Power is the ultimate motive. Passion stands in the way.

Mind control has been a subject of great study and interest since the US government resettled German scientists after WWII under Operation Paperclip, and it is a subject of popular films such as “The Search for the Manchurian Candidate”. The ultimate goal may be control, but military science must one day hope to discover how prolong the human life, how to tap human potential and ESP, how to deal with the psychological conditions of space voyages in the future. We are on the brink of a new era in human society.

The Last Immortal, set beyond the Pleiades on the planet Rega, tells of the search for ultimate control of the mind and existence and of man’s quest for immortality through artificial intelligence and experimentation in human aging. It is a novel where biology, pharmacology, and psychology have helped an alien society achieve our ultimate ambition: to escape the cradle of Earth and reach the stars. It is science fiction that weaves together cutting-edge technology and sunders our illusions of ideal paradise. This is a novel in the tradition of Aldous Huxley, Arthur C. Clarke, George H. Leonard, and Robert Heinlein. The Last Immortal attempts to tie in humanity’s mythical origins with its ultimate evolution. The politics and tactics of culture between two worlds at war set the background. The ultimate race is against time, and the ultimate weapon, the human mind.

Alessia, the last immortal of an alien civilization, must choose between her passion for the man she has made immortal, and her need for retribution against the powers that corrupted her destiny.

Desire, absence of desire. Is it the greatest treasure a man can have, to have all that he desires?

Strange thoughts filtered through the mind of the man who sat at the heart of an empire. All around him the cacophonous noises of alarms and radio transmissions combined into a steady roar, harsh and unrelenting. The center of the sprawling military complex was lit by incandescent lights that gave the room a dark red glow which reflected the mood of the man in control of it all. He was a man lost in his own discontent.

Or should I rid myself of desire?!

If I could stop wanting…

Would that grant me some happiness? And if so—then what? How then would I live? What would I do with my days?

Is there a peace that would satisfy me, and could I forget what I want?

Would I really be happy to kill all my desires? Or is this unending discontent to be my private doom? Without my desires, I fear I would not know myself. I would not enjoy peace. I must need!

And so it seems that discontent is a pestilence, the lonely disease of the thinking man. Perhaps I cherish an affliction that sets me above other men. Perhaps I cannot ever be happy. Or at least be satisfied with a simple state of happiness.

Would that be such a loss, not to find some artificial state of mindless happiness? I can will any change within my own mind, and within the minds of all around me.

I have absolute power. I can create my own happiness. I can create my own world. I can create my own mood, and glut myself with any sensation the human race has ever known, with sensations no human has ever known, but one— Alessia.

I could choose to forget her, to be content with my absolute dominion over my world. If I desired to do so. I could choose to kill my desires… I could make myself any man I want to be. Brave, unselfish, good—but I cannot choose for long. There is no comfort in this false pretense of character for me!

I know what it is that I have lost, what it is that I need. And mindless happiness can never satiate desire.

The gift she gave me—was it a gift or a curse? For all that I could choose to be, I have less permanent control over my own mind and power than I did when I was no one. Just a scientist, a man bound by human frailty to a limited power over his own destiny.

I think I was happy, back then. It was so long ago. That man was someone else. I never knew myself fully back then.

Discontent—passion—misery—betrayal—fear—they wake the human soul.

These things force us to know the full range of capacities within ourselves. They force us to know what it is that we are, what it is that we relish. I have explored my soul to the very bottom, yet it has no limit.

I have absolute power, and control over my own thoughts. But I cannot destroy those that existed at the very moment of my metamorphosis. When I see her, I remember him. The very best parts of him I cannot have back entirely, a recollection that brings joy and pain—and desire. Since that time, there have been other alien thoughts, other alien moods I have known, that I would not wish to abandon. They have imbedded into my soul. I have lived so many lives in a short span—through the raping power of my mind. That is how I became a stranger to my original self. That is how I can choose to be a different man every day. I can choose what I want to be, but inevitably I tempt myself to change.

