than make friends. He hissed again.

"Ssst, Brannel! Over here!"

This time Brannel heard him. The Noble Primitives
sheeplike face split into a wide grin as he saw Keff beckon-
ing to him. He rose to hands and knees and crawled away
from the work party.

Alteis saw him. "Brannel, return!" he commanded.

Wordlessly, Brannel pointed to his belly, indicating the
need to go relieve himself. The leader shook his head, then
lost all interest in his maverick worker. Keff admired Bran-
nel s quick mind; the fellow had to be unique among the
field workers on Ozran.

"I am so glad to see you safe, Magelord," Brannel said,
when they had retreated around the curve of the hill. T
was concerned for your safety."

Keff was touched. 'Thank you, Brannel. I was worried
for a while, too. But as you see, I'm back safe and sound."

Brannel was impressed. Only yesterday Mage Keff
could speak but a little of the Ozran tongue. Overnight, he
had learned the language as well as if he had been born
there.

"How may I serve, Magelord?"

"I wonder if you would be willing to do me a favor. I
need someone with your injenooety," Keff said. Brannel
shook his head, not comprehending. "Er, your smart brain
and wits."

"Ah," Brannel said, docketing "injenooety" as a word of
the linga esoterka he had not previously known. "You are
too kind, Mage Keff. I'd do anything you wish."

Inwardly, Brannel was jubilant. The mage had sought
him out, Brannel, a worker male! He could serve this
mage, and in return, who knew? Keff possessed many
great talents and wide knowledge which, perhaps, he
might share as a reward for good service. One day, Bran-
nel, too, might be able to achieve his dream and take
power as a mage.

Keff looked around. "I don't wish to talk here. We might
be overheard. Come with me to the silver tower." When
Brannel looked askance at him, he asked, "What's wrong?"

'The noise it made. Mage Keff," Brannel said, and put
his fingers in his ears. "It drove me outside."

"Oh," Keff said. 'That won't happen again. I want you to
come in and stay this time. All right?"

Brannel nodded. The magelord rose to a stoop and
began to make his way across the field. None of the work-
ers looked his way. Brannel hurried after him, full of hope.

2ib

Instead of entering by the ramp through the open door,
Keff directed Brannel around the rear of the tower and
pointed upward. A slit as wide as his forearm was long had
opened in the smooth silver wall.

"But why... ?" he asked.

'The fronts being watched," Keff said. He joined his

hands together and propped them on one knee. "Put your
foot here-that's good. Now, reach for it. Up you go."

Brannel grabbed the edge of the opening and heaved
himself into it. Once he was up, he helped pull Mage
Keff into a room crowded with boxes. They had to climb
down from a high shelf with great care. When Brannel
and Keff were inside, the opening in the wall closed.
The female voice of the tower spoke in its strange

tongue.

"Aha," it said. "Come on through."

"Come with me," Keff said, in Ozran.

They walked down a short corridor. Two figures sat
together in front of the great pictures of the outside. One
of them rose and stared at him in horror and surprise.

The feeling was mutual.
"Magess Plennafrey!" Brannel, with one fearful glance

at Keff, dropped to his knees and stared at the floor.

"It's okay, Brannel," Keff said, reassuringly, plucking at
the worker males upper arm. "We're all working together

here."

"Hush, everyone," the other magess said in the towers

voice. "Here comes our diversion. I don't want die spies to
pick up any sound from in here."

Carialle turned on a magnetic field in the airlock, strong
enough to disable the spy-eyes, should any be bold enough
to try to pass inside, but not enough to stop the servo. She
slid the door upward. The low-slung robot rumbled imper-
turbably up the ramp and through the arch. In one slim,

black, metal hand it held very carefully a single marsh
flower.

Immediately, the spy-eyes thought they had their op-
portunity to storm the tower and zoomed after the servo.
One hit the field before the others and clanked noisily to
the ground,, disabled. The over-the-air chatter became ex-
cited, and the other spheres reversed course at once,
speeding away.

'That'll make them crazy," Carialle said. The first spy
sphere rolled halfway down the ramp before its owner, on
the other side of the continent, was able to take charge of it
once again. As soon as it was airborne, it flitted off.

"Good riddance," Carialle said, and returned her atten-
tion to the situation inside the cabin.

Keff stood between Plennafrey and Brannel with his
hands out. Brannel was on his feet, with his mutilated
hands balled into fists by his sides. Plenna had both her
long-fingered hands planted protectively on her belt
buckle. The Ozrans were glaring at each other.

"Now, now," Keff said. "I need you both. Please, lets
make peace here."

"You intend to explain to a worker what we are doing?"
Plenna asked, appealing to Keff. 'This one only has four
fingers! You can give them directions, but they cannot
understand detailed instructions or complicated situ-
ations."

Brannel, following the secondary dialect with evident
difficulty, replied haltingly in that language, which sur-
prised the magiwoman as much as his daring to speak out
in her presence. "I can understand. Mage Keff has agreed
to give me a chance to help. I will do whatever Mage Keff
wants," he said staunchly.

Carialle made her image step forward. "Lady Plenna-
frey, you are suffering from a preconceived notion that all
the people who have had the finger amputation are stupid.

Brannel is the exception to almost any rule you can think
of. He has superior intelligence for someone brought up
with the hardships he suffered. I think he's far smarter
than the favored few who live in the mountains with you
mages. You're not that different. You belong to the same
species," she said, reaching for an example, "like . . . like
Keffandldo."

"You?" Plennafrey asked.

Almost amazed that such a thought had come from her
own speakers, Carialle had to pause to consider die change
of attitude she had undergone. Much of it was due to see-
ing the division of a single people on this world into
masters and slaves. She now realized that it was counter-
productive to separate herself from her parent community.
Yes, she was different, but compared with everything else
she and Keff encountered, the similarities were more
important. Acknowledging her humanity at last felt right
and proper. In spite of the way she always pictured herself,
she knew inside the metal shell and the carefully protected
nerve center was a human being. She felt warmed by the
perception.

"Yes," she said, simply. "Me."

Keff beamed at her pillar. Her Lady Fair image beamed
happily back at him. Plennafrey fumed visibly at the inter-
play. If Carialle was human, then the Ozran had a genuine
rival. This, combined with her lovers liberal attitude
toward the lower class, obviously dismayed the young
woman. As she had proved before, she was resilient and
adaptable. Plenna seemed to be considering Keffs point of
view, but she thoroughly disapproved of Keff having
another woman in his life. To disarm the magiwoman,
Carialle made her image step back onto the wall. Plenna-
frey relaxed visibly.

"So I think you should understand that Brannel
deserves an explanation if he is to help us."

"Well..." Plennafrey said.

"I heard that some of the mages are descended from
Brannel's kind of people," Keff said persuasively. "Isn't
Asedow's mother one like that? I heard Potria call her a
dray-face."

'That's true," Plenna said, nodding. "And he is intelli-
gent. Not good at dunking things dirough, but intelligent."
She smiled ruefully at Keff. "I don't wish to make things
harder for my people or for myself. I will cooperate."

"For what am I risking myself?" Brannel asked hoarsely,
looking from one mage to another.

"For a sheaf of papers," Keff said. "I need to see them.
Magess Plenna will describe them, and Carialle will create
an image for you to see."

Brannel seemed unsatisfied. "And for me? For what am
I risking myself?" he repeated.

"Ah," Keff said, enlightened. "Well, what's your price?
What do you want?"

Plennafrey, losing her newfound liberalism, drew her-
self up in outrage. "You dare ask for a reward? Do the
mages not give you food and shelter? This is just anodier
task we have given you."

"We have those things, Magess, but we want knowl-
edge, too!" Brannel said. Having begun, he was
determined to put his case, even in the face of disapproval
from an angry overlord, though somehow he was begging
now. "Mage Keff, I... I want to be a mage, too. For a tiny,
small item of power I will help you. It does not need to be
big, or very powerful, but I know I could be a good mage. I
will earn my way along. That is all I have ever desired: to
leam. Give me diat, and I will give you my life." Keff saw
die passion in the Noble Primitives eye and was prepared
to agree.

'To give a four-finger power? No!" Plenna protested,
cutting him off.

"Not good for you, Brannel," Carialle said, emphatically,
siding unexpectedly with Plennafrey. "Look what a mess
your mages have made of this place using unlimited power.
How about a better home, or an opportunity for a real
education, instead?"

"What about redressing the balance of power. Can?"
Keff asked under his breath.

"It doesn't need redressing, it needs de-escalating,"
Carialle replied through her brawns mastoid implant.
"Could this planet really cope with one more resentful
mage wielding a wand? We still don't know what the
power was for originally."

Brannels long face wore a mulish expression. Carialle
could picture him with donkeys ears laid back along his
skull. He was not happy to be dictated to by the flat
magess, nor was he comfortable being enlisted by a genu-
ine magess.

"No one speaks of what went before this," he said. 'The
promises of mages to other than themselves always prove
false. I served Klemay, and now he is dead. Who killed
him? I know whoever kills is not always the newest over-
lord in a place."

Plenna's mouth dropped open. "How do you know that?
You're uneducated. You've never been anywhere but
here."

"You talk over our heads as if we aren't there," Brannel
said flatly. "But I, I understand. Who? I wish to know, for if
it was you, I cannot help."

Plennafrey looked stricken at the idea that she could
willingly commit murder. Keff patted her hand.

"He doesn't know, Plenna," Keff said soothingly. "How
could he? It was Femgal," he told Brannel. "Chaumel said
so last night."

"Yes, then," Brannel said eagerly, "I will do what you
want. For my price."

"Impossible," Plenna said. "He is ignorant."

"Ignorance is curable," Keff said emphatically. "It wasn't
part of his brain that was removed." He made a chopping
motion at his hand. "He can learn. He's already proved
that."

Brannel looked jealously at Plenna's long fingers. "But I
cannot use the power items without help."

Carialle was immediately sony Keff had mentioned the
amputation. "Brannel, there's nothing that can be done
about that now. Some of the other magimen use prosthet-
ics-false fingers. You can, too."

"If we were home," Keff said thoughtfully, "surgery
could be done to regrow the fingers." He glanced up to
find Plenna gazing at him.

"I must see these wonders," Plenna said, moving closer.
"Should I not come back with you? After all, you said you
are here to learn about my people on behalf of your own. I
can teach you all about Ozran and see your world. Some-
day we can come back here together." She laid one long
hand on his arm.

"Uhhh, one thing at a time, Plenna," Keff said, his smile
fixed on his face. Her touch sent tingles up his arm. Her
scent and her lovely eyes pulled him toward her like a
magnet, but the sudden thought of having a permanent
relationship with her had never crossed his mind.
Evidently, it had hers. He reproached himself that he
should have thought of the consequences before he took
her to bed. "Carialle, we may have a problem," he
subvocalized

"We have a problem," Carialle said aloud. 'The eyes are
back. They're circling around outside."

"Oh!" Plenna ran to the screen. "Nokias, Chaumel, and
the other high mages. They are trying to decide what to do."

"Have they figured out that we're in here?" Keff asked.

"No," Plenna said, after listening for a moment. "All

of their followers are still searching." Carialle confirmed

it.

'Then we'd better make our move, pronto, if we want a
chance at those papers," Keff said. "All that remains is for
our agent here to agree to fetch them for us."

Brannel had been standing beside the console, listening
to the three bare-skins talk. He folded his arms over his
furry chest.

"I would do anything for you. Mage Keff, but such a
chance comes only once to one such as myself. You asked
me my price. I told you my hearts desire. Will you pay it?"

Keff appealed to Plennafrey

"I think he deserves a chance."

Clearly uneasy, Plennafrey eyed the Noble Primitive. "If
all goes well, I agree he will be worthy of an opportunity,"
she said slowly. "I do not know where to find him an object
of power yet, but I will try."

"All right, Brannel? Magess Plennafrey will teach you
how to use a power object. She'll be your teacher, so she
will control what you do to a certain extent-but you'll
have your chance. She'll also teach you other things an
educated man needs to know. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Plennafrey said.

Brannel, his eyes shining, fell to his knees before the
magiwoman. 'Thank you, Magess."

'There may be no power left for anyone," Carialle
reminded them. "If those power drops have been increas-
ing in frequency over time, it may mean that whatever's
powering the magic here on Ozran is finally running
down."

"What do I look for?" Brannel asked meekly.

Following Plenna's instructions, Carialle created the
holographic image of a sheaf of dusty documents, yellow
with age, and rotated it so the Noble Primitive could see all
sides.

'They are very fragile," Plenna said. 'They could shiver
to dust if you breathe on them."

"I will be careful, Magess, I promise."

"We're left with only one problem," Keff said. "How do
we get Brannel to Plennafrey's stronghold?"

Carialle's Lady Fair image drew an impish smile. "It
might be worth a try to count on one of those power drops.
If we can attract everyone's attention again, I might be able
to break loose when the lights go off. After all, I'm not
dependent on the Core of Ozran. I only need a moment. I
can be set to launch at any second, and you'll have your
diversion to teleport there in peace."

"How can we do that?" Keff asked, bemused.

"By letting them know where you are," Cari said. "You
zoom outside and start the Wild Hunt all over. That will
bring everyone here with a view-halloo, and if I'm right,
overload the power lines. As soon as the tractor beam on
my tail lets go, I'll take off and distract them away from
you. I'll lead them on an orbit of Ozran while Brannel is
getting your papers."

"Do you have enough fuel?" Keff asked.

"Enough for one try," Carialle said, showing an indicator
other tank levels, "or we may not have the wherewithal to
get home. I burned a lot trying to break loose before.
Don't fail me."

"Did I burst my heart in the effort I never would, fair
lady," Keff said, kissing his hand to her. "We'll rendezvous
here in two hours."

With a final reproachful glance at Carialle's image,
Plenna took her place on her chariot. Keff crouched
behind her like the musher on a dogsled, and Brannel,
hunched on hands and knees, clung to the back, white
knuckles showing through the fur on his fingers.

"Ready, steady, go!" Carialle threw up the airlock door,
and the chariot shot out the narrow passage.

"Yeeeee-haaaah!" Keff yelled as they zoomed over the
Noble Primitives' cave. The spy-eyes froze in place.

Suddenly, the air was full of chariots. The mages in
them looked here and there for Plennafrey, who was

already kilometers away from Carialle.

"Look!" shouted Asedow, pointing with his whole arm,

and the mob turned to follow them.

Chaumel blinked in, with Nokias and Femgal alongside
him. Like well-trained squadrons, the wings of mages fell
in behind. Keff turned and thumbed his nose at them.

"Nyaah!" he shouted.

Two hundred bolts of red lightning shot from two hun-
dred amulets and rods toward their backs. Plennafrey
threw up a shield behind them, which deflected the force
spectacularly off in all directions.

"If its coming, its coming now," Carialle said in Keffs
ear. "Building ... building... now!"

"Hold tight!" Keff yelled, as the floor dropped out from
under them when the power failed. Plennafrey s shoulders
tensed under his hands, and Brannel moaned.

Shrieks and shouts echoed off the valley floor as the
other mages were deprived of their power and fell help-
lessly earthward. Some were close enough to the ground to
strike it before the blackout ended. One magess ended up
sitting dazed, in the midst of broken pieces of chair, staring

around in complete bewilderment.

As before, the power-free interval was brief, but it sufficed
for Carialle to kick on her engines and break loose from her
invisible bonds. With a roar and an elongating mushroom of
fire, she was airborne. As one, the hundreds of mages
swiveled in midair, ignoring Plennafrey and Keff, to pursue
her. Her cameras picked up images of astonished and furious
faces. Chaumel was hammering his chair arm.

"Catch me if you can!" she cried, and took off toward
planetary north.

a       a       a

Another fifty meters, and Plennafrey transported them
from Klemays valley to an isolated peak. Brannel, a hud-
dled bundle of knees and elbows at her feet, was silent.
Keff thought the Noble Primitive was terrified until Bran-
nel turned glowing eyes to them.

"Oh, Magess, I want to do this^" he exclaimed. "It would
be the greatest moment of my life if I could make myself
fly. I could never even imagine this out of a dream. I beg
you to teach me this first."

Keff grinned at the worker males enthusiasm. "I hope
you'll feel as energetic when you find out how much work
it is to do magic," he said.

"Oh, it feels so good to be free again!" said the voice in
his ear. Carialle, knowing in advance where they were
going, reconnected instantly with Keffs implants. "I have
to keep slowing down so I don't lose my audience. They're
such quitters! I've almost lost Potria twice."

"Any unwanted watchers out there, Cari?" Keff asked,
pointing his finger so the ocular implants could see.

"No spy-eyes here yet," Carialle's voice said after a
moment.

Plenna shot in over the balcony, which was a twin to the
one at Chaumel s stronghold, and hovered a few centime-
ters above the gray tiles.

"I mustn't land, or the ley lines will indicate it," she said.

Brannel hopped off and dashed inside.

"Good luck!" Keff called after him. Plenna lifted the
chair up and looped over the landing pad's edge to wait
beneath the overhang.

Brannel felt the floor humming through his feet and
forced himself to ignore it. The discomfort was a small
price to pay for associating with mages and having diem

tVVIW MU'^lUJJ I fU W l^my f-y... -#y~

treat him as a friend, if not an equal. Even a true Ozran
magess had been land to him, and the promise Mage Keff
had made him-! The knowledge put a spring in his step
all along the corridor walled with painted tiles. At the
green-edged door, he turned and put his hand on the

latch.

"Ho, there!" Brannel turned. A tall far-face with five fin-
gers strode toward him. He had a strange, flat-nosed face,
and his eyes turned up at the comers, but he was hand-
some, nearly as handsome as a mage. "You're a stranger.

What do you think you're doing?"

"I have been sent by the magess," Brannel said, leaning
toward the house servant with all the aggression of a
fighter who has survived tough living conditions. The ser-
vant backed up a pace.

"Who? Which magess?" the servant demanded. He
eyed Brannel's prominent jaw with disdain. "You're not

one of us."

"Indeed I am not," Brannel said, drawing himself

upward. "I am Magess Plennafreys pupil."

That statement, and the casual use of the magess's
name, shocked the house male rigid. His tilted eyes wid-
ened into circles.

Brannel, ignoring him, pushed through the door. The

room was lined with hanging cloth pictures. He went to
the fourth one from the door and felt behind it at knee
level. Gently, he extracted from the hidden pocket a thick
bundle. He forced himself to walk, not run, out the door,
past the startled house male, down the hallway, and out

onto the open balcony.

The chariot appeared suddenly at the edge of the low
wall overlooking the precipice, startling him. Keff cheered
as Brannel held up the packet and waved him onto the

chairs end.

"Good man, Brannel! Where are you, Cari?" Mage Keff

asked the air. "We're on our way back to the plain. Yes, I've
got them! Cari, I can almost read these!"

The chair swept skyward once more. Now that his task
was done and reward at hand, Brannel indulged himself in
enjoying the view. One day, he would fly over the moun-
tains like .this on his own chariot. Wouldn't Alteis stare?

"Are those what they look like?" Carialle asked, from
her position over the south pole.

"Yes! They're technical manuals from a starship," Keff
said, gloating. "One of our starships. The language is
human Standard, but old. Very old. Nine to twelve hun-
dred years is my guess from the syntax. Please run a check
through your memory in that time frame for," he held a
trembling finger underneath the notation to make sure he
was reading it correctly, "the CW-53 TMS Bigelow. See
when it flew, and when it disappeared, because there cer-
tainly was never a record of its landing here."

Keff turned page after page of the fragile, yellowing
documents, showing each leaf to the implants for CariaUe
to scan.

'This is precious and not very sturdy," he said. "If any-
thing happens to it before I get there, at least we'll have a
complete recording." The covers and pages had been
extruded as a smooth-toothed and flexible but now crack-
ling plastic. In a tribute to technology a thousand years old,
the laser print lettering was perfectly black and legible. He
wondered, glancing through it, what the original owners
would have said if they could see to what purpose their
record-keeping was being put.

"Are these documents good?" Plennafrey asked, over
the rush of the wind.

"Better than good!" Keff said, leaning over to show her
the ship's layout and classification printed on the inside
front cover of the first folder. 'These prove that you are the
descendant of a starship crew from the Central Worlds

tUVIWi IfJL^UUJJ I ry

who landed here a thousand years ago. You're a human,

just like me."

'That makes everything wonderful!" Plennafrey said,

clasping his wrist. 'Then there will be no difficulty with us
staying together. We might be able to have children."

Keff goggled. Without being insulting there was nothing
he could do at the moment but kiss her shining face, which

he did energetically.

"One thing at a time, Plenna," Keff said, going hastily

back to his perusal of the folders. "Ah, there's a reference
to the Core ofOzran. If I follow this correctly, yes ... its a
device, passed on to them, not constructed by, the Old
Ones, pictured overleaf." Keff turned the page to the

solido. "Eyuch! Ug-;i/!"

The Old Ones were indeed upright creatures of

bilateral symmetry who could use the chairs reposing in
Chaumels art collection, but that was where their
similarity to humanoids ended. Multi-jointed legs with
backward-pointing knees depended from flat, shallow
bodies a meter wide. They had five small eyes set in a row
across their flat faces, which were dark green. Lank black
tendrils on their cylindrical heads were either hair or
antennae, Keff wasn't sure which from the description

below.

"Erg," Keff said, making a face. "So now we know what

the Old Ones looked like."