Was there ever a time when my love was greater than my hate? Even after the moment that changed all…

So many emotions, and lack of emotions. There is infinite possibility, and no one on this world to share this understanding with me—I am alone in my power. Alone. And there is no one here to bring me back from oblivion—it has happened once. I have had to fight the invading power of memory from a strong mind not my own. Had oblivion claimed me—had I come to believe forever that I was another man and not myself—there would have been no one here with the power to reclaim my mind as it was. My resurrection, my future, my hope—all rest within her.

She was the last immortal. We alone can save each other from fighting the evil that resides at the depths of the soul.

Alessia, I cannot stop wanting. I cannot stop. I cannot go back.

The power within me will not rest so easily. They are eternally hungry—for human pain.

As the minutes slowly passed, he remained seated in his command chair. Then without warning, an ominous rumble sounded from beneath the Center and shook the building, and he was jolted to the floor.

Immediately, several of his underlings hurried over to aid him to his feet, older duty officers and gangly youths fresh out of training. Pushing them away, he leaped up and resettled himself on the chair, brushing his uniform. His gaze was feral, but not angry. His movements, slow, like a predator, but with a mesmerizing agility and primal grace.

The officers stared at him, partly out of fear—it was the only time they felt fear—and partly out of an eternal awe. At times, they could not bear to look away from him. At other times, they were afraid to look at him too long. He could be cruel on a whim, and yet they were willing to bear whatever fate he decided for them. His power—power of body, of soul, of mind—radiated unmistakably. Even had they not known who he was, they could feel it surrounding him. His word was law—life and death. His power was absolute. They did not feel safe around him. But they adored him. While distracted, he had been known to roast innocent bystanders. And yet no one in that room would have given up the opportunity to be near him, if they could. For in his presence, their bodies were imbued with some of his raw power. Their minds, their bodies, were suffused with an unnatural power. They felt fear only briefly, fear of him. But no pain, no remorse, no lack of self-composure, no lack of pleasure.

His presence was pure energy, elation, glory. Near him, they could function long hours, with pleasure, with confidence, with power, just basking in his power. They were beautiful, they were brave. They felt such pleasure, just to serve him. Away from his presence, they were mortal. They were weak, afraid, unhappy, discontented, ordinary. There was nothing—and they were nothing— without their Great Leader.

How ironic it was that he could give them what he could never give himself. Absolute contentment.

"Great Leader," an officer called loudly over the tumult from across the room, "our ships continue to search the area."

The man in the chair nodded, and once again the room was as before. They could watch long hours, contented, never bored, even by the endless watching he required of them. They had no pressing urgency to attack. Their leader enjoyed the long hunt. Then there were long times when he could not endure—they did not know what it was that gave him such distraction, for in his company, they felt none. Only a few times had he ever given any of them a taste of his urgency, of his suffering—that was long ago. None had survived the outpouring of his grief. Their minds could not take the strain.

The officers present had seen him strong for several years. They had not known the long absences of years past—when he fought… something he could not explain. He no longer invaded their minds, if he could stop himself. He had no further desire to dally in the petty curiosities of mundane life. He used their minds only when need arose and never descended to the depths of their reality.

He did not choose to speak. Already they knew what he expected of them. They were searching for the key to his salvation. But he was patient. They did not believe he was afraid. He had waited more than a hundred years—and some of those years he had been dormant. Long dormant. But in the last few years, his mind had grown active once more. And he was no longer content with the waiting.

By all appearances, he was a man of twenty-seven years. His unruly, white-blond hair was too long. It hung low over his forehead, getting in his eyes. He had the body of a beautiful statue—he was lean and well-muscled, like an animal. He was handsome—with an almost angelic face, but not feminine. His clear blue eyes were brilliant. In them the light of raw power and obsession burned. Rage, and a secret anguish.

Without warning, he laughed. His laugh was not human. He sounded like a wild delok that could laugh on and on, without the need to breathe. In time, he stopped, because he disliked the sound. He disliked his existence, when he began to dislike himself. The inescapable was his own self.

"Alessia thinks she can deny me?" he asked quietly. The attempt was futile, his tone of voice warned. It also held a tone of outrage. And, if anyone present were not engulfed in the mindless euphoria he gave them, they could have detected one last note of human pain.

The need in him.

It was also anticipation. And an evil need for retribution.

She is not beyond facing the consequences of her actions. There is no escaping me, and there will never be, as surely as she made me what I am.

"I will hunt you down." He said, in a quiet, ice-edged voice. “You will pay for your crime. I will make you pay for it.” I will take what should rightfully be mine.

* * * * *

Blood is life and death. The sudden taste of it in his mouth sent a shiver of panic through him. He realized he was going to die as if for the first time. And that he was a wild animal. His rational mind yielded its control to the sudden instinct to survive. He was suffocating. His eyes flickered down to check. The air hose had been crushed. Get me out of this! It was all he could think, and the desperation set in. Keep your head down until the smoke clears.

He had no thought or memory of who he was, and no ability to care. But his name was Eiron, and he was an officer in the air corps of the planet Tiasenne. That was why he was here, out in the desert of the forbidden zone, clinging to life on the edge of a cliff.

With a wild movement, he cast aside his gold-studded, dark blue helmet and gulped in the air. Fresh air. It tasted sweet and was nothing more than a necessary luxury. Time was everything, and it was slipping away. Eiron gave no further thought to the helmet that clattered away, bouncing on the rocks. It rolled down over the edge of the cliff, into the tumultuous white-crested sea below the ledge.

With every ounce of energy he could muster, Eiron crawled away from the wreck of his fighter plane. He could only go slowly, heading downwind, and try harder. His nostrils flared from the acrid sting of smoke and airborne chemicals in the air. The burning of his own flesh made him quicken his pace, and his body started to jerk with the effort.

He was broken, and he knew it then. The agony was in his endurance. He could feel the pain, knew he couldn’t go faster, knew he had to struggle, knew it was only going to be one aching moment after another until his life poured onto the bloody sand.

The plane was dangerously near. Perhaps he would die in the explosion, and perhaps he might have just given up, stopped moving, and allowed himself to perish in the blaze. But he was a fighter, and he would fight to live until his last breath.

Sweat ran down his face, and his skin itched with the dry hellish dust of the cliff. His elbows shredded as he scraped his way over the ledge. Gradually, his legs began to go numb. His blood coursed with adrenaline. Every sensation in his body heightened, and there was nothing now, never had been anything other than this moment in his memory, but the delirium setting in was also surreal. Images of the rocks before him warped and blurred as though they were a mirage.

His flesh burned in several places with the sting of blood. The heat was fading into a chilling sweat. The gradual sense of cold set his mind reeling with fear. His hand dropped to his side, and that was when he discovered that there was a deep puncture wound in his abdomen. The blood that was his life had left a jagged trail over the ground. No act of will could stave off the ultimate betrayal of his body, and its ultimate fragility.

He had brief thoughts of finding shelter until then, thoughts of rescue and healing, thoughts of contacting his superiors and informing them that their entire world was in peril from the threat he had encountered. They were circling after him far above. He surrendered hope with a final sense of anguish stirring through his soul.

He kept fighting, Got to stop bleeding. It was more a reaction than a thought. He was barely moving, but plunged one gloved hand through the jagged tear in his flightsuit into the deep wound in his abdomen. With all of the pressure he could muster, his fingers forced back the shredded mass of muscle.

But the strength within him was gone. He crawled only a short distance more, the taut fingertips of his outstretched arm digging stubbornly into the ground just ahead, straining to pull him after.

Before his eyes closed for the last time, he stared ahead at the sheltering crevice, the unmoving, unchanged, disinterested oasis before him, just a body’s length away.

And now it all ends.

He did not catch the movement in the dark crevice in between the cliff face where he was headed to escape the blast and the fighters trailing him.

The rocky shelf jutted out from a long monotonous coastline of sandy cliffs that bordered the ocean. Twilight had just begun to paint the golden land in violet-red hues.

Eiron summoned his last energy and made a final effort to launch his arm forward. Mid-movement, his body spasmed. He collapsed, and moved no more.