"Oh, yes," Brannel said, casually standing up on the

back to look, as if he flew a hundred kilometers above the
ground every day. "My father's father told us about the Old
Ones. They lived in the mountains with the overlords

many years past."

"How long ago?" Keff asked.

Brannel struggled for specifics, then shrugged. 'The
wooze-food makes our memories bad," he explained, his
tone apologetic but his jaw set with frustration.

"Keff, something has to be done about deliberately
retarding half the population," Carialle said seriously.
"With the diet they're being forced to subsist on, Brannel's
people could actually lose their capacity for rational
thought in a few more generations."

"Aha!".Keff crowed triumphantly. 'Tapes!" He plucked
a sealed spool out of the back cover of one of the folders.
"Compressed data, I hope, and maybe footage of our scaly
friends. Can you read one of these, Carialle?"

"I can adapt one of my players to fit it, but I have no
idea what format its in," she said. "It could take time."

Keff wasn't listening. He was engrossed in the second
folders contents.

"Fascinating!" he said. "Look at this, Cari. The whole
system of remote power manipulation comes from a
worldwide weather-control system! So that's what the ley
lines are for. They're electromagnetic sensors, reading the
temperature and humidity all across Ozran. They were
designed to channel energy to help produce rain or mist
where it was needed.... Ah, but the Old Ones didn't build
it. They either found it, or they met the original owners
when they came to this planet. Sounds like they were
cagey about that. The Old Ones adapted the devices to use
the power to make it rain and passed them on to you," he
told Plennafrey. 'They were made by the Ancient Ones."

'The Ancient Ones," Plenna said, reverently, pulling the
folder down so she could see it. "Are there images of them,
too? None know what they looked like."

Keff thumbed through the log. "No. Nothing. Drat."

"Rain?" Brannel asked, reverently. 'They could make it
rain?"

"Weather control," Carialle said. "Now that does smack
of an advanced technological civilization. Pity they're not
still around. This planet is an incipient dust-bowl. Keff, I'm
within fifty klicks of the rendezvous site. Beginning landing

tWIW IVlU^iUfJmy v Juu,y

procedures . . . Uh-oh, power traces increasing in your

general vicinity. Company!"

Keff heard cries of triumph and swiveled his head, look-
ing for their source. A score ofmagimen, led by Potria and
Chaumel, had just jumped in and were homing in on them

along a northwest vector.

'They've found us!" Plenna exclaimed, her dark eyes

wide. Keff stood upright and grasped the back of her chair.

The magiwoman started to weave her arms in compli-
cated patterns. Brannel, realizing that he was in the firing
line of a building spell, dropped flat. Plenna launched her
sally and had the satisfaction of seeing three of the magi-
men clear the way. The rattling hiss of the spell as it missed

its mark and vanished jarred Keffs bones.

"Can you teleport?" Keff asked, clinging to the chairs

uprights.

"Someone is blocking me," Plenna said, forcing the

words through her teeth. T must fight, instead."

"You'd be a sitting duck in here anyway," Carialle inter-
jected crisply, "because the tractor grabbed me again as
soon as I touched down. Keep moving!"

Plenna didn't need Carialles message relayed to her.
She took evasive maneuvers like a veteran fighter, zigzag-
ging over the pursuers' heads and diving between two so
their red lightning bolts narrowly missed each other. Keff
saw Potria's face as he passed. The golden magiwoman had
abandoned her look of elegant boredom for a grim set. If
her will or her marksmanship had been up to it, she would

have spitted them all.

Contrarily, Chaumel seemed to enjoy toying with them.

He shot his bolts, not so much to wound, but more as if he
were seeing what Plennafrey would do to avoid them. He
seemed to have observed that she wasn't spelling to kill,
obviously a novelty among Ozran mages.

Plennafrey dived low into the valleys, defying the magi-
folk to chase her through the nooks and crannies of her
own domain. Keff felt the crackle of dry branches brush
his shoulders as she maneuvered her chair through a nar-
row passage and down into a concealed tunnel. While the
others circled overhead squawking like crows, she flew
through the mountain. Brannel's keening echoed off the
moist stone walls. Just as swiftly, they emerged into day.

Keff thought they might have shaken off their pursuers,
but he had reckoned without Chaumels determination.
The moment they cleared the tunnel mouth, the silver
magiman was there in midair, winding nothingness around
and around his hands. Brannel gasped and threw his hands
over his head to protect it.

Plenna flattened her hands on her belt buckle, and a
translucent bubble offeree appeared around her.

"Oh, child." Chaumel grinned and flicked his fingers.
The chair started to sink toward the ground.

"He made the force shield heavy!" Keff said. "We're
falling!"

Abandoning her defensive tactic at once, Plennafrey
popped the sphere and threw a few of her own bolts at
Chaumel. Almost lazily, the other gestured, and the light-
ning split around him, rocketing toward the horizon. He
made up another bundle of power, which Plenna averted.
She returned fire, sending a handful of toroid shapes that
grew and grew until they could surround Chaumels limbs
and neck. Two made contact, then fell away as operifarcs,
snaring and taking the other rings with them.

A moment later, Potria and Asedow appeared.

"You found them!" Potria called. The pink-gold magess
was jubilant. Plenna turned in her seat and fired a double-
barrel of white spark lightning at her. Potria shrieked when
her fine clothes and skin were burned by some of the hot
sparks. At once she retaliated, weaving a web with missiles

of force around the edge that propelled it toward the
younger magess.

Asedow chose that moment to drive in at them from the
other side. His methods were not as smooth as his rivals.
He produced a steady stream of smoky puffs that hung in
the air like mines until Plennafrey, trying to avoid Potrias
web, was forced back into them.

Keff was nearly shaken off when the first exploded
against his back. Plennafrey turned her chair in midair,
seeking to steer her way clear of the obstacles. No matter
how she turned, she collided with another, and another. By
then, Potrias web had struck.

All around him Keff felt rolls of silk fabric, invisible and
magnetic, drawing him in, surrounding him, then
smothering his nose and mouth. As the spell established
itself, it threatened to draw every erg of energy out of his
body through his skin. He gasped, clawing with difficulty at
his throat. He was suffocating in the middle of thin air.
Plennafrey, her slender form slumped partway over one
chair arm, her skin turning blue, still fought to free them, her
hands drawing primrose fire out other belt buckle. Her will
proved mightier than the other female s magic. The sunlight
flames consumed the air around her, then caught on the veils
of web clinging to Keff and Brannel, turning them into
insubstantial black ash. She was about to set them all free
when they were overcome by dozens and dozens of bolts of
scarlet lightning, striking at them from every direction.

As Keff lost consciousness, he heard Potria and Asedow
shrilling at each other again over who would take posses-
sion of him and his ship. He vowed he would die before he
would let anyone take Carialle.

A sharp scent introduced itself under his nose. Unwit-
tingly, he took a deep breath and recoiled, choking. He
batted at the bad smell, but nothing solid was there.

"You're awake," a voice said. 'Very good."

With difficulty, Keff opened his eyes. Things around
mm began to take focus. He lay on his back in the main
cabin of his ship. Beside him was Plennafrey, also in the
throes of regaining consciousness. Brannel lay in a motion-
less heap under Plennas feet. And leaning over Keff with a
distorted expression ofsolicitousness was Chaumel.

a CHAPTER ELEVEN

Carialle fought against the blackness that abruptly sur-
rounded her, refusing to believe in it. Between one
nanopulse and the next, Chaumel had appeared in the
main cabin, past the protective magnetic wall she had set
up, and stood gloating over the contents of a captive star-
ship. Outraged at the invasion, Carialle set up the same
multi-tone shriek she used on Brannel to try and drive him
out. Chaumel threw up protective hands, but not over his

ears.

Suddenly she could move nothing and all her visual
receptors were down. She could still hear, though. The
taunting voice boomed hollowly in her aural inputs, con-
tinuing his inventory and interjecting an occasional
comment of self-congratulation.

She spoke then, pleading with him not to leave her in
the dark. The voice paused, surprised, then Carialle felt
hands running over her: impossible, insubstantial hands
penetrating through her armor, brushing aside her neural
connectors and yet not detaching them.

"My, my, what are you?" Chaumel s voice asked.

234

"Restore my controls!" Carialle insisted. "You don't
know what you're doing!"

"How very interesting all of this is," he was saying to
someone. "In my wildest dreams I could never have imag-
ined a man who was also a machine. Incredible! But it isn't
a man, is. it?" The hands drew closer, passed over and
through her. "Why, no! It is a woman. And what interesting
things she has at her command. I must see that."

Invisible fingers took her multi-camera controls away
from her nerve endings, leaving them teasingly just out of
reach. She sensed her life-support system starting and
stopping as Chaumel played with it, using his TK. She felt
a rush of adrenaline as he upset the balance other chemi-
cal input, and was unable to access the endorphins to
counteract them. Then the waste tube began to back up
toward the nutrient vat. She felt her delicate nervous sys-
tem react against pollution by becoming drowsy and logy.

"Stop!" she begged. "You'll kill me!"

"I won't kill you, strange woman in a box," Chaumel
said, his voice light and airy, "but I will not risk having you
break away from my control again as you did when the
magic dropped. What a chase you led us! Right around
Ozran and back again. You made a worthy quarry, but one
grows tired of games."

"Keff!"

"I'm here, Carialle," the brawns voice came, weak but
furious. Carialle could have sung her relief. She heard the
shuffling of feet, and a crash. Keff spoke again through
soughing pain. "Chaumel, we'll cooperate, but you have to
let her alone. You don't understand what you're doing to
her."

"Why? She breathes, she eats-she even hears and
speaks. I just control what she sees and does."

For a brief flash, Carialle had a glimpse of the control
room. Keff and the silver magiman faced one another, the

Ozran very much in command. Keffwas clutching his side
as if cradling bruised ribs. Plenna stood behind Keff, erect
and very pale. Brannel, disoriented, huddled in a comer
beside Keffs weight bench. Then the image was gone, and
she was left with the enveloping darkness. She couldn't
restrain a wail of despair.

It was as if she were reliving the memory other accident
again for Inspector MaxweU-Corey. All over again! The
helplessness she hoped never again to experience: sensory
deprivation, her chemicals systems awry, her controls out
of reach or disabled. This time, the results would be worse,
because this time when she went mad, her brawn would be
within arms reach, listening.

Swallowing against the pain in his ribs, Keff threw him-
self at Chaumel again. With a casual flick of his hand,
Chaumel once more sent him flying against the bulkhead.
Plennafrey ran to his side and hooked her arm in his to
help him stand.

"You might as well stop that, stranger," Chaumel advised
him. 'The result will be the same any time you try to lay
hands on me. You will tire before I do."

"You don't know what you're doing to her!" Keff said,
dragging himself upright. He dashed a hand against the
side of his mouth. It came away streaked with blood from a
split lip.

"Ah, yes, but I do. I see pictures," Chaumel said, with a
smile playing about his lips as his eyes followed invisible
images. "No, not pictures, sounds that haunt her mind, dis-
tinct, never far from her conscious thoughts-tapping."
The speakers hammered out a distant, slow, sinister
cadence.

Carialle screamed, deafeningly. Keff knew what
Chaumel was doing, exercising the same power of image-
making he had used on Keff to intrude on his

consciousness. Against this particular illusion Carialle had
no mental defenses. To dredge up the long-gone memo-
ries other accident coupled with Chaumel s ability to keep
her bound in place and deprive her of normal function
might rob her other sanity.

"Please," Keff begged. "I will cooperate. I'll do anything
you want. Don't toy with her like that. You're harming her
more than you could understand. Release her."

Chaumel sat down in Keifs crash couch, hands folded
lightly together. Swathed in his gleaming robes, he looked
like the master of ceremonies at some demonic ritual.

"Before I lift a finger and free my prisoner"-he leveled
his very long first digit at Keff-"I want to know who you
are and why you are here. You didn't make the entire over-
lordship of this planet fly circuits for amusement. Now,
what is your purpose?"

Keff, knowing he had to be quick to save Carialles
sanity, abandoned discretion and started talking. Leav-
ing out names and distances, he gave Chaumel a precis
of how they had chosen Ozran, and how they traveled
there.

"... We came here to study you just as I told you
before. That's the truth. In the midst of our investigations
we've discovered imbalances in the power grid all of you
use," Keff said. 'Those imbalances are proving dangerous
directly to you, and indirectly to your planet."

"You mean the absences that occur in the ley lines?"
Chaumel said, raising his arched eyebrows. "Yes, I noticed
how you took advantage of that last lapse. Very, very
clever."

"Keff! They're crawling over my skin," Carialle moaned.
'Tearing away my nerve endings. Stop them!"
"Chaumel..."
"All in good time. She is not at risk."
"You're wrong about that," Keff said sincerely, praying

the magiman would listen. "She suffered a long time ago,
and you are making her live it over."

"And so loudly, too!" Chaumel flicked his fingers, and
Carialles voice faded. Keff had the urge to run to her pil-
lar, throw himself against it to feel whether she was still
alive in there. He wanted to reassure her that he was still
out there. She wasn't alone! But he had to fight this battle
sitting still, without fists, without epee, hoping his anxiety
didn't show on his face, to convince this languid tyrant to

free her before she went mad.

"I've discovered something else that I think you should
know," Keff said, speaking quickly. "Your people are not

native to Ozran."

"Oh, that I knew already," Chaumel said, with his small
smile. "I am a historian, the son of historians, as I told you
when you ... visited me. Our legends tell us we came from
the stars. As soon as I saw you, I knew that your people are
our brothers. What do you call our race?"

"Humans," Keff said quickly, anxious to get the magi-
man back on track of letting go of Carialles mind. 'The old
term for it was 'Homo sapiens' meaning the 'wise man.'

Now, about Carialle ..."

"And you also wish to tell me that our power comes
from a mechanical source, not drawn mystically from the
air as some superstitious mages may believe. That I also
knew already." He looked at Plennafrey. "When I was your
age, I followed my power to its source. I know more than
the High Mages of the Points about whence our connec-
tion comes to the Core, but I kept my knowledge to myself
and my eyes low, having no wish to become a target."
Modestly, he dropped his gaze to the ground.

If he was looking for applause, he was performing for
the wrong audience. Keff lunged toward Chaumel and
pinned his shoulders against the chair back.

"While you're sitting here so calmly bragging about

yourself," Keff said in a clear, dangerous voice, "my partner
is suffering unnecessary and possibly permanent psychic
trauma."

"Oh, very well," Chaumel said, imperturbably, closing
his hand around the shaft of his wand as Keff let him go.
"What you are saying is more amusing. You will tell me
more, of course, or I will pen her up again."

Sight and sensation flooded in all at once. Carialle
almost sobbed with relief, but managed to regain her com-
posure within seconds. To Keff, whose sympathetic face
was close to her pillar camera, she said, 'Thank you, sir
knight. I'm all right. I promise," but she sensed that her
voice quavered. Keff looked skeptical as he caressed her
pillar and then resumed his seat.

"Keff says that our power was supposed to be used to
make it rain," Plenna said. "Is this why the crops fail?
Because we use it for other things?"

'That's right," Keff said. "If you're using the weather
technology as you have been, no wonder the system is
overloading. Whenever a new mage rises to power, it puts
that much more of a strain on the system."

"You have some proof of this?" Chaumel asked, narrow-
ing his eyes.

"We have evidence from your earliest ancestors," Keff
said.

"Ah, yes," Chaumel said, raising the notebooks from his
lap. 'These. I have been perusing them while waiting for
you to wake up. Except for a picture of the inside of an odd
stronghold and an image of the Old Ones, I cannot under-
stand it."

"I can only read portions of it without my equipment,"
Keff said. 'The language in it is very old. Things have
changed since your ancestors and mine parted company."

"Its a datafile from the original landing party," Carialle
said. 'That much we can confirm. Humans came to Ozran

on a star-snip called the TMS Bigelow over nine hundred

years ago."

"And where did you get this ... datafile?"
"Its mine!" Plenna said stoutly. She started forward to
reclaim her property, but Chaumel held a warning hand
toward Carialle s pillar. With a glance at Keifs anxious face,

Plenna stopped where she stood.

Tours?" The silver magiman looked her over with new
respect. "I didn't think you had it in you to keep a deep
secret, least of magesses. Your father, Rardain, certainly

never could have."

Plenna reacted with shame to any mention of her late

father. "He didn't know about it. I found it in an old place

after he... died."

"Does that matter?" Keff said, stepping forward and

putting a protective arm around Plennas waist. The tall girl
was quaking. "We're trying to head off what could become
a worldwide disaster, and you're preventing us from find-
ing out more about the problem."

"And this 'datafile' will tell you what to do?" Chaumel

was delicately skeptical.

Carialle manifested her Lady Fair image on the wall.

After a momentary double take, Chaumel accepted it and

occasionally made eye contact with it.

"Given time, I can try to read the tapes," Carialle said.
"In the meantime, Keff can translate the hard copy."

Chaumel settled back. "Good. We have all the time you
wish. The curtain you set about this place will prevent the
others from finding us. In a littie while they will be tired of
chasing shadows and go home. That will leave us without

disturbance."

"Can I use my display screens?"
The silver magiman was gracious. "Use anything you

wish. You can't go anywhere."

Grumbling at Chaumel's make-yourself-at-home attitude,

Carialle spent a few minutes re-establishing the chemical
balances in her system. Two full extra cycles of the
waste-disposal processor, and her bloodstream was clear of
everything but what belonged there. She increased the flow
of nutrients and gratefully felt the adrenaline high fade away.

She assessed the size of the tape cassette Keff held up
and noted that there was one place for a spindle on the
small, airtight capsule. Two other input bays were made to
take tapes as well as datahedrons. Carialle rolled the cap-
stan and spindle forward from the rear wall of the player,
narrowed the niche so the tape wouldn't wobble, then
opened the door.

"Ready," she said.

"Here goes nothing at all," Keff said, and slid the tape in.

Carialle closed the door. As she engaged the spindle, the
cassette popped open, revealing the tape, and letting go a
puff of air. Carialle, who had been expecting just that, cap-
tured the trace of the thousand-year-old atmosphere in a
lab flask and carried it away through the walls to analyze its
contents.

Slowly, she rolled the tape against the heads, comparing
the scan pattern produced on her wave-form monitor with
thousands of similar patterns.

"Can you read it?" Keff asked.

"We'll see," Carialle said. 'There are irregularities in the
scan, which I attribute to poor maintenance of the record-
ing device that produced it. Of all the lazy skivers, why did
one have to be recording this most important piece of his-
tory? It would have been no trouble at all to keep their
machinery in good repair, damn their eyes."

"Did you want it to be easy, lady fair? Do you know, I
just realized I'm hungry," Keff announced, turning to the
others. "Plenna, we've had nothing since last night, and
damned little then. May I buy you lunch?"

The magiwoman turned her eyes toward him with

relief. Her face was beginning to look almost hollow from

strain.

"Oh, that would be very nice," she said thinly. A timid

croak from the side of the weight bench reminded him
Brannel was still with them. He was hungry, too.

"Right. Three coming up. Chaumel?"

"No, very kindly, no," the silver magiman said, waving a
hand, although keeping an eye on him that was anything
but casual. Keff gave instructions to the synthesizer, and in
moments removed a tray with three steaming dishes.

'Very simple: meat, potatoes, vegetables, bread," Keff

said, pointing the food out to his guests.

"Hold it, Keff," Carialle said. "I don't trust our captor."
Keff aimed his optical implants at each plate in turn.

"Uh-huh. Just checking."

'Thank you, lady dear. I count on your assistance," Keff

said subvocally. Placing the first plate on its tray in Plenna's
lap, he handed the second filled dish and fork to Brannel
before he settled on me weight bench to enjoy his own

meal.

Brannel was still staring at the divided plate when Keff

turned back.

"What's the matter?" Keff asked. "Its good. A little

heavy on the carbohydrates, perhaps, but that won't spoil

the taste."

Wordlessly, Brannel turned fearful eyes up to him.

"Ah, I see," Keff said, intuiting the problem. "Should I
try some first to show you its all right? We're all eating the
same thing. Would you like my dinner instead?"

"No, Mage Keff," Brannel said after a moment, glancing

wild-eyed at Chaumel, "I trust you."

If he had any misgivings, one taste later the worker was
hunched over his lunch, shoveling in mouthfuls inexpertly
with his fork. He probably would have growled at Keff if he
had tried to take it away. In no time the dish was empty.

"You packed that away in a hurry. Would you like
another plate? It's no trouble."

Eyes wide with hope, Brannel nodded. He looked guilty
at being so greedy, but more fascinated that "another
plate" was no trouble. As soon as the second helping was in
his hands, he began wolfing it down.

"Huh! Crude," Chaumel said, fastidiously disregarding
the male. "Well, if you want to keep pets ..."

Brannel didn't seem to hear the senior mage. He sucked
a stray splash of gravy off his hairy fingers and scraped up
the last of the potatoes.

"How's my supply ofsynth, Cari?" Keff asked, teasingly.
The worker stopped in the middle of a mouthful. "I'm
teasing you, Brannel," he said. "We're carrying enough
food to supply one man for two years-or one of you for
six months. Don't worry. We're friends."

Plenna ate more sedately. She smiled brightly once at
Keff to show she enjoyed the food. Keff patted her hand.

"Bingo!" Carialle said, triumphantly. "Got you. Gentle-
men and madam, our feature presentation."