In the waning light, the darker shadow lurking far back in the inner darkness of the crevice watched him. Moments after he fell still, when there was no longer any possibility of him stirring to life again, the living shadow emerged cautiously. It glided with unnatural agility over the coarse, rock-strewn ground. The apparition caught hold of him firmly and then quickly carried him to the crevice behind the giant boulders, pausing only once, in nervous fear, to look back across the darkening waters.

There was no one to see what had happened, no one to see the living shadow that haunted these lonely cliffs, no one to ever know that the pilot hadn’t died out here alone with his fallen craft.

There was no one there, no one except the five enemy space fighters flying high above the turbulent waves, their sharp-edged wings tinged silver by the setting sun. At last giving up the chase after their lone prey, the fighters shot into the high vaulted arc of violet sky, trailing contrails of dark smoke as they disappeared into the rose-tinted clouds.

And the thundering ripple of their engines echoed triumphantly over the sea.

* * * * *

8.17, TST (Tiasennian Standard Time), 2nd season

Tiasennian Command Central

“What news?” Vaikyur demanded gruffly.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we're getting no communications at all. Nothing’s coming through but static, and I just lost the Squall’s signal on radar." The young Junior Ekasi seated at the wide stretch of brilliant silver hardware that was the main radar and communications console of Command Central frowned, but his expression somehow did little to mar his soft, round-cheeked face. Even the little furrows in his forehead seemed surprised to be there.

But then, so was Wryan Kesney.

Kesney’s features were by no means remarkable—nothing about his appearance that would make him stand out from among the crowd. He was in general placid, self-composed, methodical, efficient, sometimes cocky, occasionally misled. An upstanding young man of little imagination but great integrity, the kind of person who gathered friends to himself easily. As easily as most things came to him.

Until this particular day.

He felt acutely conspicuous in his new post—and certain that every passing individual in the giant military center could tell immediately that he was a raw Academy graduate, assuming they didn’t already know that he was. Fresh from the Gakano Leraestava e Lil-lieraya academy of aeronautical physics and engineering in the capital city of Inen. Ekasi Kesney, like many other graduates, had affectionately dubbed it the Academy, as if there were none other. An insult no doubt to the officers from other renowned training centers such as the Ernestian Academy, who reputably took exception to the general favoritism awarded the Inen Academy. There was a lot of scuttlebutt every year about how Inen took far too many accolades on reputation alone. The veteran officer to his left had made such a comment within five minutes of Kesney’s arrival, after ascertaining all he cared to know about Kesney in a quick glance and a few well-phrased questions.

Kesney began to picture the Academy in his mind’s eye. The hard but rewarding days he had spent in training had just ended. Already they seemed ancient history.

To think how excited he had been only yesterday, as he packed up his scant few belongings before transferring to his new post. It was going to be the beginning of his illustrious career in the most prestigious command center on the planet. He could hardly wait.

And now, he could hardly wait for the day to be over. Despite his efforts to suppress those infamous first day jitters, Kesney couldn’t keep himself from showing his nerves. He had hoped to impress the old man who dominated the vast command center from the Senka's chair at the back of the room. Kesney was used to being top dog amongst his fellows, and knowing how to do things right. He was used to making a good impression on his superiors. In fact, he’d been awarded an Outstanding Order medal for excellence by Fer-innyera Ezáitur himself only three days ago at the graduation ceremonies.

But no one here knows that, he reminded himself. It was back to scratching out a new position in the pecking order from the bottom rung of the ladder. It was back to showing his stuff. He couldn’t afford to rest on his laurels.

And he couldn’t afford to take any medication to contain his anxiety—all officers on the command post were supposed to keep their defenses sharp. So, he had to do his best to pace himself. He felt so green, and vastly under-qualified for his new position. At the same time, he was impatient to prove his merit.

That was before the Meilarrian space fighters appeared north of Inen.

Kesney could hardly believe what had happened. After months of peace and quiet, Eiron Vaikyur-Erlenkov, one of Tiasenne’s best pilots and a heroic figure to the trainees for many years, had been mysteriously shot down on a routine training run. Kesney didn’t believe in ill omens, but this was his first day, and the news came as a crushing blow.

The command center was still trying to ascertain whether or not Ekasi Vaikyur-Erlenkov had survived. They sent out reconnaissance plans to try to find him that were still searching for him. Everyone waited tensely for news. The odds that Vaikyur-Erlenkov had made it to safety were dwindled as time ticked by. If Erlenkov had ejected from his fighter—if he were still alive—he should have already activated his emergency distress signal.

There was no signal. Only five enemy Meilarrian space fighters on a radar screen, heading outside the range of the nearest Tiasennian patrol unit, going at a clip faster than they had ever been tracked. The bastards had made a break for it, and they were going to get away. It was absolutely unbelievable. And bad news for the Tiasennian army.

Kesney’s clear blue eyes stayed fixed on the radar screen.

His expression was blank—the officers around him occasionally joked about the new graduates’ behavior to lighten the mood. Something about their attention to detail and lack of experience.

Kesney said nothing. He was acting through it all, as bravely as he could. Vaikyur-Erlenkov was his hero. The reason why Kesney had decided to try for a position at the command center. To follow in the footsteps of his hero. Kesney had no way to vent his grief, no way to tell anyone the personal bond he felt for Vaikyur-Erlenkov that wouldn’t sound sentimental and unprofessional as a military officer. The atmosphere made it clear how highly Vaikyur-Erlenkov was regarded and how much he would be missed, but no one was showing any emotion yet.

Meanwhile, Kesney’s eyes never left the radar screen. They were dry.

Heroes aren’t supposed to die this way. He had no words for the shock that had shaken the foundations of his innocence. There was trouble brewing. No one yet knew what to make of the new development. Had the Meilarrians been lying low while they developed new weapons and technology to give them the advantage in the continuing war? It was an alarming thought. And everyone was thinking it.

"Keep trying to make contact," came the carefully flat, stony order from Senka Ristalv Vaikyur behind Kesney some distance.

“Yes, sir.” Kesney said, nodding as compliantly as he could. What else could he do? Vaikyur-Erlenkov was Vaikyur’s grandson.

Meanwhile, Vaikyur watched his subordinate for a moment, almost indifferently.

Vaikyur was the operational commander of the Tiasennian Military Command Center—called the Senkaya Sukura. This meant that he was in charge of the entire Tiasennian Army and Air Corps. Under other circumstances, Vaikyur might have felt inclined to find amusement in the attentive behavior of his new radar and communications specialist.

Vaikyur remained rigid in his chair. He found himself unable to take in reality. There was an ongoing commotion all around him of technicians and military personnel scurrying about. Headquarters had been put on a second degree alert. The time just passed.

Vaikyur’s attention silently drifted far away. His mind took him back to the warm shores of the Kestrian Sea, back to when little Melain sat playing on the beach, her legs plastered with sand. And then in her place, young Eiron, gazing up at him bright-eyed, blinking in the sun, triumphantly dangling a scleropod shell...

Vaikyur compressed his eyelids shut, clenching his teeth.

I’ll never see him alive again. The thought refused to go away.

He looked up a moment later and glanced about the room; why should he be here? Where had all the days fled to since those bygone years?

Vaikyur did not like to think of himself as an old man, but it was true that three Fer-innyeras, the Tiasennian leaders, had taken office in his lifetime. Fine white hair had replaced his original golden and slightly coarse shock. The white accented his sharp, wide-set blue eyes, creating a look of icy severity to match his temper. But his eyes gave the suggestion of a cold air of distance from others that he did not always feel. The wrinkled creases in his face did little to soften the gaze of his eyes; if anything they forced the observer's eye upward, into that sharp gaze. He was intimidating. Because of this, people tended to think of him as larger than he actually was.

Although of medium height and build, Vaikyur had loomed larger than life to the corps of cadets. After all his years of service, he remained tough and energetic and fully in control. To the young cadets, and to the new Ekasi, it almost seemed as if Vaikyur was the command center.