A wow, followed by the hiss of low-level audio, issued
from her main cabin speakers. Carialle diverted her main
screen to the video portion of the tape. On it, a distant,
spinning globe appeared.

'The scan is almost vertical across the width of the tape,"
Carialle explained. 'Very densely packed. You could measure
the speed in millimeters per second, so where glitches
appear there's no backup scan. Because this was done on a
magnetic medium, some is irrevocably lost, though not
much. I have filled in where I could. This is not the full,
official log. I think it was a personal record kept by a biologist
or an engineer. You'll see what I mean in the content."

The tape showed several views of Ozran from space,
including technical scans of the continents and seas. Loud
static accompanied the glitches between portions. Carialle

ZX/HH/  l-rJl V'-'Wll " ^-'4

found the technology was as primitive as stone knives and
bearskins compared to her state-of-the-art equipment, but
she was able to read between the lines of scan. She put up
her findings on a side screen for the others to read.

"Looks like a damned fine prospect for a colony," Keff
said, critically assessing the data as if it were a new planet
he was approaching. "Atmosphere very much like that of
Old Earth."

"Ureth," Plennafrey breathed, her eyes bright with awe.
Keff smiled. "Uh-huh, I see why tihey made planetfall.
Their telemetry was too basic. We wouldn't miss above-
ground buildings and the signs of agriculture from space,
no matter how slight, but they did. Hence, first contact was

made."

The Bigelow's complement had been four hundred and
fifty-two, all human. Keff fancied he could see a family
resemblance to the flamboyant Mage Omri in the dark-
skinned captain's face.

Chaumel lost his veneer of sophistication when the first
Old One appeared on screen. He stared at it open-
mouthed. Keff, too, was amazed by the alien being, but he
could appreciate that, to Chaumel, it was analogous to the
gods of Mount Olympus visiting Athens.

"I have never seen anything like them. Have you,
Carialle?"

"No, and neither has Xeno," Cari said, running a hasty
cross-match through her records. "I wonder where they
came from? Somewhere else in R sector? Tracing an ion
trail at this late date would be impossible."

What could not have been indicated by the still image in
the folders which Keff has seen was that each of the aliens
five eyes could move independently. The flat bodies were
faintly amusing, like the pack of card-men in Through the
Looking-Class. The tapes compressed many of the early
meetings with the host species, as they showed the crew of

the Bigelow around their homes, introduced them to their
offspring, and demonstrated some of the wonders of their
seemingly inexplicable manipulation of power.

The Old Ones had obviously once had a thriving civili-
zation. By the time the crew of the Bigelow arrived, they
were reduced to two small segments of population: the
number who lived singly in the mountains and the com-
munal bands who tilled the valley soil. Being few, they
hadn't put much of a strain on the available resources, but
it wasn't a viable breeding group, either.

Keff listened to the diarists narration and repeated what
he could understand into IT for the benefit of the Ozrans.

'The narrator described the Old Ones and how happy
they were to have the humans come to live with them. He's
talking about ugly skills possessed-no, fabulous skills pos-
sessed by these ugly aliens, who promised to share what
they knew. Whew, that is an old dialect of Standard."

An Old One was persuaded to say a few words for the
camera. It pressed its frightful face close to the video
pickup and aimed three eyes at it. The other two wandered
alarmingly.

"I can understand what it says," Chaumel said, too fasci-
nated to sound boastful. "How it speaks is what we now
call the linga esoterka. 'How joy find strangejoy find
strange two-eyes folk,' is what this one says."

"He's pleased to meet you," Keff said with a grin. He
directed IT to incorporate Chaumel's translation into his
running lexicon of the second dialect of Ozran. "It sounds
as though a good deal of Old One talk was incorporated
into a working language, a gullah, used by the humans and
Old Ones to communicate."

The mystical sign language Keff had observed was also
in wide usage among the green indigenes, but the narrator
of the tape hadn't yet observed its significance. Keff could
feel Carialle s video monitors on him, as if to remind him

of the times that IT ignored somatic signals. He grinned
over his shoulder at her pillar. This time, IT was coming
through like the cavalry.

"So that is where the expression 'to look in many direc-
tions at once' comes from," Chaumel said excitedly. "We
cannot, but the Old Ones could."

In his comer, Brannel was hanging on to every word.
Keff realized that his three guests comprehended far more
of the alien languages than he could. The two mages
chimed in cheerfully when the Old Ones spoke, giving the
meaning of gestures and words in the common Ozran
tongue, which Keff knew now was nothing more than a
dialect of Human Standard blended with the Old Ones'
spoken language. Somewhat ruefully, he observed that,
with Carialles enhanced cognitive capacity, he, the
xenolinguist, was the one who would retain the least of
what was going by on the screen. Carialle signaled for
Keffs attention when a handful of schematics flashed by.

"Your engineer identifies those microwave beams that
have been puzzling me," she said. 'They're the answerback
to the command function from the items of power telling
the Core of Ozran how much power to send. Each oper-
ates on a slightly different frequency, like personal
communicators. The Core also feeds the devices them-
selves. Hmm, slight risk of radioactivity there." One of
Carialles auxiliary screens lit with an exploded view of one
of the schematics. "But I haven't seen any signs of cancers.
In spite of their faults, Ozrans are a healthy bunch, so it
must be low enough to be harmless."

Another compression of time. In the next series of vid-
eos, the humans had established homes for themselves and
were producing offspring. Some, like the unknown narra-
tor, had entered into apprenticeships to leam the means of
using the power items from the Old Ones. The rest lived in
underground homes on the plains.

"Hence the division of Ozrans into two peoples," Keff
said, nodding. "It's hard to believe this is the same planet."

The video changed to views of burgeoning fields and
broad, healthy croplands. Ozran soil evidently suited Ter-
ran-based plant life. The narrator aimed his recorder at
adapted skips, full of grain and vegetables being hauled by
domesticated six-packs. The next scene, which made the
Ozrans gasp with pleasure, showed the humans and one or
two Old Ones hurrying for shelter in a farm cavern as a
cloudburst began. Heavy rain pelted down into the fields
of young, green crops.

In the next scene, almost an inevitable image, one
proud farmer was taped standing next to a prize gourd
the size of a small pig. Other humans were congratulat-
ing him.

Keff glanced at the Ozrans. All three were spellbound
by the images of lush farmland.

'These cannot be pictures of our world," Plenna said,
"but those are the Mountains of the South. I've known
them since my childhood. I have never seen vegetables
that big!"

"It is fiction," Chaumel said, frowning. "Our farms could
not possibly produce anything like that giant root."

'They could once," Carialle said, "a thousand years ago.
Before you mages started messing up the system you
inherited. Please observe."

She showed the full analysis of the puff of air that had
been trapped in the tape cassette. Keff read it and nodded.
He understood where Carialle was headed.

'This shows that the atmosphere in the early days of
human habitation of Ozran had many more nitrogen/
oxygen/carbon chains and a far higher moisture content
than the current atmosphere does." Another image
overlaid the first. "Here is what you're breathing now. You
have an unnaturally high ozone level. It increases every

time there is a massive call for power from the Core of
Ozran. If you want more ..."

In the middle of the cabin Carialle created a
three-dimensional image of Ozran. 'This is how your planet
was seen from space by your ancestors." The globe browned.
Icecaps shrank slightly. The oceans nibbled away at coastline
and swamped small islands. The continents appeared to
shrink together slightly in pain. 'This is how it looks now."

Plenna hugged herself in concern as Ozran changed
from a healthy green planet to its present state.

"And what for the future?" she asked, woebegone eyes

on Carialles image.

"All is not lost, Magess. Let me show you a few other
planets in the Central Worlds cluster," Carialle said, put-
ting up the image of an ovoid, water-covered globe
studded with small, atoll-shaped land masses. "Kojuni was
in poor condition from industrial pollution. It took an
effort, but its population reclaimed it." The sky of Kojuni
lightened from leaden gray to a clear, light silver. "Even
planet Earth had to fight to survive." A slightly flattened
spheroid of blue, green, and violet spun among them. The
green masses on the continents receded and expanded as
Carialle compressed centuries into seconds. For additional
examples, she showed several Class-M planets in good
health, with normal weather patterns of wind, rain, and
snow scattering across their faces. The three-dimensional
maps faded, leaving the image of present-day Ozran spin-
ning before them.

Chaumel cleared his throat.

"But what do you say is the solution?" he asked.

"You overlords have got to stop using the power," Keff
said. "Its as simple as that."

"Give up power? Never!" Chaumel said, outraged, with
the same expression he would have worn if Keff had told
him to cut off his right leg. "It is the way we are."

"Mage Keff." Brannel, greatly daring, crept up beside
them and spoke for the first time, addressing his remarks
only to the brawn. "What you showed of the first New
Ones and their land-that is what the workers of Klemay
have been trying to do for as long as I have lived." He
looked at Plenna and Chaumel. "We know plants can grow
bigger. Some years they do. Most die or stay small. But I
know-"

"Quiet!" Chaumel roared, springing to his feet. Brannel
was driven cowering into the comer. "Why are you letting
a fur-face talk?" the silver mage demanded of Keff. "You
can see by his face he knows nothing."

"Now, look, Chaumel," Keff said, aiming an admonitory
finger at him, "Brannel is intelligent. Listen to him. He has
something that no other farmer on your whole world does:

a working memory-and that's your fault, you and your fel-
low overlords. You've mutated them, you've mutilated
them, but they're still human. Don't you understand what
you saw on the tape? Brannel knows when, and probably
why your crops have failed, so let the man talk."

Brannel was gratified that Mage Keff stuck up for him.
So he gathered courage and tried, haltingly, in the face of
Chaumels disapproval, to describe the failed efforts of
years. "We seek to feed the earth so it will burgeon like
this-I know it could-but every time, the plants either
die or the cold and dryness come back when the mages
have battles. The farms could feed us so much better, if
there was more water, if it was warmer. Of the crops"-he
held up all eight of his digits-"this many do not survive."
He folded down five fingers.

"You're losing over sixty percent of your yield because
you like to live high," Keff said. "Your superfluous uses of
power, to show off, to play, to kill, is irresponsible. You're
killing your world. One day your farms won't be able to
sustain themselves. People will die of starvation. No matter

what you think of their mental capacity, you couldn't want
that because then you'd have no food and no one to do the
menial labor you require."

Chaumel looked from Keffs grim face to the spinning
globe of Ozran, and sat down heavily in the crash couch.

"We are doing that," he said, raising his long hands in
surrender. "Everything he says, he knows. But if I lay down
my items of power to help, my surrender will not stop all
the others, nor will appealing to wisdom. We mages dis-
trust each other too much."

'Then we need to negotiate a mass cease-fire," Carialle

said.

"Not without a ready alternative," Chaumel returned
promptly. "Our system is steeped in treachery and the
counting of coup."

"I found references to that, too," Keff said, consulting a
page of the first manual. "Somebody made a bad transla-
tion for your forefathers of instructions given to officers
seeking promotion. It says 'consideration for continued
higher promotion will be given to those individuals who
complete the most successful projects in the most efficient
manner.' It goes on to say that those projects should bene-
fit the whole community, but I guess that part got lost over
time. There's a similar clause in our ship's manual, just in
updated language."

Chaumel groaned.

'Then all this time we have been making an enormous
mistake." He appealed to Keffand the image of Carialle. "I
didn't know that we were acting on bad information. All my
life I thought I was following the strictures of the First Ones.
I sought to be worthy of my ancestors. I am ashamed."

Keff realized that Chaumel was genuinely horrified. By
his own lights, the silver mage was an honorable man.

"Well," Keff said, slowly, "you can start to put things
right by helping us."

Chaumel chopped a hand across.

"Your ship is free. What else do you want me to do?"

"Seek out the Core of Ozran and find out what it was
really meant to do, what its real capacity is," Carialle said at
once. "Its possible, although I think unlikely, that you can
retain some of your current lifestyle, but if you are serious
about wanting to rescue your planet and future
generations-"

"Oh, I am," Chaumel said. T will give no more trouble."

'Then its time to redirect the power to its original pur-
pose, as conceived by the Ancient Ones: weather control."

"But what shall we do about the other mages?" Plenna-
frey asked.

"If we can't convince 'em," Carialle said, "I think I can
figure out how to disable them, based on what our long-
gone chronicler said about answerback frequencies. With a
little experimentation, I can block specific signals, no mat-
ter how tight a wave band they're broadcast on. The others
will leam to live on limited power, or none at all. It's their
choice."

"We'd employ that option," Keff said quickly when he
saw Chaumels reaction, "only if there is no other way to
persuade them to cooperate."

"And that is where I come in," Chaumel said, smiling for
the first time. "I am held in some esteem on Ozran. I will use
my influence to negotiate, as you say, a widespread mutual
surrender. With the help of the magical pictures you will
show us"-he bowed to Carialle s image-"we will persuade
the others to see the wisdom in returning to the ways of the
Ancient Ones. We must not fail. The size of that gourd..."
he said, shaking his head in gently mocking disbelief.

"I still think you're wrong to leave Brannel behind,"
Keff argued, as Plenna lofted him over the broad plains
toward Chaumels stronghold.

"It is better that only we three, with the aid of Carialle
and her illusion-casting, seek to convince the mages," the
silver magiman said imperturbably. He sat upright in his
chariot, hands folded over his beUy.

"But why not Brannel? I'm not a native. I can't explain
things in a way your people will understand."

Chaumel shook his head, and pitched his voice to carry
over the wind. "My fellows will have enough difficulty to
beheve in a woman who lives inside a wall. They will not
countenance a smart four-finger. Come, we must discuss
strategy! Tell me again what it said about promotion in the
documents. I must memorize that."

The chariots flew too far away even to be seen on the
magic pictures. Brannel, left alone in the main cabin, felt
awkward at being left out but dared not, in the face of
Chaumels opposition, protest. He remained behind,
haunting the ship like a lonely spirit.

The flat magiwoman appeared on the wall beside him,
and paced beside him as he walked up and back.

"I don't know when they'll be coming back," Carialle
said very gently, surprising him out of his thoughts. "You
should go now. Keff will come and get you when he
returns."

"But, Magess," Brannel began, then halted from voicing
the argument that sprang to his tongue. After all, this time
she was not driving him away with painful sounds, but he
was unhappy at being dismissed whenever the overlords
had no need of him. After all the talk of equality and the
promise of apprenticeship following his great risk-taking in
Magess Plennafrey's stronghold, he, the simple worker,
was once more ignored and forgotten. He sighed.

"Now, Brannel." The picture of the woman smiled.
"You'll be missed in the cavern if you don't go. True?"

True."

I

'Then come back when you've finished your work for
the day. You can keep me company while I'm running the
rest of the tapes." The voice was coaxing. "You'll see them
before Magess Plenna and Chaumel. How about that as an
apology for not sending you out with the others?"

Brannel brightened slightly. It would be hard to return
to daily life after his brush with greatness. But he nodded,
head held high. He had much to think about.

"Oh, and Brannel," Carialle said. The flat magess was
kind. She gestured toward the food door which opened. A
plate lay there. 'The bottom layer is soft bread. You can
roll the rest up in it. We call it a 'sandwich.'"

He walked down the ship's ramp with the "sandwich" of
magefood cradled protectively between his hands. The
savory smell made his mouth water, even though it hadn't
been long since he had eaten his most delicious lunch.
How he would explain his day's absence to Alteis Brannel
didn't yet know, but at least he would do it on a full belly.
Associating with mages was most assuredly a mixed
blessing.

"Why not relax?" Chaumel said, leaning back at his ease
in a deeply carved armchair that bobbed gently up and
down in the air. "He will come or he will not. I shall ask the
next prospect and we'll collect High Mage Nokias later. Sit
down! Relax! I will pour us some wine. I have a very good
vintage from the South."

Keff stopped his pacing up and back in the great room
of Chaumels stronghold. Chaumel had decided on the first
mage to whom he would appeal, and sent a spy-eye with
the discreet invitation. Evening had fallen while the three
of them waited to see if Nokias would accept. The
holographic projection table from the main cabin was set
up in the middle of the room. He went over to touch it,
making sure it was all right. Plennafrey watched him. The

young magiwoman sat in an upright chair in her favorite
place by the curtains, hands folded in her lap.

"Its important to get this right," Keffsaid.

"I know it," Chaumel said. "I am cognizant of the risks. I
may enjoy my life as it is, but I love my world, and I want it
to continue after I'm gone. You may find it difficult to con-
vince my feUows of that. I achieve nothing by worrying
about what they will say before I have even asked the
question. The evidence speaks for itself."

"But what if they don't believe it?"

"You leave the rest to me," Chaumel said. He snapped
his fingers and a servitor appeared bearing a tray holding a
wine bottle and a glass. He poured out a measure of amber
liquid and offered it to Keff. The brawn shook his head
and resumed pacing. With a shrug, Chaumel drank the
wine himself.

"All clear and ready to go," Carialle said through Keffs
implant.

"Receiving," Keff said, testing his lingual transmitter,
and let it broadcast to the others.

"I have pinpointed the frequencies of all of Chaumels
and Plennafreys items of power, including their chariots.
They're all within a very narrow wave band. Will you ask
Plenna to try manipulating something, preferably not dan-
gerous or breakable?"

Plenna, grateful for something to do to interrupt the
waiting, was happy to oblige.

"I shall use my belt to make my shoe float," Plenna said,
taking off her dainty primrose slipper and holding it aloft.
She stepped away, leaving it in place in midair.

"But you're not touching the belt," Keff said. "I've
noticed the others do that, too."

Plenna laughed, a little thinly, showing that she, too, was
nervous about the coming confrontation. "For such a small
thing, concentrating is enough."

"Here goes," Carialle said.

Without fanfare, the shoe dropped to the ground.

"Hurrah!" Keff cheered.

'That is impossible," Plenna said. She picked it up and
replaced it, this time with her hand under her long sash.

"Do it again, Cari!"

Carialle needed a slightly more emphatic burst of static
along the frequency, but it broke the spell. The shoe tum-
bled to the floor. Plennafrey put it back on her foot.

"No answerback, no power," Carialle said simply, in
Keffs ear. "Now all I have to do is be open to monitor the
next magiman's power signals and I can interrupt his spells,
too. I'm only afraid that with such narrow parameters,
there might be spillover to another item I don't want to
shut off. I'm tightening up tolerances as much as I can."

"Good job, Cari," Keff said. He smacked his palms
together and rubbed them.

"You are very cheerful about the fall of a shoe,"
Chaumel said.

"It may be the solution to any problems with dissent-
ers," Keffsaid.

A flash of gold against the dark sky drew their attention
to the broad balcony visible through the tall doors. Noldas
materialized alone above Chaumels residence and
alighted in the nearest spot to the door. As their message
had bidden him, he had arrived discreetly, without an
entourage. Chaumel rose from his easy chair and strode
out to greet his distinguished guest.

"Great Mage Noldas! You honor my poor home. How
kind of you to take the trouble to visit. I regret if my mes-
sage struck you as anything but a humble request."

Nokias's reply was inaudible. Chaumel continued in the
same loud voice, heaping compliments on the Mage of the
South. Keff and Plenna hid behind the curtained doors
and listened. Plenna suppressed a giggle.

"Laying it on thick, isn't he?" Keff whispered. The girl
had to cover her mouth with both hands not to let out a
trill of amusement.

Noldas mellowed under Chaumels rain of praise and
entered the great hall in expansive good humor.

"Why the insistence on secrecy, old friend?" the high
mage asked, slapping Chaumel on the back with one of his
huge hands.

'There was a matter that I could discuss only with you,
Noldas," Chaumel said. He beckoned toward the others'
place of concealment.

Keff stepped out from the curtains, pulling Plenna with
him.

"Good evening. High Mage," he said, bowing low.
Noldas s narrow face darkened with anger.

"What are they doing here?" Noldas demanded.

Chaumel lost not a beat in his smooth delivery of com-
pliments.

"Keff has a tale to tell you, high one," Chaumel said.
"About our ancestors."

Carialle, alone on the night-draped plain a hundred
klicks to the east, monitored the conversation through
Keffs aural and visual implants. Chaumel was good. Every
move, every gesture, was intended to bring his listeners
closer to his point of view. If Chaumel ever chose to leave
Ozran, he had a place in the Diplomatic Service any time
he cared to apply.

She kept one eye on him while running through her
archives. Her job was to produce, on cue, the images
Chaumel wanted. Certain parameters needed to be met.
The selection of holographic video must make their point
to a hostile audience. And hostile Noldas would be when
Chaumel got to the bottom line.

"You are no doubt curious why I should ask you here,

when we spent all day yesterday and all morning together,
High Mage," Chaumel said, jovially, "but an important
matter has come up and you were the very first person I
thought of asking to aid me."

"I?" Noldas asked, clearly flattered. "But what is this
matter?"

"Ah," Chaumel said, and spoke to the air. "Carialle, if
you please?"

"Carialle?" Nokias asked, looking first at Plennafrey,
then at Keff. "Has he two names, then?"

"No, high one. But Keff does come from whence our
ancestors came, and his silver tower has another person in it.
She cannot come out to see you, but she has many talents."

That was the first signal. Using video effects she cadged
from a 3-D program she and Keff watched in port, she
spun the image up from the holo-table as a compBcated
spiral, widening it until it resolved itself as the globe of
Ozran, present day.

Noldas was impressed by Keffs 'magic,' according him a
respectful glance before studying the picture before him.
Chaumel led him through a discussion of current farming
techniques.

At the next cue, Carialle introduced the image of Ozran
as it had been in their distant past.

"... If more attention were paid to farming and conser-
vation," Chaumels smooth voice continued.

Maybe a little video of a close-up look at the farms run
by the four-fingers would be helpful. Pity the images taken
through Keffs contact button were 2-D, but she could coax
a pseudo-holograph out of the stereoscopic view from his
eye implants. She found the image from the dog-peoples
commune, and cropped out images of the six-packs hauling
a clothful of small roots.

"... Higher yield.. . water usage ... native vegetation
... advantage in trade ..."

In the seat of honor, Nokias sat up straighten Chaumel s
sally regarding superior trading power among the regions
had struck a chord in the southern magimans mind.

"My people farm the tropical zone," Nokias noted, nod-
ding toward Plennafrey, who was all large eyes watching
her senior. "We harvest a good deal of soft fruit." Chaumel
reacted with polite interest as if it were the first time he'd
heard that fact. "If the climate were warmer and more
humid, I could see a greater yield from my orchards. That
does interest me, friend Chaumel."

"I am most honored. High Mage," the silver magiman
said smoothly, with a half-bow. "As you see, there has been
a deterioration...."

Keeping the holo playing, Carialle ran through the
datafile, looking for specific images relating to yield.
With some amusement, she discovered the video from
her servos search for the marsh flower. Globe-frogs
clunked into one another getting out of the low-slung
robots way. They gestured indignantly at the servo for
scaring them.

"Help us save Ozran," Chaumel was saying, using both
gesture and word to emphasize his concept. "Help us to
stay the destruction of our world by our own hand."

"Help," Carialle repeated to herself, translating the sign
language Chaumel used.

"It would also be good to cease dosing the workers with
forget-drugs so they will be smart enough to aid us in sav-
ing our world," Plennafrey spoke up, timidly.

'That I am not sure I would do," Nokias said.

"Oh, but consider it," Plenna begged. 'They are part of
our people. With less power, you will need more aid from
them. All it would take is giving mem the ability to take
more responsibility for their tasks. Help us," she said, also
making the gesture.

Carialle played the video of the first landing, including

the encounters with the Old Ones. Nokias was deeply
impressed.

'This proves, as we said, that the workers are of the
same stock as we. There is no difference," Chaumel con-
cluded.

"I will think about it," Nokias said at last.

"Help," Carialle said again. "Now, where else have I
seen that gesture used?" She ran back through her mem-
ory. Well, Potria had used it during the first battle over
Keff and the ship, but Carialle was certain she had seen it
more recently-wait, the frogs!

She replayed the servos video, reversing the data string
to the moment when the robot surprised the marsh crea-
tures. The frogs weren't reacting out of animal fright.

'They were talking to us!" Carialle said. She put the
image through IT. The sign language was an exact match.

Intrigued, Carialle ran an analysis of every image of the
amphibioids she had and came out with an amazing
conclusion.

"Keff," she sent through Keffs implant. "Keff, the
globe-frogs!"

"What about them?" he subvocalized. Tm trying to
concentrate on Nokias."

'To begin with, those globular shells were manufac-
tured."

"Sure, a natural adaptation to survive."

"No, they're artificial. Plastic. Not spit and pond muck.
Plastic. And they speak the sign language. I think we've
found our equal, spacefaring race, Keff. They're the
Ancient Ones."

"Oh, come on!" Keff said out loud. Nokias and Chaumel
turned to stare at him. He smiled sheepishly. "Come on,
High Mage. We want you to be prosperous."

'Thank you, Keff," Nokias said, a little puzzled. Favor-
ing Keff with a disapproving glare, Chaumel reclaimed his

guests attention and went on with his carefully rehearsed
speech.

Carialle's voice continued low in his ear. 'They're so
easy to ignore, we went right past them without thinking.
That's why the Old Ones moved up into the mountains-
to take the technology they stole out of reach of its rightful
owners, who couldn't follow them up there. When the
humans came, they didn't know about the frogs, so they
inherited the power system, not knowing it belonged to
someone else. They thought the globe-frogs were just ani-
mals. It would explain why they're so interested in any kind
of power emission."

T think perhaps you're on to something, lady," Keff
said. "Let's not mention it now. We're asking for enough
concessions, and the going is hazardous. We can test your
hypothesis later."

"Its not a hypothesis," Carialle said. But she controlled
her jubilation and went back to being the audio-video
operator for the evening.

'Very well," Nokias said, many hours later. T see that
our world will die unless we conserve power. I will even
discuss an exchange of greater self-determination for
greater responsibility from my workers. But I will let go of
my items only if all the others agree, too. You can scarcely
ask me to make myself vulnerable to stray bolts from disaf-
fected ... ah... friends."

"High Mage, I agree with you from my heart," Chaumel
said, placing a hand over his. "With your help, we can
attain concord among the mages, and Ozran will prosper."

"Yes. I must go now," Nokias said, rising from his chair.
"I have much to think about. You will notify me of your
progress?"

"Of course. High Mage," Chaumel said. He turned to
escort his guest out into the night.

Gasping, Plennafrey pointed toward the curtains. The

others spun to see. A handful of spy-spheres hovering
there flitted out into the window and disappeared into the
night.

"Whose were they?" Chaumel demanded.

"It was too dark to see," Plenna said.

T am going," Noldas said, alarmed. 'These eavesdrop-
pers may be the enemy of your plans, Chaumel. I have no
wish to be the target of an assassination attempt."

Escorted by a wary Chaumel, Keff, and Plennafrey, the
golden mage hurried out to his chariot. He took off, and
teleported when he was only a few feet above the balcony.

"I do not wish to distress you, but Nokias is correct
when he says there will be much opposition to our plans,"
Chaumel said. "You would be safe here tonight. I am ward-
ing every entrance to the stronghold."

"No, thank you," Keff said, holding Plennafrey's hand.
"I'd feel safer in my own cabin."

Chaumel bowed. "As you wish. Tomorrow we continue
the good work, eh?" In spite of the danger, he showed a
guarded cheerfulness. "Nokias is on our side, friends. I
sense it. But he is reasonable to be afraid of the others. If
any of us show weakness, it is like baring one's breast to the
knife. Good night."

a CHAPTER TWELVE

Keff mounted the platform behind Plennas chair, and
put his hands on the back as the blue-green conveyance
lifted into the sky. He watched her weave a shield and
throw it around them. Chaumel, his duties as a host done,
went inside. The great doors closed with a final-sounding
boom! He suspected the silver mage was sealing every
nook and cranny against intrusion.

Nothing was visible ahead of them but a faint jagged line
on the horizon marking the tops of mountains. Plennas
chair gave off a dim glow that must have been visible for a
hundred Idicks in every direction. The thought of danger
sent frissons up his legs into the root and spine of his body,
but he found to his surprise that he wasn't frightened.

His arms were nudged apart and off the chair back,
making him jerk forward, afraid of losing his balance. He
glanced down. Plennafrey reached for his hands and drew
them down toward her breast, turning her face up toward
his for a kiss. The light limned her cheekbones and the
delicate line of her jaw. Keff thought he had never seen
anything so beautiful in his life.

262

"Am I always to feel this excited way about you when we
are in peril?" Plenna asked impishly. Keff ran his hands
caressingly down her smooth shoulders and she shivered
with pleasure.

"I hope not," he said, chuckling at her abandon. "I'd
never know if the thrill was danger or love. And I do care
about the difference."

They didn't speak again for the rest of the journey. Keff
listened with new appreciation to the night-birds and the
quiet sounds of Ozran sighing in its sleep. In the sky
around them was an invisible network of power, but it
didn't impinge on the beauty or the silence.

The airlock door lifted, allowing Plennafrey to steer her
chair smoothly into the main cabin. This time she was able
to choose her landing place and parked the conveyance
against the far bulkhead beside Keifs exercise equipment.
Keff handed Plenna off the chair and swung her roughly
into his arms. Their lips met with fiery urgency. Her hands
moved up his back and into his hair.

"Keff, can we talk?" Carialle asked in his ear.

"Not now, Cari," Keff muttered. "Is it an emergency?"

"No. I wanted to discuss my findings of this evening
with you."

"Not now, please." Keff breathed out loud as Plenna ran
her teeth along the tendon at the side of his neck.

Crossly, Carialle gave him a burst of discordant noise in
both aural implants. He winced slightly but refused to let
her distract him from Plennafrey. His thumbs ran down
into the young woman's bodice, brushed over hard nipples
and soft, pliant flesh. He bent his head down to them.

Plennafrey moaned softly. "Carialle won't watch us, will
she?"

"No," Keff said reassuringly. He bumped the control
with his elbow and the cabin hatch slid aside. "Her domain
ends at my door. Pray, lady, enter mine!"

In the circle of his arm, Plenna tiptoed into Keffs cabin.

"It is like you," she said. "Spare, neat, and very hand-
some. Oh, books!" She picked one off the small shelf by his
bed and lightly fingered the pages. "Of course, I cannot
read it." She glanced up at Keffwith a bewitching dimple
at the comer of her mouth. Her eye was caught by the
works of art hanging on the walls. 'Those are very good.
Haunting. Who painted them?"

"You're standing in her," Keff said, grinning. "Carialle is
an artist."

"She is wonderfully talented," Plenna said, with a
decided nod. "But I like you better."

There was only one answer Keff could give. He kissed
her.

At the end of their lovemaking, Keff propped himself
up on his elbow to admire Plennafrey. Her unbound hair
tumbled around her white shoulders and breast like black
lace.

"You're so lovely," Keff said, toying with a stray strand.
"I will feel half my heart wrenched away when I have to

##-"

"But why should I not come with you to your world?"

Plenna asked, her fingers tracing an intricate design on his
forearm.

"Because I'm in space eighty percent of my life," Keff
said, "and when I'm planet-side I'm seldom near civiliza-
tion. My usual job is first contact with alien species. It's
very strange and full of so many dangers I couldn't even
describe them all to you. You wouldn't be happy with the
way I live."

"But I am not happy here now," Plenna said plaintively,
clasping her hands together in appeal. "If you take me with
you, I would cede my claim of power to Brannel and keep
my promise to him. There is nothing here to hold me; no

family, no friends. I would be glad to leam about other
people and other worlds."

"Yes, but..."

She touched his face, and her eyes searched his. "We
suit one another, do we not?"

"Yes, but..."

She silenced him with a kiss.

'Then please consider it," she said, cuddling into his
arms. Keff crushed her close to him, lost in her scent, lost
in her.

In the early morning hours, Carialle monitored her
exterior movement sensors until she heard sounds of life
from the marshy area downhill from her bluff. She let
down her ramp and sent her two servo robots forth into
the pink light of dawn. The boxy units disappeared
through the break in the brush and over the edge of the
ridge. Carialle, idly noting a half dozen spy-eyes hovering
at a hundred meters distant, heard clunks and high-
pitched squawking as they reached their goal. In a little
while, the servos returned to view, herding before them a
pair of globe-frogs. The amphibioids tried to signal their
indignation, but had to keep paddling on the inside of their
plastic spheres before the boxes bumped into them from
behind. With some effort, the servos got their quarry up
the ramp. Carialle shut the airlock door and puUed up her
ramp behind them.

As the frogs entered the main cabin, Carialle hooked
into the IT, calling up all the examples of sign language
that she and Keff had managed to record over the last few
days.

"Now, little friends," she said, "we're going to see if that
sign you made was a fluke or not." She manifested the
picture of another frog on the side screen at their level,
like them but with enough differences of color and

t. 1.1 fri W   iTJL

configuration to make sure they knew it was a stranger.

"Lets chat."

A few hours later, Keffs door opened, and the brawn
emerged, yawning, wearing only uniform pants. Plenna,
wrapped in his bathrobe, followed him, trailing a lazy fin-
ger down his neck.

"Good morning, young lovers," Carialle said brightly.

"We have guests."

Red lights chased around die walls and formed an arrow
pointing down at the two globe-frogs huddled together in
the comer nearest the airlock corridor. Keff goggled.

"But how did they get past Plennas barrier? She told
me she warded the area. Any intrusion should have set off

an alarm."

"We're protected against magic only," Plenna said, eye-
ing the marsh creatures with distaste. "Not vermin."

'They aren't vermin and they're aware you don't like
them," Carialle said indignantly. "We've been exchanging

compliments."

On her main screen she displayed an expanded image of

the small creatures staring at a strange-looking frog on the

wall.

'That's my computer-generated envoy," Carialle

explained. "Now, watch," The image made a gesture, to
which the native creatures responded with a similar move-
ment. As the complexity and number of signs increased,
the frogs became excited, bumping into one another to

respond to their imaginary host.

Keff watched the data string, glancing once in a while at

the frogs.

"Monkey see monkey do," Keff said, shaking his head.

'They observed the Ozrans making signs and copied them.
This litde performance is without meaning."

"Beasts Blatisant," Carialle countered. Keff grimaced.
"Keff, I didn't make a subjective judgment on the

frequency and meaning of these symbols. Check ITs func-
tion log. Read the vocabulary list."

When Keff lifted his eyes from the small readout
screen, they were shining.

"Who'd have thought it?" he said. "Cari, all praise to
your sharp.wits and powers of observation."

Plennafrey had been listening carefully to the IT box's
translation of Carialles and Keffs conversation. She
pointed to the frogs.

"Do you mean they can talk?" she asked.

"More than that," Keff said. 'They may be the founders
of your civilization." Plennas jaw dropped open, and she
stared at the two amphibioids. "Your belt buckle-may I
borrow it?"

The belt flew out of Keffs room and smacked into
Plennas hands. She started to extend it to him, then with-
drew it. "What for?" she asked.

'To see if they know what to do with it. Er, take it off the
belt. Its too heavy for them." Obligingly, Plenna detached
the buckle and handed it to him.

Very slowly, Keff walked to where the frogs stood. They
waited passively within their globes, kicking occasionally at
the water to maintain their positions and watching him
with their beady black eyes. Keffhunkered down and held
out the buckle.

Wearing a startled expression on its peaky face, the
larger frog met his eyes. Immediately, the case opened,
splitting into two halves, splashing water on the cabin floor,
and the frog stretched out for the power item. Its skinny
wrist terminated in a long, sensitively fingered hand which
outspread was as large as Plennafrey s. The ends of the dig-
its slid into the five apertures. There was a nearly audible
click.

"It is connected to the Core of Ozran," Plennafrey said
softly.

The water that had been inside the plastic ball gathered
around the frogs body as if still held in place by the shell.
Thus sheltered, the amphibioid rose on surprisingly long,
skinny legs and made a tour of the cabin. Its small face was
alive with wonder. Keff directed it to the astrogation tank
showing the position of Ozran and its sun. The frog looked
intelligently into the three-dimensional star map, and stud-
ied the surrounding control panels and keyboards. Then it
returned to Keff.

"Help us," it signaled.

"You win, lady dear. Here're your Ancient Ones," Keff
said, turning to Plennafrey with a flourish. 'They were
among you all the time." The young magiwoman swal-
lowed.

"I . . ." She seemed to have trouble getting the words
out. "I do not think that I can respect frogs."

Chaumel was more philosophical when confronted by
the facts.

"I refuse to be surprised," he said, shaking his head. "All
in the space of a day or so, my whole life is thrown into
confusion. The fur-faces turn out to be our long-lost broth-
ers and we have cousins in plenty among the stars ready to
search us out. Some of them live inside boxes. Why should
we not discover that the Ancient Ones exist under our
noses in the swamps?"

'Try talking to one of them," Keff urged him. Doubt-
fully, Chaumel looked at the three globe-frogs Keff and
Plenna had brought to his stronghold. They were rolling
around the great room, signing furiously to one another
over an artifact or a piece of furniture.

"Well..." Chaumel said, uneasily.

"Go on," Keff said. With a few waves of his hands, Keff
got their attention and signed to them to return to him.
Once or twice the "courtiers" turned all the way over,

trying to negotiate over the slick floor, but the biggest
maintained admirable control of his sphere.

After the initial attempts at communication, Keff had let
Carialles two subjects go, asking them to send back one of
their leaders. Within an hour, a larger frog speckled with
yellow to show its great age had come up the ramp, rolling
inside a battered case. A pair of smaller, younger frogs,
guards or attendants, hurtled up behind it. The first
amphibioid rolled directly over to Plenna and demanded
her belt buckle. For his imperious manner as well as his
great size, Keff and Carialle had dubbed him the Frog
Prince. From the two symbols with which he designated
his name, Keff decided he was called something like Tall
Eyebrow.

"I'm sure it loses something in the translation," he
explained.

Chaumel knelt and made a few signs of polite greeting.
He was unsure of himself at first, but grew enthusiastic
when his courtesies were returned and expanded upon.

'These are not trained creatures," he said with delight.
"It really understands me."

'Tall just said the same thing about you," Keff noted,
amused.

"It has feet. What are the globes for?"

"Ozran used to have much higher humidity," Keff said.
'The frogs' skins are delicate. The shells protect them from
the dry air."

"We cannot tell the other mages about them until we
have negotiated the 'cease-fire,'" Chaumel told him seri-
ously. "Already Nokias regrets that he said he will
cooperate. He suspects Femgal of sending those spy-eyes
the other night and I have no reason to doubt him. If we
present them with speaking animals who need bubbles to
live, they will mink we are mad, and the whole accord will
fall apart."

^J I \J                   /~\11>H^> IV^.^V^l-!!  l/M ^ J^^y M-IUJIVIV -i. " yi/

^Neither Keffnor Carialle, listening through the implant
contacts, argued the point.

"Its too important to get them to stop using power,"
Keff said. "It goes against my better judgment, but it'll
help the frogs' case if we don't try to make the mages
believe too many impossible things before breakfast."

During the successive weeks, the brawn and the two
magifolk traveled to each mage's stronghold to convince
him or her to join with them in the cause of environmental
survival.

Keff spent his free time, such as remained of it, divided
between Plennafrey in the evenings and the frogs in the
early morning. He had to leam another whole new lan-
guage, but he had never been so happy. His linguistic skills
were getting a good, solid workout. Carialle's memory
banks began to fill with holos of gestures with different
meanings and implications.

Since the mages had always used the signs as sacred or
magical communion, Keff had to begin all over again with
the frogs on basic language principles. The mages had
employed only a small quantity of gestures that had been
gleaned from the Old Ones in their everyday lives, giving
him a very limited working vocabulary. Chaumel knew
only a few hundred signs, Plenna a few dozen. Keff used
those to build toward scientific understanding.

Mathematical principles were easy. These frogs were
the five-hundredth generation since the life-form came to
this world. That verified what Keff had been coming to
believe, that none of the three dominant life-forms who
occupied Ozran were native to it.

Knowledge of their past had been handed down by rote
through the generations. The frogs had manufactured the
life-support bubbles with the aid of the one single item of
power that remained to them. The other devices had all

been borrowed, and then stolen by the Flat Ones, by
whom Keff understood them to mean the Old Ones.

For a change, IT was working as well as he had always
hoped it would. An optical monitor fed the frogs' gestures
into the computer, and the voice of IT repeated the mean-
ing into Keffs implant and on a small speaker for the
benefit of the others. Keff worked out a simple code for
body language that IT used to transcribe the replies he
spoke out loud. Having to act out his sentence after he said
it made the going slow, but in no time he picked up more
and more of the physical language so he could use it to
converse directly.

He was however surprised at how few frogs were willing
to come forward to meet with the Ozrans and help bridge
the language barrier. The Frog Prince assured him it was
nothing personal; a matter of safety. After so many years,
they found it difficult to trust any of the Big Folk. Keff
understood perfectly what he meant. He was careful never
to allude to the frogs when on any of his many visits to the
mages' strongholds.

On his knees at the end of another dusty row of roots,
Brannel observed Keff and Plennafrey returning to the sil-
ver ship. Scraping away at tile base of a wilted plant as long
as he dared, he waited for Keff to keep Carialle's promise
and come get him. It seemed funny they couldn't see him,
but perhaps they hadn't looked his way when he was stand-
ing up. He knew he could go up to the door and be
admitted, but he was reluctant to do so until asked as they
seemed disinterested in asking him. Weighing the question
of waiting or not waiting, he pushed his gathering basket
into the next row and started digging through the clay-
thick soil for more of the woody vegetables.

His thoughts were driven away by a stunning blow to
the side of the head. Brannel fell to the earth in surprise.

Alteis stood over him, waving a clump of roots from his
basket, spraying dirt all over the place. Some of it was on
Brannel s head. A female with light brown far stood beside
the old leader, her eyes flashing angrily.

"You're in the wrong row, Brannel!" Alteis exclaimed.
'This is Gonna's row. You should go that way." He pointed
to the right and waited while Brannel picked up his gear
and moved.

'Tour mind in the mountains?" Fralim chortled from his
position across the field. What traces of long-term memory
the others retained came from rote and repetition, and
they had been witness to Brannels peculiarities and ambi-
tions since he was small. Everyone but his mother scorned
the young males hopes. "We saw the Mage Keff and the
Magess Plennafrey fly into the tower. You planning to set
yourself up with the mages?" He cackled.

Another worker joined in with the same joke he had
been using for twenty years. "Gonna shave your face and
call yourself Mage, Brannel?"

Brannel was stung. "If I do, I'll show you what power
the overlords wield, Mogag," he said in a voice like a growl.
Alteis walked up and slapped him in the head again.

"Work!" the leader said. 'The roots won't pull them-
selves."

The others jeered. Brannel worked by himself until the
sun was just a fingertips width above the mountain rim at
the edge of the valley. Any time, food would arrive, and he
would be able to sneak away. Perhaps, if no one was look-
ing, he might go now.

It was his bad luck that Alteis and his strapping son were
almost behind him. Fralim yanked him back by the collar
and seat of his garment from the edge of the field, and
plunked him sprawling into his half-worked row.

"Stay away from that tower," Alteis ordered him. "You
have duties to your own folk."

Moments crept by like years. Brannel, faming, finished
his day's chores with the least possible grace. As soon as the
magess kept her promise to teach him, he would never
return to this place fuU of stupid people. He would study
all day, and work great works of magic, like the ancestors
and the Old Ones.

At the end of the day, he hung back from the crowd
hurrying toward the newly materialized food. With Alteis
busy doing something else, there was no one watching one
discontented worker. Brannel sneaked away through the
long shadows on the field and hurried up to the ship.

As he reached the tall door, it slid upward to disgorge
Magess Plennafrey and Keff on her floating chair.

"Oh, Brannel!" Mage Keff said, surprised. "I'm glad you
came up. I am sorry, but we've got to run now. Carialle will
look after you, all right?" Before Brannel could tell him
that nothing was "all right," the chair was already wafting
them away. "See you later!" Keff called.

Brannel watched them ascend into the sky, then made
his way toward the heart of the tower.

Inside, Magess Carialle was doing something with a trio
of marsh creatures.

"Oh, Brannel," she said, in an unconscious echo of Keff.
"Welcome. Have you eaten yet?" A meal was bubbling in
the small doorway even before he had stopped shaking his
head. "I promised you a peep at the tapes. Will you sit
down in the big chair? I've got to keep doing another job at
me same time, but I can handle many tasks at once."

Keffs big chair turned toward him and, at that direct
invitation, Brannel came forward, only a little uneasy to be
alone in the great silver cylinder without any other living
beings. Marsh creatures didn't count, he thought, as he ate
his dinner, and he wasn't sure what Carialle was.

Though she didn't seem to eat, in deference to his appe-
tite, Magess Carialle had prepared for him a meal twice

the size of the one he had eaten last time. Each dish was
satisfying and most delicious. With every bite he liked the
thought less and less of returning to raw roots and grains.
He was nearly finished eating when the big picture before
him lit up and he found himself looking into the weird
green face of an Old One. He stopped with a half-chewed
mouthful.

"Here's the first of the tapes, starting at the point we left
off last time," Carialles voice said.

"Ah," Brannel said, recovering his wits.

He couldn't not watch for he was fascinated and her
voice kept supplying translations in his tongue. Brannel
asked her the occasional question. She answered, but with-
out offering as much of her attention as she gave one of
Keffs inquiries. He glanced back over his shoulder, won-
dering why she had made a picture of the marsh creatures,
and what they found so interesting in it.

"... And that's the last of the tapes," Carialle said,
sometime later. "What a fine resource to have turn up."
' "What am I to do now?" Brannel asked, looking around
him. Carialles picture appeared on the wall beside him.
The lady smiled.

"You've done so much for us-and for Ozran, by telling
us about farming," she said. "All we can do now is wait to
see what the mages think of our evidence."

"I would tell the mages all I know," Brannel said hope-
fully. "It would help convince them to farm better." The
flat magess shook her head.

'Thank you, Brannel. Not yet. It would be better if you
didn't get involved-less dangerous for you," she said.
"Now, I don't have any tasks that need doing. Why don't
you go home and sleep? I'm sure Keffwill find you tomor-
row, or the next day. As soon as he has any definite news to
teU you."

Brannel went away, but Keff didn't come.

The worker spent the next day, and the next, waiting for
Keff to stop off to see him between his hurried journeys to
the far reaches of Ozran on the magess's chair. He never
glanced at Brannel. In spite of his promise, he had forgot-
ten the ,worker existed. He had forgotten their growing
friendship.

Worse yet, Brannel now had a head full of information
about the ancestors and the Old Ones, and what good did
it do him? Nothing to do with teaching him to become a
mage, or getting him better food to eat. In time his disap-
pointment grew into a towering rage. How dare the
strangers build up his hopes and leave him to rot like one
of the despised roots of the field! How dare they make him
a promise, knowing he never forgot anything, and then
pretend it had never been spoken? Brannel swore to him-
self that he would never trust a mage again.

Femgals stronghold stood alone on a high, dentate
mountain peak, set apart by diverging river branches from
the rest of the eastern range. The obsidian-dark stone of its
walls offered little of the open hospitality of Chaumel's
home. In the dark, relatively low-ceilinged great hall, Keff
had the uncomfortable feeling the walls were closing in on
him. Brown-robed Lacia and a yellow-coated mage sat
with Femgal as Chaumel gave his by now familiar talk on
preserving and restoring the natural balances of Ozran.

Chaumel, in his bright robes, seemed like a living gas-
flame as he hovered behind Carialles illusions. He
appealed to each of his listeners in turn, clearly disliking
talking to more than one mage at a time. He had voiced a
caution to Keff and Plenna before they had arrived.

"In a group, there is more chance of dissension. Careful
manipulation will be required and I do not know if I am
equal to it."

Keffhad felt a chill. "If you can't do it, we're in trouble,"
he had said. "But we need to speed up the process. The
power blackouts are becoming more frequent. I don't
know how long you have until there's a complete failure."

"If that happens," Chaumel told his audience, "then
mages will be trapped in the mountains with no means of
rescue at hand. Food distribution will end, causing starva-
tion in many areas. We have made the fur-faces dependent
upon our system. We cannot fail them, or ourselves."

Early in the discussion, Lacia had announced that she
viewed the whole concept of the Core of Ozran as science
to be sacrilege. She frowned at Chaumel whenever the sil-
ver magiman made eye contact with her. The mage in
yellow robes, an older man named Whilashen, said little
and sat through Chaumel's speech pinching his lower lip
between thumb and forefinger.

"I do not like this idea of relying more upon the servant
class," Femgal said. 'They are mentally limited."

"With respect. High Mage," Keffsaid, "how would you
know? Chaumel tells me that even your house servants are
given a low dose of the docility drug in their food. I have
done tests on the workers in the late Mage Klemays
province and can show you the results. They are of the
same racial stock as you, and their capabilities are the
same. All they need is more nurturing and education, and
of course for you to stop the ritual mutilation and cranial
mutations. In the next generation all the children will
return to normal human appearance, with the possible
exception of retaining the hirsutism. That may need to be
bred out."

Tosh!" Femgal's ruddy face suffused further. .

"I can't wait to see what happens when we tell him
about the Frog Prince," Carialle said through the implants.
"He'll have apoplexy."

Keff leaned forward, his hands outstretched, making an

appeal. "I can explain the scientific process and show you
proof you'll understand."

"Proof you manufacture proves nothing," Femgal said.
"Illusions, that's all, like these pictures."

"But Nokias said..." Plennafrey began. Chaumel made
one attempt to silence her, but it was too late. "Nokias-"

Femgal cut her off at once. "You've talked to Noldas?
You spoke to him before you came to me?" The black
magiman s nostrils flared. "Have you no respect for proto-
col?"

"He is my liege," Plenna said with quiet dignity. "I was
required. You would demand the same from any of the
mages of the East."

"Well... that is true."

"Will you not consider what we have said?" she pleaded.

"No, I won't give up power and you can stuff your argu-
ments about making the peasants smarter in a place where
a magic item won't fit. You're out of your mind asking
something like that. And if Nokias has softened enough to
say yes, he will regret it." Femgal showed his teeth in a
vicious grin. "I'll soon add the South to my domain.
Chaumel, you ought to know better."

"High Mage, sometimes truth must overcome even
common sense."

Abruptly, Femgal lost interest in them.

"Go," he said, tossing a deceptively casual gesture
toward the door behind him. "Go now before I lose my
temper."

"Heretics!" screamed Lacia.

With what dignity he could muster, Chaumel led the
small procession around Femgal toward the doors. Keff
gathered up the holo-table and opened his stride to catch
up without running.

He heard a voice whisper very close to his ear. Not Cari-
alle's: a man's.

"Some of us have honor," the voice said. 'Tell your mas-
ter to contact me later." Startled, Keff turned' around.
Whilashen nodded to him, his eyes intent.

In spite of Chaumels pleas for confidentiality, word
began to spread to the other mages before he had a chance
to speak with them in person. Rumors began to spread
that Chaumel and an unknown army of mages wanted to
take over the rest by destroying their connection to the
Core ofOzran. Chaumel spent a good deal of time on what
Keff called "damage control," scotching the gossip, and
reassuring the panic-stricken magifolk that he was not
planning an Ozran-wide coup.

"No one will be compelled to give up all power,"
Chaumel said, trying to calm an angry Zolaika. He sat in
her study in a hovering chair with his head at the level of
her knees to show respect. Keff and Plennafrey stood on
the floor meters below them, silent and watching. "Each
mage needs to be allowed free will in such an important
matter. But I think you see, Zolaika, and everyone will see
in the end, that inevitably we must be more judicious in
our use of power. You, in your great wisdom, will have seen
that the Core of Ozran is not infinite in its gifts,"

Zolaika was guarded. "Oh, I see the truth of what you
say, Chaumel, but so far, you have offered us no proof!
Pictures, what are they? I make pretty illusions like those

for my grandchildren."

"We are working on gathering solid proof," Chaumel
said, "proof that will convince everyone that what we say
about the Core of Ozran is the truth. But, in the mean-
time, it is necessary to soften the coming blow, don't you

think?"

"I'm an old woman," Zolaika snapped. "I don't want
words to 'soften the coming blow.' I want facts. I'm not
blind or senile. I will be convinced by evidence." Her eyes

lost their hard edge for a moment, and Keff fancied he saw
a twinkle there for a moment. "You have never bed to me,
Chaumel. You say a thousand words where one will do, but
you are not a liar, nor an imaginative man. If you're con-
vinced, so will I be. But bring proof!"

As they flew off Zolaikas balcony, Chaumel sat bolt
upright in his chariot, a smug expression on his face. 'That
was most satisfactory."

"It was? She didn't say she'd support us," Keff said.

"But she believes us. Everyone respects her, even the
ones who are spelling for her position." Chaumel made a
cursory pass with one hand in the air to show what he
meant. "Her belief in us will carry weight. Whether or not
she actually says she supports us, she does by not saying
she doesn't."

'There speaks a diplomat," Carialle said. "He makes
pure black and white print into one of those awful moire
paintings. Progress report: out of some two hundred and
seventeen mages with multiple power items, I now have
one hundred fifty-two frequency signatures. It is now theo-
retically possible for me to selectively intercept and
deaden power emissions in each of those items."

"Good going. We might need it," Keff said, "but I hope

i ??

not.

With Zolaika four of the high mages had given tentative
agreement to stand down power at the risk of losing it, but
meetings with some of the lesser magifolk had not gone
well. Potria had heard the first few sentences of Chaumels
discourse and driven them out of her home with a mini-
ature dust storm. Harvel, the next most junior mage above
Plenna, had accused her of trying to climb the social ladder
over his head. When Chaumel explained that their tradi-
tional structure for promotion was a perversion of the

ancestors' system, the insulted Harvel had done his best to
kill all of them with a bombardment of lightning. Carialle
turned off his two magic items, a rod and a ring, and left
him to stew as the others effected a hurried withdrawal.
"I think that among the remaining mages we can concen-
trate on the potential troublemakers," Chaumel said as
they materialized above his balcony. "Most of the others
will not become involved. A hundred of them barely use
their spells except to fetch and carry household items, or to
power their flying chairs."

"They'll miss it the most," Keff said, "but at least they
aren't the conspicuous consumers."

"Oh, well put!" Chaumel said, chortling, as he docketed
the phrase. 'The 'conspicuous consumers' have been mak-
ing us do most of the work for them. I laughed when
Howet said he'd agree if we talked to his farm workers for
him-Vemi, what are you doing out here?"

Below them, clinging to the parapet of Chaumel's land-
ing pad, was his chief servant. As soon as the magiman
angled in to touch down, Vemi ran toward him, wringing

his hands.

"Master, High Mage Nokias is here," he whispered as
Chaumel rose from the chariot. "He is in the hall of antiq-
uities. He has warded the ways in and out. I have been
trapped out here for hours."

"Nokias?" Chaumel said, sharing a puzzled glance with
Keff and Plennafrey. "What does he want here? And

warded?"

"Yes, master," the servant said, winding his hands in his
apron. "None of us can pass in or out until he lets down the

barriers."

"How strange. What can frighten a high mage?"
Chaumel strode through the great hall. The servant,
Keff, and Plennafrey hurried after him, having to scoot to
avoid the tall glass doors closing on their heels.

The silver mage stood back a pace from the second set
of doors and felt the air cautiously. Then he moved for-
ward and pounded with the end of his wand.

"High Mage!" he shouted. "It is Chaumel. Open the
door! I have warded the outside ways."

The door opened slightly, only wide enough for a
human body to pass through. Chaumel beckoned to the
others and slipped in. Keff let Plenna go first, then fol-
lowed with the servant. No one was behind the door. It
snapped shut as soon as they were all inside.

Nokias waited halfway down the hall, seated on the old
hover-chair, his hands positioned and ready to activate his
bracelet amulet. Even at a distance, Keff could see the taut
skin around the mage's eyes.

"Old friend," Chaumel said, coming forward with his
hands open and relaxed. "Why the secrecy?"

"I had to be discreet," Noldas said. 'There's been an
attempt on me at my citadel already. You've stirred up a
fierce gale among the other mages, Chaumel. Many of
them want your head. They're upset about your threats of
destruction. Most of the others don't believe your data-
they do not want to, that is all. I came to tell you that I
cannot consider giving up my power. Not now."

"Not now?" Keff echoed. "But you see the reasoning
behind it. What's changed?"

"I do see the reasoning," the Mage of the South said,
"but there's revolt brewing in my farm caverns. I can't let
go with violence threatened. People will die. The harvest
will be ruined."

"What has happened?" Chaumel asked.

Nokias clenched his big hands. "I have been speaking to
village after village of my workers. Oh, many of them were
not sure what I meant by my promises of freedom, but I
saw sparks of intelligence there. The difficulties began only
a day or so ago. My house servants report that, among the

peasantry, there is fear and anger. They cry that they will
not cooperate. It is stirring up the others. If I lose my abil-
ity to govern, there will be riots."

"Its only their fear of the unknown," Chaumel said
smoothly. 'They should rejoice in what you're offering
them, the first high mage in twenty generations to change
the way things are to the way things might be."

'They cannot understand abstract thinking," Nokias

corrected him sternly.

"I will go and talk to them on your behalf, Nokias,"
Chaumel said. 'Tve done so for Zolaika. Its only right I
should also do it for you."

"I would be grateful," Nokias said. "But I will not appear

in person."

"You don't need to," Chaumel assured him. T and my

friends here will take care of it."

The farm village looked like any of the others Keffhad
seen, except that it also boasted an elderly but well cared
for orchard as well as the usual fields of crops. A few lonely
late fruit clung to the uppermost branches of the trees
nearest the home cavern. Nokias s farmers were harvesting

the next rows yield.

The Noble Primitives glanced warily at the three "magi-
folk" when they arrived, then went about their business
with their heads averted, carefully keeping from making

eye contact with them.

"Surely they are wondering what brings three mages

here," Keffsaid.

'They dare not ask," Plenna said. "It isn't their place."
Chaumel looked at the sun above the horizon. "It's close

enough to the end of the working day."

He flung his hands over his head and the air around him

filled with lights of blue and red. Like wiU-o'-the-wisps the

sparks scattered, surrounding the farmers, dancing at them

to make them climb down from the trees, gathering them
toward the three waiting by the cavern entrance. Keff,
flanking Chaumel on the left, watched it all with the admi-
ration due a consummate showman. Plennafrey stood
demure and proud on Chaumel's right.

"Good friends!" Chaumel called out to them when the
whole village was assembled. T have news for you from
your overlord Nokias!"

In slow, majestic phrases, Chaumel outlined the events
to come when the workers would have greater capacity to
think and to do. "You look forward to something unimagin-
able by your parents and grandparents. You workers will
have greater scope than any since the ancestors came to
Ozran."

"Uh-oh," Carialle said to Keff. "Someone out there is
not at all happy to see you. I'm noting heightened blood
pressure and heartbeat in someone in the crowd. Give me
a sweep view and I'll try to spot them."

Not knowing quite what he was looking for, Keff gazed
slowly around at the crowd. The children were open-
mouthed, as usual, to be in the presence of one of the
mighty overlords. Most of the older folk still refused to
look up at Chaumel. It was the younger ones who were
sneaking glances, and in a couple of cases, staring openly at
them the way Brannel had.

"... Nokias has sent me, Chaumel the Silver, to
announce to you that you shall be given greater free-
doms than ever in your lifetime!" Chaumel said,
sweeping his sleeves up around his head. "We the mages
will be more open to you on matters of education and
responsibility. On your part, you must continue to do
your duty to the magefolk, as your tasks serve all Ozran.
These are the last harvests of the season. It is vital to get
them in so you will not be hungry in the winter. In the
spring, a new world order is coming, and it is for your

benefit that changes will be taking place. Embrace
them! Rejoice!"

Chaumel waved his arms and the illusion of a flock of
small bluebirds fluttered up behind him. The audience
gasped.

"No! Its a Be!" A deep male voice echoed over the
plainlands. When everyone whirled right and left to see
who was talking, a rock came whistling over the heads of
the crowd toward Plenna.

With lightning-fast gestures, the magiwoman warded
herself. The rock struck an invisible shield and feU to the
ground with a heavy thud. Keff saw the color drain from
her shocked face. She was controlling herself to keep from
crying. Keff pushed in front of the two magifolk and glared
at die villagers. Some of them had recoiled in terror, won-
dering what punishment was in store for them, harboring
an assailant. The male who had thrown the stone stood at
the back, glaring and fists clenched. Keff hurtled through
the crowd after him.

The farmer was no match for the honed body of the
spacer. Before die panicked worker could do more than
turn away and take a couple of steps, Keff cannoned into
him. He knocked the male flat with a body blow. The
worker struggled, yelling, but Keff shoved a knee into his
spine and bent his arms up behind his head.

"What do you want done with him, Chaumel?" Keff
called out in the linga esoterka.

"Bring him here."

Using the male's joined wrists as a handle, Keff hauled
upward. To avoid having his wrists break, the rest of the
worker followed. Keff trotted him along the .path that
magically opened up among the rest of the workers.

"Who is in charge of this man?" Chaumel asked. A timid
graybeard came forward and bowed deeply. "Even if there
is to be change, respect toward one another must still be

observed. Give him some extra work to do, to soak up this
superfluous energy."

"Is this what the new world order will be like? If we
allow the workers more freedom of thought, there will be
no safe place for me to go," Plenna said to Keff in an
undertone with a catch in her voice. He put an arm around
her.

"We'd better get out of here," Keff said under his breath
to Chaumel.

"It would have been better if you'd pretended noth-
ing had happened," Chaumel said over Keffs shoulder.
"We are supposed to be above such petty attacks. But
never mind. Follow me." Though he was obviously
shaken, too, the magiman negotiated a calm and impres-
sive departure. The three of them flew hastily away from
the village.

"I don't understand it," Chaumel said, when they were a
hundred meters over the plain. "In every other village,
they've been delighted with the idea of learning and being
free. Could they enjoy being stupid? No, no," he chided
himself.

Keff sighed. "I'm beginning to think I put my hand into
a hornets nest, Cari," he said under his breath. "Have I
done wrong trying to set things straight here?"

"Not at all, Sir Galahad," Carialle reassured him.
"Think of the frogs and the power blackouts. Not every-
one will be delighted with global change, but never lose
sight of the facts. The imbalances of power here, both
social and physical, could prove fatal to Ozran. You're
doing the right thing, whether or not anyone else thinks

?y

SO.

When they returned to Chaumel's residence, another
visitor awaited them. Femgal, with a mighty entourage of
lesser eastern Mages, did not even trouble to wait inside.

The underlings covered the landing pad with wardings and
minor spells of protection like a presidential security force.
Chaumel picked his way carefully toward his own landing
strip, passing a hand before him to make sure it wasn't
booby-trapped. He set down lightly and approached the
black chariot on foot.

"High Mage Femgal! How nice to see you so soon,"
Chaumel said, arms wide with welcome. "Come in. Allow
me to offer you my hospitality."

Femgal was in no mood for chitchat. He cut off
Chaumel s compliments with an angry sweep of his hand.

"How dare you go spreading sedition among my work-
ers? You dare to preach your nonsense in my farmsteads?
You have overreached yourself."

"High Mage, I have not been speaking to your farm-
ers. That is for you to do, or not, as you choose,"
Chaumel said, puzzled. "I would not presume upon your
territories."

"Oh, no. It could only be you. You will cease this non-
sense about the Core of Ozran at once, or it will be at your

peril."

"It is not nonsense. High Mage," Chaumel said mildly
but with steel apparent in his tone. "I tell you these things
for your sake, not mine."

Femgal leveled an angry finger at Chaumel s nose.
"If this is a petty attempt to gain power, you will pay
heavily for your deceit," he said. "I hold domain over the
East, and your stronghold falls within those boundaries. I
order you to cease spreading your lies."

"I am not lying," Chaumel said. "And I cannot cease."
'Then so be it," the black-clad mage snarled.
He and his people lifted off from the balcony, and van-
ished. Chaumel shook his head, and turned toward Keff
and Plenna with a "what can you do?" expression.

"Heads up, Keff!" Carialle said. "Power surge building in

your general area-a heavy one. Focusing . . . building . . .
Watch out!"

"Carialle says someone is sending a huge burst of power
toward us!" Keff shouted.

"An attack," shrieked Plenna. The three of them con-
verged in the center of the balcony. The magiwoman and
Chaumel threw their hands up over their heads. A rose-
colored shell formed around them like a gigantic soap
bubble only a split second before the storm broke.

It was no ordinary storm. Their shield was assailed by
forked staves of multicolored lightning and sheets of flam-
ing rain. Hand-sized explosions rocked them, setting off
clouds of smoke and shooting jagged debris against the
shell. Torrents of clear acid and flame-red lava flowed
down the edges and sank into the floor, the ruin separated
from their feet only by a fingertip s width.

The deafening noises stopped abruptly. When the
smoke cleared, Chaumel waited a moment before dissolv-
ing the bubble. He let it pop silently on the air and took a
step forward. Part of the floor rocked under his feet. Keff
grabbed him. Two paces beyond the place they were
standing, the end of the balcony was gone, ripped away by
the magical storm as if a giant had taken a bite out of it.
The pieces were still crashing with dull echoes into the
ravine far below. Plenna mounted her chair to go look. She
returned, shaking her head.

"It is ..." Chaumel began, and had to stop to clear his
throat. "It is considered ill-mannered to notice when
someone else is building a spell, especially if that person is
of higher rank than oneself. I believe it has now become a

matter of life and death for us to behave in an ill-mannered
fashion."

"Ferngal," Carialle said. "Using two power objects at
once. I have both their frequencies logged." Keff passed
along the information.

"Sedition, he said." Chaumel was confused. He
appealed to Keff. "What sedition was Femgal talking
about? I have talked to no one in his area. I would not."

'Then someone else is talking to them," Keff said.
"Noldas mentioned something similar. We'd better investi-
gate."

A quick aerial reconnaissance of the two farmsteads
from which Noldas and Femgal s complaints came
revealed that they were very close together, suggesting that
whatever set off the riots was somewhere in the area, and
on foot, not aloft. Chaumel asked help from a few of the
mages who had tentatively given their promise to cooper-
ate. They sent out spy-eyes to all the surrounding villages,
looking for anything that seemed threatening.

Nothing appeared during the next day or so. On the
third day, a light green spy-eye found Chaumel as he was
leaving Carialles ship.

"Here's your trouble," Kiyottals mental voice
announced.

Plennafrey, sensing the arrival of an eye-sphere from
inside the ship, interrupted their attempts at conversation
with the Frog Prince to run outside. Keff followed her.

"We've located the troublemaker," Chaumel said, after
communing silently with the sphere. "It's your four-finger.
He's making speeches."

"Brannel?" Keff said. He glanced out at the farm fields.
Wielding heavy forks, the workers were turning over
empty rows of earth and bedding them down with straw.
He searched their ranks and turned back to Chaumel.

"You're right. I forgot all about him. He's gone."

"Follow me," Kiyottals voice said. "I have also alerted
Femgal. Nokias is coming, too. It's in his territory."

In the center of the clearing in a southern farm village,

" ##\J "T \J1^

Brannel raised his arms for silence. The workers, who had
long, pack beast-like faces, were gently worried about this
skinny, dirty stranger who had arrived at their farmstead
with an exhausted dray beast at his heels.

T tell you the mages are weakening!" Brannel cried.
'They are not all-powerful. If we have an uprising, every
worker together, they will come out to punish us, but they
will all fall to the ground helpless!"

"You are mad," a female farmer said, curling back her
broad lips in a sneer.

"Why would we want to overthrow the mages?" one of
the males asked him. "We have enough to eat."

"But you cannot think for yourselves," Brannel said. He
was tired. He had given the same speech at another farm-
stead only days before, and once a few days before that,
with the same stupid faces and the same stupid questions.
If not for the flame of revenge that burned within him, the
thought of journeying all over Ozran would have daunted
him into returning to Alteis. "You do the same things every
day of your lives, every year of your lives!"

"Yes? So? What else should we do?" Most of the listen-
ers were more inclined to heckle, but Brannel thought he
saw the gleam of comprehension on the faces of a few.

"Change is coming, but it won't be for our sakes-only
the mages'. If you want things to change for you, don't eat
the mage food. Don't eat it tonight, not tomorrow, not any
day. Keep roots from your harvest, and eat them. You will
remember," Brannel insisted, pointing to his temples with
both hands. 'Tomorrow you will see. It will be like nothing
you have ever experienced in your life. You will remember.
You need to trust me only for one night! Then you will see
for yourselves. You grow the food! You have a right to it!
We can get rid of the magefolk. On the first day of the next
planting when the sun is highest, throw down your tools
and refuse to work."

The whirring sound in the air distracted most of the
workers, who looked up, then threw themselves flat on the
ground. Brannel and his few converts remained standing,
staring up at the four chariots descending upon them.
The black and gold chairs touched down first.
"Kill him," Femgal said heatedly, pointing at the sheep-
faced male, "or I will do so myself. His people have been
without an overlord too long. They are getting above

themselves."

"No," Keff said. He leaped off Plennas chair, putting
himself between the high mage and the peasant. "Don't
touch him. Brannel, what are you doing?"

At first Brannel remained mulishly silent, then words
burst out of him in a torrent of wounded feelings.

"You promised me, and I risked myself, and Chaumel
knocked me out, and you threw me out again with nothing.
Nothing!" Brannel spat. "I am as I was before, only worse.
The others made fun of me. Why didn't you keep your

promise?"

Keff held up his hands. "I promised I'd do what I could
for you. Amulets aren't easy to find, you know, and the
power is going to end soon anyway. Do you want to fill
your head with useless knowledge?"

"Yes! To know is to understand one's life."

Femgal spat. "If you're going to waste my time by
talking nonsense with a servant, I'm away. Just make
certain he does not come back to my domain. Never!" The
black chair disappeared toward the clouds. Nokias,
shaking his head, went off in the opposite direction. The
workers, freed from their thrall by the departure of the
high mages, went on to eat their supper, which had just
appeared in the square of stones. Brannel started away
from Keff to divert the villagers. The brawn grabbed hiin
by the arm.

"Don't interfere, Brannel. I won't be able to stop

Femgal next time. Look, man, I guaranteed only that
Plenna would teach you."

Brannel was unsatisfied. "Even that did not happen. You
sent me away, and I heard nothing for days. When I saw
you at last, you were in too much of a hurry to speak to
me."

'That was most discourteous of me," Keff agreed. "I'm
sony. But you know what we're doing. There's a lot to be
done, and mages to convince."

"But we had a bargain," Brannel said stubbornly. "She
could give me one other items of power, and I can learn to
use it by myself. Then I will have magic as long as anyone."

"Brannel, I want to offer you a different kind of power,
the kind that will last. Will you listen to me?"

Reluctantly, but swayed by the sincerity of his first
friend ever, the embittered Noble Primitive agreed at last
to listen. Keff beckoned him to a broad rock at the end of
the field, at a far remove from both the magifolk and the
dray-faced farmers.

"If you still want to help," Keff said, "and you're up to
continuing your journey, I want you to go on with it. Talk
to the workers. Explain whats going to happen."

"But High Mage Femgal said... ?"

"Femgal doesn't want you to make things more difficult.
Help us, don't hinder. Tell them what they stand to gain-
in cooperation." Keff saw light dawning in the male's eyes.
"Yes, you do see. In return, we'll supply you with food. We
might even be able to manage transporting you from
region to region by chair. Arriving in a chariot will give you
immediate high status with the others. You like to fly, don't
you?"

"I love to fly," Brannel said, easily enough converted
with such a shining prospect. "I will change my message to
cooperation."

"Good! Tell them the truth. The workers will get better

treatment and more input into their own government
when the power is diminished. The mages will need you
more than ever."

'That I will be happy to tell my fellow workers," Bran-
nel said gravely.

"I have a secret to tell you, but you, and only you," Keff
said, leaning toward the worker. "Do you promise? Good.
Now listen: the mages are not the true owners of the Core
ofOzran. Remember it."

Brannel was goggle-eyed. "I never forget. Mage Keff."

Seven days later, Chaumel returned to his great room
dusting his hands together. A quintet of chariots lifted off
the balcony and disappeared over the mountaintops. He
stood for a moment as if listening, and turned with a smile
to Plenna and Keff.

'That is the last of them," he said with satisfaction.
"Everyone who has said they will cooperate has also prom-
ised to press the ones who haven't agreed. In the
meantime, all have said that they will keep voluntarily to
the barest minimum of use. On the day you designated,
two days hence, at sunrise in the eastern province, the
great mutual truce will commence."

"Not without grumbling, I'm sure," Keff said, with a
grin. "I'm sure there'll be a lot of attempts before that to
renegotiate the accord to everyone elses benefit. Once the
power levels lessen, it'll give me the last direction I need to
find the Core ofOzran."

"Leave the last-minute doubters to me," Chaumel said.
"At the appointed moment, you must be ready. Such a
treaty was not easily arranged, and may never again be
achieved. Do not fail."

a CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The high mountains looked daunting in their deep, pre-
dawn shadow as Plenna and Chaumel flew toward them.
Keff, on Plennas chair, had the ancient manuals spread out
on his lap. As he smoothed the plastic pages down, they
crackled in the cold.

'The sun's about to rise over Femgal's turf," Carialle
informed him. "You should see a drop in power beginning
in thirty seconds."

'Terrific, Cari. Chaumel, any of this looking familiar?"

Chaumel, in charge of three globe-frogs he was
restraining from falling off his chair with the use of a mini-
containment field generated by his wand, nodded.

"I see the way I came last time," he shouted. His voice
was caught by the great mountains and bounced back and
forth like a toy. "See, above us, the two sharp peaks
together like the tines of a fork? I kept those immediately
to my left all the way into the heart. They overlook a nar-
row passage."

"Now," Carialle said.

Chaumel's and Plennas chariots shot forward slightly

293

and the "seat belts" around the globe-frogs brightened to a
blue glow.

'That's kickback," Keff said. "Every other mage in the
world has turned off the lights and the power available to
you two is near one hundred percent."

"A heady feeling, to be sure," Chaumel said, jovially. "If
it were not that each item of power is not capable of con-
ducting all that there is in the Core. I must tell you how
difficult it was to convince all the mages and magesses that
they should not each send spy-eyes with us on this journey.
Ah, the passageway! Follow me."

He steered to the right and nipped into a fold of stone
that seemed to be a dead end. As the two chairs closed the
distance, Keff could see that the ledge was composed of
gigantic, rough blocks, separated by a good four meters.

The thin air between them was no barrier to communi-
cation between Keff and the Frog Prince. Lit weirdly by
the chariot light, the amphibioid resembled a grotesque
clay gnome. Keff waved to get his attention.

"Do you know where we are going?" he signed.

'Too long for any living to remember," Tall Eyebrow
signaled back. 'The high fingers-" he pointed up, "men-
tioned in history."

"What's next?"

"Lip, hole, long cavern."

"Did you get that, Carialle?" Keff asked. Flying into the
narrow chasm robbed them of any ambient light to see by.
Chaumel increased the silver luminance of his chariot to
help him avoid obstructions.

"I did," the crisp voice replied. "My planetary maps
show that you're approaching a slightly wider plateau that
ends in a high saddle cliff, probably the lip. As for the hole,
the low range beyond is full of chimneys."

'That's what the old manuals can tell me," Keff said,
reading by the gentle yellow light of Plennafrey's chair.

JLII.U L?mr vvnu VVUJN

295

"According to this, the cavern where the power generator
is situated is at ninety-three degrees, six minutes, two sec-
onds east; forty-seven degrees, fifteen minutes, seven

seconds north." He held up a navigational compass. "Still
farther north."

'The lee lines lead straight ahead," Chaumel informed
him. "Without interference from the rest of Ozran, I can
follow the lines to their heart. You are to be congratulated,
Keff. This was not possible without a truce."

"We can't miss it," Keff said, crowing in triumph. "We
have too much information."

The sun touched the snow-covered summits high above
them with orange light as the pass opened out into the
great central cirque. Though scoured by glaciers in ages
past, the mountains were clearly of volcanic origin. Shards
of black obsidian glass stuck up unexpectedly from the
cloudy whiteness of snowbanks under icefalls. The two
chairs ran along the moraine until it dropped abruptly out
from underneath. Keff had a momentary surge of vertigo
as he glanced back at the cliff.

"How high is that thing, Cari?" he asked.

"Eight hundred meters. You wonder how the original
humans got here, let alone the globe-frogs who built it."

At his signal, Plenna dropped into the dark, cold valley.
Keff shivered in the blackness and hugged himself for
warmth. He glanced up at Plenna, who was staring straight
ahead in wonder.

"What do you see?" he asked.

"I see a great skein of lines coming together," she said.
"I will try to show you." She waved her hands, and the
faintest limning of blue fire a fingertip wide started above
their heads and ran down before them like a burning fuse.
A moment later, a network of similar lines appeared
coming over the mountain ridges all around them,
converging on a point still ahead. Her glowing gaze met

Zi"0

nil/in.' m.u'^'u'jj ' ^y

Keffs eyes. "It is the most amazing thing I have seen in my

life."

"Your point of convergence is roughly in the center of

your five high mages' regions," Carialle pointed out. "Eve-
ryone shares equal access to the Core."

"Has anyone else ever come here?" Keff asked

Chaumel.

"It is considered a No-Mages'-Land," the silver magi-
man said. "Rumors are that things go out of control within
these mountains. I could not come this far in my youth. I
became confused by the overabundance of power, lost my
way, and nearly lost my life trying to fly away. Here is the
path, all marked out before us, as if it was meant to be,"

"We should never have lost sight of the source of our
power," Plenna said. "Nor the aims of our ancestors." Her
own tragedy, Keff guessed, was never far from the surface

of her thoughts.

The two chariots began to throw tips of shadows as they
ran over the broken ground. Soot-rimmed holes ten
meters and more across punctuated the snow-field. Keff
followed the indicator on his compass as the numbers
came closer and closer to the target coordinates.

All at once, Chaumel, Carialle, and the Frog Prince

said, 'That one."

"And down!" Keff cried.

The tunnel mouth was larger than most of the others in
the snow-covered plain. Keff felt a chill creep along his
skin as they dropped into the hole, shuttingroff even the
feeble predawn sunlight. Plennas chariots soft light kept
him from becoming blind as soon as they were under-
ground. Chaumel dropped back to fly alongside them.

They traveled six hundred meters in nearly total dark-
ness. Plennas hand settled on Keffs shoulder and he
squeezed it. Abruptly the way opened out, and they

emerged into a huge hemispherical cavern lit by a dull
blue luminescence and filled with a soft humming like the
purr of a cat.

"You could fit Chaumels mountain in here," Carialle
said, taking a sounding through Keffs implants.

The ceiling of this cavern had been scalloped smooth at
some time in the distant past so that it bore only new, tiny
stalactites like cilia at the edges of each sound-deadening
bubble. Here and there a vast, textured, onyx pillar
stretched from floor to roof, glowing with an internal light.

The globe-frogs began to bounce up and down in their
cases, pointing excitedly. Keff felt like dancing, too. Ahead,
minute in proportion, lay a platform situated on top of a
complex array of machinery. It wasn't until he identified it
that he realized they had been flying over an expanse of
machinery that nearly covered the floor of the entire
cavern.

"I have never seen anything like it in my life," Chaumel
whispered, the first to break the silence. His voice was cap-
tured and tossed about like a ball by the scalloped stone
walls.

"Nor has anyone else living," Keff said. "No one has
been here in this cavern for at least five hundred years."

"Stepped field generators," Carialle said at once. "Will
you look at that beautiful setup? They are huge! This could
light a space station for a thousand years."

"It is amazing," Plennafrey breathed.

She and Chaumel leaned forward, urging speed from
their chariots, each eager to be the first to land on the plat-
form. Keff clenched his hands on the chair back under his
hips until he thought his fingers would indent the wood,
but he was laughing. The others were laughing and hoot-
ing, and in the frogs' cases, jumping up and down for pure
delight.

'The manual says ..." Keff said, piling off the chair,

pushed by Plenna who wanted to dismount right away and
see the wonders up close. 'The manual says the system
draws from the core below and the surface above to serv-
ice power demands. It mentions lightning-Can, this is
too cracked to read. I must have lost a piece of it while we

were flying."

Carialle found me copy in her memory bank. "It looks
like the generators are made to absorb energy from the
surface as well to take advantage of natural electrical
surges like lightning. Sensible, but I think it got out of
hand when the power demands grew beyond its stated
capacity. It started drawing from living matter."

Plenna surrendered her belt buckle to the Frog Prince.
He left his shell and joined Keff and Chaumel at the low-
lying console at the edge of the platform. The brawn, on
his knees, displayed the indicator fields to Carialle through
the implants while signing with the amphibioids. Stopping
frequently to compare notes with his companions, the
Frog Prince read the fine scrawl on the face of each, then
tried to tell the humans through sign language what they

were.

"So that says internal temperature of the Core, eh,

Tall?" Keff asked, marking the gauge in Standard with an
indelible pen. "And by the way, its hot in here, did you

notice?"

"Residual heat from years of overuse," Carialle said. T
calculate that it would take over two years to heat that cav-
ern to forty degrees centigrade."

"WeU, we knew the overuse didn't occur overnight,"
Keff said. "Ah, he says that one is the power output?
Thanks, Chaumel." He made another note' on a glass-
fronted display as the magiman gesticulated with the
amphibioid. "Pity your ancestor didn't have any documen-
tation on the mechanism itself, Plenna."

"Isn't that level rising?" Plennafrey asked, pointing over

Keffs shoulder. Keff looked up from the circuit he was
examining.

"You're right, it is," he said. Subtly, under their feet, the
hum of the engines changed, speeding up slightly. "What's
happening? I didn't touch anything. None of us did."

"I'm getting blips in the power grid outside your loca-
tion," Carialle replied. "I'd say that some of the mages have
gotten tired of the truce and are raising their defenses
again."

Keff relayed the suggestion to Chaumel, who nodded
sadly. "Distrust is too strong for any respite to hold for
long," he said. "I am surprised we had this much time to
examine the Core while it was quiescent."

Swiftly, more and more of the power cells kicked on,
some of them groaning mightily as their turbines began
once again to spin. The gauge crept upward until the indi-
cator was pinned against the right edge, but the
generators' roar increased in volume and pitch beyond that
until it was painful to hear.

"It's redlining," Keff shouted, tapping the glass with a
fingernail. The indicator didn't budge. "Listen to those
hesitations! These generators sound like they could go at
any moment. We didn't get here any too soon."

'The sound is still rising," Plenna said, her voice con-
stricted to a squeak. She put out her hands and
concentrated, then recoiled horrified as the turbines
increased their speed slightly in response. "My power
comes from here," she said, alarmed. T'm just making it



worse.

The frogs became very excited, bumping their cases
against the humans' knees.

"Shut it down," Tall commanded, sweeping his big
hands emphatically at Keff. "Shut it down!"

"I would if I could," he said, then repeated it in sign lan-
guage. "Where is the OFF switch?"

"Is it that?" Chaumel asked, pointing to a large, heavy
switch close to the floor.

Keff followed the circuit back to where it joined the rest
of the mechanism. "Its a breaker," he said. "If I cut this,
it'll stop everything at once. It might destroy the gener-
ators altogether. We have to slow it down gradually, not
stop it. This is impossible without a technical manual!" he
shouted, frustrated, pounding his fist on his knee. "We
could be at ground zero for a planet-shattering explosion.
And there's nothing we could do about it. Why isn't there a
fail-safe? Engineers who were advanced enough to invent
something like this must have built one in to keep it from
running in the red."

"Perhaps the Old Ones turned it off?" Chaumel sug-
gested. "Or even our poor, deceived ancestors?"

"Off?" Plennafrey tapped him on the shoulder and
shouted above the din. "Couldn't Carialle turn off every
item of power?"

"Good idea, Plenna! Cari, implement!"

"Yes, sir!" the efficient voice crackled in his ear. "Now,
watch the circuits as I lock them out one at a time. The
magifolk won't notice-they'll think it's another power fail-
ure. You and the globe-frogs should be able to trace down
where the transformer steps kick in. See if you can make a
permanent lower level adjustment."

The turbines began to slow down gradually as the
power demands lessened. The Frog Prince and his
assistants were already at the consoles. As the only one
with his hands outside a plastic globe, the leader had to
monitor the shut-downs and incorporate the readings his
assistants took through the controls. His long fingers
flicked switches one after another and poked recessed
buttons in a sequence that seemed to have meaning to
him. The whining of the turbos died down slowly. In a
while, the amphibioid raised his big hand over his head

with his fingers forming a circle and blinked at Keff in a
self-satisfied manner.

"You're in control of it now," Keff signed.

"I am now understanding the lessons handed down,"
the alien replied, his small face showing pleasure as he
signed. "To the right, on; to the left, off,' it was said. 'The
big down is for peril, the small downs like stairs, to your
hands comes the power.' Now I control it like this." He
held up Plennafrey s belt buckle. His long fingers slid into
the depressions. 'This one is in much better condition than
the single we have, which has done sendee for our whole
population for all these many years."

Tall glanced toward the controls. The switches pressed
themselves, dials and levers moved without a hand touch-
ing them. The great engines stilled to a barely perceptible
hum.

"At last," he gestured, "after five hundred generations
we have our property back. We can come forward once
again."

He seemed less enthusiastic once the extent of the
damage began to emerge. Series of lights showed that
several of the turbines were running at half efficiency or less.
Some were not functioning at all. At one time, some
unknown engineer had tied together a handful of the
generators under a single control, but the generators in
question were nowhere near one another on die cave floor.

"It'll take a lot of fixing," Keff said, examining the
mechanism with the frogs crowded in around him. The
indicators in some of the dials hadn't moved in so long they
had corroded to their pins. He snapped his fingernail at
one of them, trying to jar it loose. "We'll have to figure out
if any of the repair parts can be made out of components I
have on hand. If they're too esoteric, you might need to
send off for them, providing they're still making them on
your home planet."

"Home?" one of the globe-frogs signed back, with the
fillip that meant an interrogative.

"If you have the coordinates, we have your transporta-
tion," Keff offered happily, signing away to the oops, eeps,
and ops of ITs shorthand dictation. "Our job is to make
contact with other races, and we're very pleased to meet
you. My government would be delighted to open commu-
nications with yours."

'That is all well, Keff," Chaumel asked, "but do not
forget about us. What of the mages? They will be
wondering what happened to their items of power.
Blackouts normally last only a few moments. There will be
pandemonium."

"And what for the future?" Plenna asked.

"Your folk will have to realize that you now coexist with
the globe-frogs," Keff said thoughtfully "And, Tall, she's
right. You are going to have to do something about the
mages. They're dependent upon the system to a certain
extent. Can we negotiate some land of share agreement?"

'They can have it all," Tall said, with a scornful gesture
toward the jury-rigged control board. "All this is ruined.
Ruined! You come from the stars. Why do you not take my
people back to our homeworld? We are effectively dispos-
sessed. We've been ignored since the day we were robbed
by the Flat Ones. No one will notice our absence. Let the
thieves who have used our machinery have it and the husk
that remains of this planet."

"We'd be happy to do that," Keff said, carefully "but
forgive me. Tall, you won't have much in common with the
people of your homeworld anymore, will you? You were
born here. Five hundred generations of your people have
been native Ozrans. Just when it could start to get better,
do you really want to leave?"

"Hear, hear," said Carialle.

One of the amphibioids looked sad and made a

gesture that threw the idea away. The Frog Prince
looked at him. T guess we do not. Truth, I do not, but
what to do?"

"What was your peoples mission? Why did you come
here?"

'To grow things on this green and fertile planet," Tall
signed, almost a dance of graceful gestures, as if repeating
a well-learned lesson. He stopped. "But nothing is green
and fertile anymore like in the old stories. It is dry, dusty,
cold."

"Don't you want to try and bring the planet back to a
healthy state?"

"How?"

Keff touched the small amphibioid gently on the back
and drew Chaumel closer with the other arm. 'The know-
how is obviously still in your people's oral tradition. Why
not fulfill your ancestors' hopes and dreams? Work
together with the humans. Share with them. You can fix
the machinery. I agree that you should make contact with
your homeworld, and we'll help with that, but don't go
back to stay. Ask them for technical support and communi-
cation. They'll be thrilled to know that any of the colonists
are still alive."

The sad frog looked much happier. "Leader, yes!" he
signed enthusiastically.

"Help us," Keff urged, raising his hands high. "We'll try
to establish mutual respect among the species. If it fails,
Carialle and I can always take you back once we've fixed
the system here."

Chaumel cleared his throat and spoke, mixing sign lan-
guage with the spoken linga esoterka. "You have much in
common with our lower class," he said. "You'll find much
sympathy among the farmers and workers."

"We know them," Tall signed scornfully. 'They kick us."

Keff signaled for peace.

"Once they know you're intelligent, that will change.
The human civilization on this planet has slid backward to
a subsistence farming culture. Only with your help can
Ozranjoin the confederation of intelligent races as a voting
member."

'That's a slippery slope you're negotiating there, Keff,"
Carialle warned, noticing Plennas shocked expression.
Chaumel, on the other hand, was nodding and concealing
a grin. He approved of Keffs eliding the truth for the sake
of diplomacy.

"For mutual respect and an equal place we might stay,"
the Frog Prince signed after conferring with his fellows.

"You won't regret it," Keff assured him. "You'll be able
to say to your offspring that it was your generation, allied
with another great and intelligent race, who completed
your ancestors' tasks."

'To go from nothing to everything," the Frog Prince
signed, his pop eyes going very wide, which Keff inter-
preted as a sign of pleasure. 'The ages may not have been
wasted after all."

"Only if we can keep this planet from blowing up," Cari-
alle reminded them. Keff relayed her statement to the
others.

"But what needs to be done to bring the system back to
a healthy balance?" Chaumel asked.

"Stop using it," Keff said simply. "Or at least, stop drain-
ing the system so profligately as you have been doing. The
mages will have to be limited in future to what power
remains after the legitimate functions have been supplied:

weather control, water conservation, and whatever it takes
to stabilize the environment. That's what those devices
were originally designed to do. Only the most vital uses
should be made of what power's left over. And until the
frogs get the system repaired, that's going to be precious
little. You saw how much colder and drier Ozran has

become over the time human beings have been here. It
won't be long until this planet is uninhabitable, and you
have nowhere else to go."

"I understand perfectly," Chaumel said. "But the others
are not going to like it."

'They must see for themselves." Plenna spoke up unex-
pectedly. "Let them come here."

'Tour girlfriend has a good idea," Carialle told Keff.
"Show them this place. The globe-frogs can keep everyone
on short power rations. Give them enough to fly their
chariots here, but not enough to start a world war."

"Just enough," Keff stressed as the Frog Prince went to
make the adjustment, "so they don't feel strangled, but let's
make it clear that the days of making it snow firecrackers
are over."

"Hah!" Chaumel said. "What would impress them most
is if you could make it snow snow\ Everyone will have to
see it for themselves, or they will not believe. The meeting
must be called at once."

The Frog Prince and his companions paddled back to
Keff. "We will stay here to feel out the machinery and
learn what is broken."

Keff stood up, stamping to work circulation back into
his legs.

"And I'll stay here, too. Since there is no manual or
blueprints, Carialle and I will plot schematics of the
mechanism, and see what we can help fix. Cari?"

"I'll be there with tools and components before you can
say alakazam, Sir Galahad," she replied.

"I had better stay, too, then," Plenna said. "Someone
needs to keep others from entering if the silver tower
leaves the plain. She attracts too much curiosity."

"Good thinking. Bring Brannel, too," Keff told Carialle.
"He deserves to see the end of all his hard work. This will
either make or break the accord."

"It will be either the end or the beginning of our world,"
Chaumel agreed, settling into the silver chair. It lifted off
from the platform and slammed away toward the distant
light.

a CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The vast cavern swallowed up the few hundred mages
like gnats in a garden. Each high mage was surrounded by
underlings spread out and upward in a wedge to the rim of
an imaginary bowl with Keff, Chaumel, Plenna, Brannel,
and the three globe-frogs at its center on the platform. All
the newcomers were staring down at the machinery on the
cave floor and gazing at the high platform with expressions
of awe. The Noble Primitive gawked around him at the
gathering of the greatest people in his world. All of them
were looking at him. Keff aimed a companionable slap at
the workers shoulders and winked up at him.

"You're perfectly safe," he assured Brannel.

"I do not feel safe," Brannel whispered. "I wish they
could not see me."

"Whether or not they realize it, they owe you a debt of
gratitude. You've been helping them, and you deserve rec-
ognition. In a way, this is your reward."

"I would rather not be recognized," Brannel said defi-
nitely. "No one will shoot fire at a target that cannot be

seen.

307

"No one is going to shoot fire," Keff said. 'There isn't
enough power left out there to light a match."

"What is going on here?" Ilnir roared, projecting his
voice over the hubbub of voices and the hum of machin-
ery. "I am not accustomed to being summoned, nor to
waiting while peasants confer!"

"Why has the silver tower been moved to this place?" a
mage called out. "Doesn't it belong to the East?"

"Why will my items of power not function?" a lesser
magess ofZolaika's contingent complained. "Chaumel, are
you to blame for all this?"

"High Ones, mages and magesses," the silver magiman
said smoothly. "Events over the past weeks have culmi-
nated in this meeting today. Ozran is changing. You may
perhaps be disappointed in some of the changes, but I
assure you they are for the better-in fact, they are inexo-
rable, so your liking them will not much matter in the long
run. My friend Keff will explain." He turned a hand toward
the Central Worlder.

"We have brought you here today to see this," Keff said,
pitching his voice to carry to the outermost ranks of mages.
This"-he patted the nearest upthrust piece of conduit-
"is the Core of Ozran."

"Ridiculous!" Lacia shouted down at him from well up
in the eastern contingent. 'The Core is not this thing. This
is a toy that makes noise."

"Do not dismiss this toy too quickly, Magess," Chaumel
called. "Without it you'd have had to walk here. None of
you have ever seen it before, but it has been here, working
beneath the crust of Ozran for thousands of years. It is the
source of our power, and it is on the edge'of breaking

down."

"You've been misusing it," Keff said, then raised his
hands to still the outcry. "It was never meant to maintain
the needs of a mass social order of wizards. It was

intended"-he had to shout to be heard over the rising
murmurs-"as a weather control device! It's supposed to
control the patterns of wind, rain, and sunshine over your
fields. We have asked you here so you will understand why
you're being asked to stop using your items of power. If
you don't, the Core will drain this planet of life faster and
faster, and finally blow up, taking at least a third of the
planetary surface with it. You'll all die!"

"We're barely using it now," Omri shouted. "We need
more than this trickle." A chorus of voices agreed with
him.

'This is the time, when everyone can see the direct
results, to give up power and save your world. Chaumel
has talked to each one of you, shown you pictures. You've
all had time to think about it. Now you know the conse-
quences. It isn't whether or not the Core will explode. It's
when\"

"But how will we govern?" the piping voice of Zolaika
asked. The room quieted immediately when she spoke.
"How will we keep the farms going? If the workers don't
have us in charge of everything they won't work."

'They don't need you in charge of everything, Magess.
Stop using the docility drugs and you'll find that you won't
need to herd them like sheep," Keff said. They'll become
innovators, and Ozran will see the birth of a civilization
like it has never known. You're dumbing down potential
sculptors, architects, scientists, doctors, teachers. The only
thing you'll have to concentrate on," Keff said with a smile,
"is to teach them to cook for themselves. Maybe you can
send out some of your kitchen staff, after you build them
stoves-geothermal energy is available under every one of
those home caverns. You could have communal kitchens
in each one of the farmsteads in a week. After that, you
can discontinue all the energy you use in food
distribution."

Keff urged Brannel to center stage. "Speak up. Go on.
You wanted to, before."

"Magess," Brannel began shyly, then bawled louder
when several of the mages complained they couldn't hear
him. "Magess, we need more rain! We workers could grow
more food, bigger, if we have more rain, and if you do not
have battles so often." At the angry murmuring, he was
frightened and started to retreat, but Keff eased him back
to his place.

"Listen to him!" Nokias roared. Brannel swallowed, but
continued bravely.

"I... the life goes out of the plants when you use much
magic near us. We care for the soil, we till it gently and
water with much effort, but when magic happens, the

plants die."

"Do you understand?" Keff said, letting Brannel retreat
at last. The Noble Primitive huddled nervously against an
upright of the control platform, and Plennafrey patted his
arm. "Your farmers know what's good for the planet-and
you're preventing their best efforts from having any results
by continuing your petty battles. Let them have more
responsibility and more support, and less interference with
the energy flow, and I think you'll be pleasantly surprised
by the results."

"You go on and on about the peasants," Asedow
shouted. "We've heard all about the peasants. But what are
they doing here?" The green-clad magiman pointed at the
frogs.

Keff smiled.

'This is the most important discovery we've made since
we started to investigate the problems with the Core.
When Carialle and I arrived on Ozran, we hoped to find a
sentient species the equal of our own, with superior tech-
nological ability. We were disappointed to find that you
mages weren't it." He raised his voice above the expected

plaint. "No, not that you're backward! We discovered that
you are human like us. We're the same species. We've
found in you a long-lost branch of our own race."

"You are Ozran?"

"No! You are Central Worlders. Your people came to
Ozran a thousand years ago aboard a ship called the
Bigelow. That's the reason why I could translate the tapes
and papers they left behind. The language is an ancient
version of my own. No, Carialle and I still managed to
achieve our goal. We have found our equal race."

"Where?" someone shouted. Keff held up his hands.

"You know all about the Ancient Ones and the Old
Ones. You know what the Old Ones looked like. There are
images of them in many of your strongholds. Your grand-
parents told you horror stories, and you've seen the
holographs Chaumel had me play for you from the record
tapes saved by your ancestors. But you've never seen the
Ancient Ones. You know they built the Core of Ozran and
founded the system on which your power has been based
for ten centuries. These," he said, with a triumphant flour-
ish toward the Frog Prince and his assistants, "are the
Ancient Ones."

"Never!" Femgal cried, his red face drawn into a furious
mask.

Over shouts of disbelief, Keff blasted from the bottom
of his bull-like chest:

'These people have been right here under your nose for
ten centuries. These are the Ancient Ones who invented
the Core and all the items of power."

The murmuring died away. For a moment there was
complete silence, then hysterical laughter built until it
filled the vast cavern. Keff maintained a polite expression,
not smiling. He gestured to the Frog Prince.

The amphibioid stepped forward and began to sign the
discourse he had prepared with Keffs help. It was

eloquent, asking for recognition and promising coopera-
tion. The mages recognized die ancient signs, their eyes
widening in disbelief. Gradually, the merriment died
down. Every face in the circle showed shock. They stared
from Tall Eyebrow to Keff.

"You're not serious, are you?" Nokias asked. Keff nod-
ded. "These are the Ancient Ones?"

"I am perfectly serious. Chaumel will tell you. They
helped me-directed me-on how to make temporary
repairs to the Core. It was overheating badly. It'll take a
long time to get it so it won't blow up if overused. I
couldn't do it by myself. I've never seen some of these
components before. Friends, this machine is brilliant.
Human technology has yet to find a system that can pull
electrical energy out of the solid matter around it without
creating nuclear waste. What you see here at my side is the
descendant of some of the dandiest scientists and engi-
neers in the galaxy, and they've been living in the marshes
like animals since before your people came here."

"But they are animals," Potria spat.

'They're not," Keff said patiently. 'They've just been
forced to live that way. When the Old Ones moved to the
mountains you call your strongholds, they robbed the frog-
folk of access to their own machinery and reduced them to
subsistence living. They are advanced beings. They're will-
ing to help you fix the system so it works the way it was
intended to work. You've all seen the holo-tapes of the way
Ozran was when your ancestors came. Ozran can become
a lush, green paradise again, the way it was before the Old
Ones appropriated their power devices and made magic
items out of them. They passed them on to you, and you
expanded the system beyond its capacity to cope and con-
trol the weather. It's not your fault. You didn't know, but
you have to help make it right now. Your own lives depend
upon it."

"Hah! You cannot trick me into believing that these
trained marsh-slime are the Ancient Ones!" Potria
laughed, a harsh sound edged with hysteria. "It's a poor
joke and I have had enough of it." She turned to the oth-
ers. "Do you believe this tale?"

Most mages were conferring nervously among them-
selves. Keff was gratified that only a few of them cried out,

"No!"

"You say we should share," Asedow said, "but these
so-called Ancient Ones might have their own agenda for
its use."

'They were here first, and it is their equipment," Keff
said. "It is only fair they have access now."

'They could hardly use it worse than we have," Plenna-
frey shouted daringly.

"What has become of the rest of our power?" Femgal
asked.

'The turbines were overheating. We've turned them
down to let them cool off," Keff explained. 'There's
enough power for normal functions. Nothing fancy. Its
either that, or nothing at all, when the system blows up.
You'll just have to learn to live with it."

"I won't 'just live with it.' How can you stop me?" Ase-
dow asked obnoxiously.

"Shut up, brat, and listen to your betters," the old
woman named Iranika called out.

"Who is with me?" Potria called out, ignoring the crone.
"We've been insulted by this stranger. He claims he has
stopped our power for our benefit, but he is going to give it
to marsh-creatures. He wants to rule Ozran with that
skinny wench at his side and Chaumel as his lackey!"

"Potria!" Nokias thundered, spinning his chariot in mid-
air to face her. "You are out of order. Asedow, back to your
place."

"Friends, please," Chaumel began.

"You give more consideration to a fur-face than to one of
your own, Noldas," Asedow taunted. "Perhaps you'd rather
be one of them-powerless, and fingerless!"

He started to draw up power to form one of his famous
smoke clouds. AH he could generate was a puff. Keff could
see him strain and clench his amulet, trying to find more
power. The cloud grew to the size of his head, then dissi-
pated. Asedow panted. Noldas laughed.

'To me, Asedow!" Potria called. "We must work
together!" Her chariot flew upward, out of its place in the
bowl. Asedow, Lacia, Femgal, and a handful of others
joined her in a ring. At once, a lightning bolt rocketed from
their midst. It would have struck the edge of the platform
but for the thin shield Chaumel threw up.

'This is thin," he said to Keff. Tt will not hold."

Noldas, Zolaika, Ilnir, and Iranika flew down from their
places toward the platform.

'This means trouble," Noldas called. "How much power
is there left?"

"Not much beyond what it takes to run your chariots,"
Keff said.

'They can pervert that, too," Zolaika warned. "See!"

Recognizing the beginnings of a battle royal, many of
the other mages turned their chairs and headed for the
exit. The chariots started to falter, dipping perilously
toward the rows of turbines as the combined will of the
dissidents drew power away from them. Many turned back
and crowded over the platform, fighting for landing space.

"I will stop them," Tall said, his huge hands clenched
over the belt-buckle amulet.

"No," Keff said. "If you turn off the power, all these
mages will fall."

"I will end this," Zolaika said. "Brothers and sisters, to
me." At once, Noldas, Ilnir, and a cluster of other magifolk
added their meager strength to that of the senior magess.

##^ LJinr vvnu WUJN

315

Accompanied by straining sounds from the generators, she
built a spell and threw it with all the force left in her
toward the ring of dissidents.

Cries of fear came from the fleeing mages, whose chairs
faltered like fledgling birds. The great chamber rumbled,
and infant stalactites cracked from the ceiling. Sharp teeth
of rock crashed to the platform. The mages warded them-
selves with shields that barely repelled the missiles. Keff
jumped away as a three-foot section of rock struck the
standard next to him. It bounced once and fell over the
side, clattering down into the midst of the machinery.

In the circle of dissidents high up in the cavern, Potria
and her allies held out their hands to one another. Keff
could see bonds of colored light forming between them,
one ring for each mage or magess that joined them.

"Problem, Keff," Carialle said. 'They've reestablished
their connection to the Cores controls."

'They are pulling," Plenna said, grabbing Keffs arm.
'They're pulling at the Core, trying to break the barrier
holding the power down-they've done it!"

'Tall, stop them!" Keff shouted.

"No can," the amphibioid semaphored hastily. "Old,
broken."

"Coming on full now," Carialles voice informed him.
With a mighty roar, the generators revved up to full
force. The mages whose chariots were limping toward the
exit hurtled out of the cavern as if sling-shot. Keff groaned
as he smelled scorched silicon. He and the frogs hadn't

been able to do more than patch the fail-safes. Now they
were melted and beyond repair.

"As your liege I command you to cease!" Noldas
shouted at the dissidents.

"You do not command me, brother," Femgal jeered. He
raised his staff and aimed it at Nokias. A bolt of fire, sur-
prising even its creator in its size and intensity, jetted

toward Noldas. The golden mage dodged to one side to
avoid it. His chair, also oversupplied by the Core, skittered
away on the air as if it were on ice. It was a moment before
he could control it. In that short time, Femgal loosed off
several more bolts. They all missed but the last, which took
off one of Nokiass armrests. Fortunately, the golden
mages arms were raised. He was readying a barrage of his

own.

Lacia had engaged Chaumel. The two of them
exchanged explosive balls of flame that grew larger and
larger as each realized that the Core had resumed trans-
mission. Dissidents dive-bombed the platform. With
admirable calm and dead aim, Chaumel managed to keep
them all from getting any closer.

"Stop!" Keff yelled. 'The more power you use the closer
we come to blowing up!"

With an eldritch howl, Potria swooped down at Keff,
taloned fingers stretched put before her. He saw the red
lightning forming between them and dove under the low
console. Brannel and the frogs were already huddled
there. Tall Eyebrow stood with his back to his companions,
protecting them. Keff wished for a weapon, any kind of
weapon. He saw his faux-hide toolkit, hanging precariously
near the edge of the platform, anchored only by the edge
of a chair that had landed on it. He rose to his hands and
knees, and scrambled out of his hiding place, shielded by
the cluster of chariots.

With power restored, Brochindel the Scarlet chose that
moment to lift off in an attempt to flee the batde going on
over his head. Keff threw himself on his belly with one
hand out. He managed to grab one centimeter of strap by
one joint of one hooked finger. Potria saw him lying there
exposed, and screamed, coming around in the air and div-
ing in anew. Wincing at the weight of the tool bag, Keff
hoisted it up and dragged it into the lee of the console. He

turned out the contents in search of a weapon. Hammers,
no. Spanners, no. Aha, the drill! It had a flexible one-meter
bit.

'The knight shall have his sword," Carialle said. "Get 'er,
Sir Keff."

His fingers scrabbled on the chuck, trying to get the bit
loose. Potria, her power overextended by the immediacy of
the Core, threw a ball of fire that left a molten scar in the
platforms surface. Keff bounced up as she passed and
snapped his erstwhile sword-blade out. He smacked Potria
on the back of the hand. She dropped her amulet, but it
fell only into her lap.

"You ... you peasant!" she screamed, for lack of a better
epithet. "You struck me!"

Plennafrey hurried to Keffs side. The Frog Prince had
her belt buckle, but she still possessed her fathers sash.
Working the depressions with her long fingers, she formed
a thin shell of protection around the two of them and the
console. Potria veered upward when her target changed,
and retreated, but not until Plennafrey poked a small hole
in the shield. She scooped up a chunk of fallen rock and
threw it after the pink-gold magess. It struck Potria in the
back of the arm, provoking a colorful string of swear words
as, this time, the magess lost her grip on her power object.
She swooped down to retrieve it before it fell into the
machinery.

"Good throw, Plenna!" Keff said, hugging her with one
arm.

"Conservation of energy," Plenna said brightly, grinning
at Keff.

Asedow zoomed in, his mace at the ready. Keff ducked
flat to the floor, avoiding the smoke-bubble bombs, then
sprang up. With a flick of his improvised epee, he engaged
Asedow and disarmed him, flinging the mace away into the
void. Swearing, Asedow reversed. He glanced down at the

spinning engines, and felt among the robes at his chest. He
uncovered a small amulet and planted his fingers in it.
"Damn!" Carialle said. "I don't have a record for that

one."

Fortunately, Asedow didn't use it immediately. Too

soon, Potria reappeared over the edge of the platform, her

teeth set.

"I just wanted to say farewell," she said, her eyes shining
with a mad light. "I'm going on a frog hunt! Are you with

me, Asedow!"

"I am, sister!" the green mage chortled. "Our new over-
lords will be so surprised we came to visit!"

Sounds of alarm erupted from underneath the console.
Tall emerged, signaling frantically. Potria, as a parting ges-
ture, threw a handful of scarlet lightning at him. Tall
shielded almost automatically, and went on gesturing,

panic-stricken.

"My people," he repeated over and over. "My people!"
"We have to stop them!" Keffsaid. Plennafrey broke the
bubble around them, and the three headed for her chair.

"I will guard our friends," Chaumel said, making his way
across the platform toward them. Femgal threw forked
lightning, aiming for the silver and golden mages at once.
Chaumel ducked, and it sizzled over his head. A second
later, he had a thin and shining globe of protection raised
around himself and the console, withstanding the attacks

of the dissidents.

Plennafrey lifted off the platform. Asedow and Potria
were already most of the way to the tunnel. Suddenly, half
a dozen chariots loomed over them and dropped into their
path, cutting them off. Jaw set grimly, Keff hung on. Tall
clutched Plennafrey around the knees as she tried to evade
the others, but there were too many of them.

Traitor!" Lacia screamed, peppering them with thun-
derbolts.

"Upstart!" Femgal shouted at Plennafrey. "You don't
know your place, but you will leam! Together-now\"

The young magiwoman set up a shield, but spells from
six or more senior mages tore it apart like tissue paper. Fire
of rainbow hues consumed the air around them. An explo-
sion racked the chariot beneath them. Keff, blinded and
choking, felt himself falling down and down.

Something springy yet insubstantial caught him just a
few meters above the tops of the generators. When his
eyes adjusted again, Keff looked around. A net of woven
silver and gold bore him and the others upward. Scattered
on the surface of the machinery were the pieces ofPlenna-
frey's chariot. It had been blasted to bits. Plenna herself,
clutching Tall, was in a similar net controlled by Chaumel
and Nokias. Femgal and the others were halfway down the
cavern, turning to come in again for another attack.

"Are you all right?" Chaumel asked them, helping them
back onto the platform.

"Yes," Keffsaid, and saw Plennas shaky nod. 'The gen-
erators are running out of control. We have to slow them
down."

Tall kicked loose from Plennas arms and hurried over to
the console. Using the amulet, he flicked switches and
rolled dials, but Keff could see that his efforts were having
little effect. Femgal and the others were almost upon
them. A bolt of blue-white lightning crackled between him
and the console, driving him back. Bravely, the litde
amphibioid threw himself forward. Keff interposed him-
self between Tall and the dissidents, ready to take the
brunt of the next attack.

'That's enough of this!" Carialle declared loudly. Sud-
denly, the power items stopped working. The dissidents'
chariots all slowed down, even dipped. Everyone gasped.
Lacia clutched the arms other chair.

"Stop this attack at once!" Keff roared, flinging his arms

up. 'The next thing we turn off will be your chairs! If you
don't want to fall into the gear-works, cease and desist!
This isn't helping your cause or your planet!"

Furious but helpless, Femgal and the others drew back
from the platform. With as much dignity as he could mus-
ter, Femgal led his ragged band out of the cavern.

"Nice work, Cari," Keffsaid.

T wasn't sure I could select frequencies that narrow, but
it worked," Carialle said triumphantly. 'They won't fall out
of the air, but that's it for their troublemaking. I'm not
turning their power items on again. Tall can do it someday,
if he ever feels he can trust them." Keff glanced at the
globe-frog, who, in spite of the small bums that peppered
his hide, was working feverishly over the console. The tur-
bines slowed down with painful groans and screeches, and
resumed a peaceful thrum.

T doubt it will be soon," Keff said. Plennafrey grabbed
his arm.

"We have to stop Potria," Plenna said urgently. "She's
going to kill the Ancient Ones and she doesn't need power
to do it. She's mad. If she can fly to where they are, that's
enough."

Keff smote himself in me forehead. "I've been dis-
tracted. We have to stop them right away."

"She's gone mad," Nokias said. "I will go." The golden
chair lifted off the platform.

T will help, Mage Keff," Brannel volunteered, emerg-
ing from his hiding place.

"We've got to follow her, Chaumel," Keff said, turning
to the silver magiman. "Can you take us, too?"

"Not to worry," Carialle said cosily in KefPs ear. "She's
out here. In the snow. Swearing."

"Carialle stopped her," Keff shouted. Nokias turned his
head, and Keff nodded vigorously. The others cheered,
and Plenna threw herself into his arms. He gave her a

huge hug, then dropped to his knees beside Tall. The other
two globe-frogs had come out from beneath the console to
aid their chief. They all acted alarmed.

"Can I help?" Keff asked.

"Big, big power, stored," Tall signed, pointing to the bat-
tery indicator. "Made by them," he gestured toward the
departed Femgal and his minions. "Must do something
with it, now!"

"A glut in the storage batteries?" Keffsaid. He could see
the dials straining. The others, who knew from long use
what the moods of the Core felt like, wore taut expres-
sions. "What can you do? Can you discharge it?"

Tall nodded once, sharply, and bent over the controls
with the amulet clutched in his paws.

On the surface, Carialle s fins rested on an exposed out-
cropping of rock not far from the entrance. She watched
with some satisfaction as Potria shook, then pulled, then
lacked her useless chariot. Asedow lay unconscious on a
snowbank where he'd fallen when his chair stopped. The
pink-gold magess hoisted her skirts and tramped through
the permafrost to his. It wouldn't function, either. She
kicked it, kicked him, and came over to apply the toes of
her dainty peach boots to Carialle's fins.

"Hey!" Carialle protested on loudspeaker. "Knock that
off."

Potria jumped back. She retreated sulkily to her chair
and seated herself in it magnificently, waiting for some-
thing to happen.

Something did, but not at all what Potria must have had
in mind. Carialle detected a change in the atmosphere.
Power crept up from beneath the surface of the planet,
almost simmering up through solid matter. Instead of feel-
ing ionized and drained, the air began to feel heavy.
Carialle checked her monitors. With interest, she observed

that the temperature was rising, and consequently, so was

the humidity.

"Keff," she transmitted, "you ought to get everyone out

here, pronto."

"Whats wrong?" the brawn s voice asked, worriedly.
"Nothings wrong. Just... bring everyone topside. You'll

want to see this."

She monitored the puzzled conversation as Keff gath-
ered his small party together for the long flight to the
surface. By the time they appeared at the chimney
entrance, clouds were already forming in the clear blue

sky.

Plennafrey rode pillion on Chaumels chair with the

three globe-frogs clinging to the back while Keff and Bran-
nel shared the gold chair with Nokias. Nokias's remaining
followers straggled behind. The group settled down beside
Carialles ramp. Potria, her nose in the air, ignored them

pointedly.

"Whats so important, Cari?" Keff asked after a glance at

Asedow to make sure the man was alive.

"Watch them," Carialle suggested. The Ozrans were all
staring straight up at the sky. "Its not important to you, but
it is to them. In fact, its vital."

"Whats happening?"

"Just wait! You nonshells are so impatient," Carialle

chided him playfully.

'The air feels strange," Brannel said after a while, rub-
bing a pinch of his fur together speculatively with two
fingers. "It is not cold now, but it is thick."

The crack of thunder startled all of them. Sheet light-
ning blasted across the sky, and in a moment, rain was

pummeling down.

As soon as the first droplets struck their outstretched
palms, Chaumel and the others started shrieking and danc-
ing for joy. A few of the mages gathered in handful after

handful of the cold, heavy drops and splashed them on
their faces. Plennafrey grabbed Keff and Brannel and
whirled them around in a circle.

"Rain!" she cried. "Real rain!"

Under his wet, plastered hair, the Noble Primitive s face
was glowing.

"Oh, Mage Keff, this is the best thing that has ever hap-
pened to me."

In the center of their Bttie circle, the three globe-frogs
had abandoned their cases and stood with their hands out,
letting the water sluice down their bodies.

'Thank you, friends," Chaumel said, coming over to
throw soaked sleeves over their backs. "Look how far the
clouds spread! This will be over the South and East
regions in an hour. Rain, on my mountaintop! What a
treasure!"

'This is what'll happen if you let the Core ofOzran run
the way it was meant to," Keff said. Plenna gave him a rib-
cracking hug and beamed at Brannel.

'This welcome storm will convince more doubters than
any speeches or caves full of machinery," Nokias said, com-
ing to join them. "More of these, especially around
planting season, and we will have record crops. My fruit
trees," he said proudly, "will bear as never before."

"Ozran will prosper," Chaumel said assuredly. "I make
these promises to you now, and especially to you, my furry
friend: no more amputations, no more poison in the food,
no more lofty magi sitting in their mountain fastnesses. We
will act like administrators instead of spoiled patricians,
eating the food and beating the farmers. We will come
down from the heights and assume the mande of our . . .
humanity with honor."

Brannel was wide-eyed. "I never thought I would live to
be talked to as an equal by one of the most important
mages in the world."

"You're important yourself," Keffsaid. "You're the most
intelligent worker in the world, isn't he, Chaumel?"

"Yes!" Chaumel spat water and wiped his face. "My
friend Noldas and I have a proposition for you. Will you
hear it?"

Noldas looked dubious for a moment, then silent com-
munion seemed to reassure him. "Yes, we do."

"I will listen," Brannel said carefully, glancing at Kefffor
permission.

"Ozran will need an adviser on conservation. Also, we
need one who will liaise between the workers and the
administrators. It will be a position almost equal to the
mages. There will be much hard work involved, but you'll
use your very good mind to the benefit of all your world.
Will you take it?"

Brannel looked so pleased he needed two tails to wag.
"Oh, yes. Mage Chaumel. I will do it with all my heart."

"Shall I tell him now?" Plenna whispered in Keffs ear.
"He can have my sash and my other things when I come
away with you. Tall Eyebrow already has my belt."

"Um, don't tell him yet, Plenna. Let it be a surprise.
Uh-oh, Cari," Keff subvocalized. "We still have a prob-
lem."

"I'm ready for it, sir knight. Bring her in here."

"Now, friends," Noldas said, wringing out one sleeve at a
time. "I am enjoying this rain very much, but I am getting
very wet. Come back to my stronghold, where we may
watch this fine storm and enjoy it from under a roof." He
beckoned to Brannel. "Come with us, far-face. You have
much to leam. Might as well start now."

Brannel, hardly believing his good fortune, mounted the
golden chairs back and prepared to enjoy the ride. Noldas
gathered his contingent, including the recalcitrant Potria,
and Asedow, who was coming to with all the signs of a
near-fatal headache.

"Go on ahead," Keff said. "We've got some things to
take care of here."

Carialle's Lady Fair image was on the wall as Keff, Plen-
nafrey, Chaumel, and the trio of globe-frogs came into the
cabin. At. once, she ordered out her servos, one with a
heavy-duty sponge-mop, and the other with a shelf-load of
towels.

'There, get warmed up," she said sweetly. "I'm making
hot drinks. Whether or not you've forgotten, you were still
standing on top of a glacier with wet feet."

Keff stepped out of his wet boots and went into his
sleeping compartment. "Come on, Chaumel. I bet you
wear the same size shoes I do. Everybody make them-
selves at home."

Plennafrey kissed her hand lovingly to Keff. He kissed
his fingers to her and winked.

"Oh, Plenna," Carialle said with deceptive calm. "I've
got some data I wanted to show you." Keffs crash-couch
swung out to her hospitably as the magiwoman
approached. "Sit down. I think you need to see these."

When Keff and Chaumel appeared a few minutes later,
freshly shod, Plennafrey was sitting with her head in her
hands. The Lady Fair "sat" sympathetically beside her,
murmuring in a soothing voice.

"So you see," Carialle was saying, "with the mutation in
your DNA, I couldn't guarantee your safety during pro-
longed space travel. And Keff couldn't settle here. His job
is his whole life."

Plenna raised a tear-streaked face to the others.

"Oh, Keff, look!" The young woman pointed to the wall
screen. "My DNA has changed over a thousand years,
Carialle says. And my blood is too thin-I cannot go with
you."

Keff surveyed the DNA charts, trying to make sense of
parallel spirals and the data which scrolled up beside them.
"Can, is it true?" he subvocalized.

"I wouldn't lie to her. No one can guarantee anyone's
complete safety in space."

'Thank you, lady dear, you're the soul of tact- How
terrible," he said out loud, kneeling at Plenna's feet. "I'm so
sorry, Plenna, but you wouldn't have been happy in space.
It's very boring most of die time-when it isn't dangerous.
I couldn't ask you to endure a lifetime of it, and truthfully,
I wouldn't be happy anywhere else."

"I am glad this is the case," Chaumel said, examining the
charts and microscopic analysis on Carialle's main screen.
From the look in the mage's eye, Keff guessed that per-
haps he had been eavesdropping on their private channel.
"You cannot take such a treasure as Magess Plennafrey off
Ozran."

Standing before the magiwoman, he took her hand and
bowed over it. Plennafrey looked startled, then starry-
eyed. She rose, looking up into his eyes tentatively, like an
animal that might bolt at any moment. Chaumel spoke
softly and put out a gentle hand to smooth the tears from
her cheeks.

"I admire your pluck, my dear. You are brave and
resourceful as well as beautiful." He favored her with a
most ardent look, and she blushed. "I would be greatly
honored if you would agree to be my wife."

"Your . . . your wife?" Plenna asked, her big, dark eyes
going wide. "I'm honored, Chaumel. I... of course I will.
Oh!" Chaumel raised the hand he was holding to his lips
and kissed it. Keff got up off the floor.

"Usten up, sir knight. This fellow could give you some
pointers," Carialle said wickedly. Chaumel aimed a small
smile toward Carialle's pillar and returned his entire atten-
tion to Plennafrey.

oz/

"We will share our power, and together we will teach
our fellow Ozrans to adapt to our future. Our society will
be reduced in influence, but it will be greater in number
and scope. The Ancient Ones can teach us much of what
we have forgotten."

"And one day, perhaps, our children can go into space,"
Plenna said, turning to Keff and smiling, "to meet yours."
Leaning over, she gave Keff a sisterly peck on the cheek
and moved into the circle of Chaumel s arm.
Over the top other head, Chaumel winked.
"And now, fair magess," he said, "I will fly you home,
since your own conveyance has come to grief." Beaming,
Plennafrey accompanied her intended down the ramp. He
handed her delicately onto his own chariot, and mounted
the edge of the back behind her.

'That man never misses a trick," Carialle said through
Keffs implant.

'Thank you, Cari," Keff said. "Privately, in a comparison
between Plenna and you as a lifelong companion, I'd
choose you, every time."

"Why, sir knight, I'm flattered."

"You should be flattered," Keff said with a smirk.
"Plenna is intelligent, adaptable, beautiful, desirable, but
she knows nothing about my interests, and in the long
transits between missions we would drive one another
crazy. This is the best possible solution."

Chaumel's well-known gifts for diplomacy and the unex-
pected treat of the thunderstorm began to bear fruit within
the next few days. Mages and magesses began to approach
Keff and the globe-frogs in the cavern to ask if there was
anything they could do to help speed the miracle to their
parts of Ozran. Spy-eyes were everywhere, as everyone
wanted to see how the repairs progressed.

The greatest difficulty the repair crew faced was the

sheer age of the machinery. Keff and Tall rigged what they
could to keep it running, but in the end the Frog Prince
ordered a halt.

"We must study more," Tall said. "Given time, and the
printout you have made of the schematic drawings, we will
be able to determine what else needs to be done to make
all perfect. The repairs we have made will hold," he added
proudly. 'There is no need to beg the homeworld for aid. I
would sooner approach them as equals."

"Good job!" Keff said. "We'll take our report home to
the Central Worlds. As soon as we can, we'lPcome back to
help you to finish the job. I expect that by the time we do,
between you and the Noble Primitives, you'll teach the
mages all there is to know about weather management and
high-yield farming."

'The fur-faces will show them how to till the land and
take care of it. We do not retain that knowledge," Tall said
with creditable humility. "Brannel is our friend. We do
need each other. Together, we can fulfill the hopes of all
our ancestors. Others will take us up and back to the Core
after this," the Frog Prince assured them. "Many are pro-
tecting us at all times. You've done much in helping us to
achieve the respect of the human beings."

"No," Keff said, "you did it. I couldn't convince them.
You had to show them your expertise, and you did."

Tall signaled polite disbelief. "Come back soon."

Carialle and Keff delivered Tall and his companions
back to Brannels plain for the last time. The globe-frogs
signed them a quick good-bye before disappearing into the
brush. Five spy-eyes trailed behind them at a respectful
distance.

Chaumel and Plennafrey arrived at the plain in time to
see Keff and Carialle off.

"You've certainly stirred things up, strangers," Chaumel
said, shaking hands with Keff. "I agree there's nothing else

you could have done. My small friends tell me that shortly
Ozran would have suffered a catastrophic explosion, and
we would all have died without knowing the cause. For
that, we thank you."

"We're happy to help," Keff said. Tn return, we take
home data on a generation ship that was lost hundreds of
years ago, and plenty of information on what's going to be
one of the most fascinating blended civilizations in the gal-
axy. I'm looking forward to seeing how you prosper."

"It will be interesting," Chaumel acknowledged. T am
finding that the certain amount of power the Ancient Ones
have agreed to leave in our hands will be used as much to
protect us from disgruntled workers as it will be to help
lead them into self-determination. Not all will be peaceful
in this new world. Many of the farmers are afraid that their
new memories are hallucinations. But," he sighed, "we
brought this on ourselves. We must solve our own prob-
lems. Your Brannel is proving to be a great help."

Plennafrey came forward to give Keff a chaste kiss.
"Farewell, Keff," she said. "I'm sorry my dream to come
with you couldn't come true, but I am happier it turned
out this way." She bent her head slightly to whisper in his
ear. T will always treasure the memory of what we had."

"So will I," Keff said softly. Plenna stepped back to stand
beside Chaumel, and he smiled at her.

"Farewell, friends," Chaumel said, assisting the tall girl
down the ramp and onto his chariot. "We look forward to
your return."

"So do we," Keff said, waving. The chair flew to a safe
distance and settled down to observe the ships takeoff.

'They do make rather a handsome couple," Carialle
said. "I'd like to paint them a big double portrait as a wed-
ding present. Confound their combination of primrose and
silver-that's going to be tricky to balance. Hmm, an
amber background, perhaps cognac amber would do it."

Keff turned and walked inside the main cabin. The air-
lock slid shut behind him, and he heard the groaning of the
motor bringing the outer ramp up flush against the bulk-
head. The brawn clapped his hands together in glee.

"Wait until we tell Simeon and die Xeno boffins about
the Frog Prince and his tadpole courtiers on the Planet of
Wizards," Keff gloated, settling into his crash-couch and
putting his feet up on the console. He intertwined his
hands behind his head. "Ah! We will be the talk of SSS-
900, and every other space station for a hundred trillion
klicks!"

"I can't wait to spread the word myself," Carialle said
with satisfaction as she engaged engines and they lifted off
into atmosphere. "We did it! We may be considered the
screwball crew, but we're die ones mat get the results in
the end.... Oh damn!"

"What's wrong?" Keff asked, sitting up, alarmed.

Carialle s Lady Fair image appeared on the screen, her
face drawn into woeful lines.

"I forgot about the Inspector General!"