Ekasi Kesney did not know what to make of the preternatural silence. He was respectful of Vaikyur’s silence, but uncertain what it meant. So he did as he was told. After a while, however, the truth began to set in. Erlenkov’s signal was gone: completely, utterly. There was no longer any doubt about what that meant.

“Well?” Vaikyur said at last, heavy-eyed but still forceful.

Kesney turned aside and shook his head. “Nothing, sir. Just the Meilarrians,” he informed Vaikyur immediately.

Vaikyur bristled with a rare but contained passion, fought to master his emotions, then riveted his gaze to the radar screen across the room, his eyes darting, calculating. Without warning, he cursed abruptly. His fists clenched around the arms of his chair, his air of serenity snapped. The padded leathery chair creaked tautly, adding its protest.

"If those bastards have killed my grandson, I’ll make them regret it!" Vaikyur seethed, pure fury; Vaikyur was self-consciously aware of his own anger, yet for once he couldn’t control it. There was a dangerous chill in his quiet, rich baritone that suggested he would do what he threatened, if he could.

Several people in the room turned to stare at the Senkaya-Sukura. Vaikyur was not given to outbursts of emotion, and absolutely never lost his self-control. However, this phenomenon was not something to be gaping at, and no one in the room wanted to know what Vaikyur’s temper was really like. The officers quickly turned back to their duties.

Meanwhile, a schematic alteration on his radar screen demanded Ekasi Kesney's attention with insistent, onerous whistles. Kesney turned back to examine it carefully. He chewed a hole in his lower lip concentrating. He had not quite yet lost all hope.

A moment passed.

"Senka Vaikyur," Kesney said. His intent, slightly raised voice barely escaped the noise of background alarms and signals. "The Meilarrians have vanished. All five. All we’ve got now are the Squall’s last coordinates." Surprise leaked through in Kesney’s tone of voice. "They’ve switched off their transponders—the radar is dead now. They don’t have radar silence, sir. At least, not that I’m aware of.”

"Where were they?" Vaikyur pressed forward in his chair, responding with less composure than Kesney expected from him.

However, Vaikyur had not lost his senses. Vaikyur judged the look on the Junior Ekasi’s face with a kind of cold criticism. Kesney's eager young mind, too young to know tears, was swimming with nostalgic visions of a hero's memorial. Vaikyur, on the other hand, had no time for it all. No matter what, heroes stayed dead. And this hero was his grandson. Kesney sighed sympathetically as he turned away as he turned back to the radar screen. He didn’t have the heart to watch. "They just passed over... " Kesney said, pausing, trying to muster a brighter mood to help assuage Vaikyur’s grief. "Point aico-seven in the Southwestern Sea."

Vaikyur's face paled two shades. Suddenly his hands began to shake, and he squeezed the cushioned, olive green armrests tighter with blanching fists. His eyes took on a curious light.

“Sir?” Kesney ventured cautiously after a moment.

"The Ghost's Cliff... " Vaikyur muttered slowly, his eyes unblinking, his usual vigor draining away by the moment. He seemed to be working over something in his mind. His face shifted through assorted expressions of bemusement, calculation, and finally, a flicker of—hope?

A minute of silence dragged by before Vaikyur finally looked to Kesney and saw worry lines etched in the young man's face. He was thinking that Vaikyur had possibly lost it. As Vaikyur withdrew from some deep memory that had seized him, the last vestiges of shock were cleanly wiped away. Color quickly flooded Vaikyur’s sharp, noble face.

Without warning, Vaikyur let go of the chair with a violent push and leaped to his feet, coming over to the radar screen with the quick, sharp clicks of booted heels. Vaikyur stopped and stared into the radar screen.

"Excuse me, sir,” Kesney asked, confused and intrigued by Vaikyur's reaction. “What is the ‘Ghost’s Cliff’?” Kesney found his attention focusing on the brass buttons of Vaikyur’s uniform as Vaikyur stood over him, staring at the radar screen.

Vaikyur seemed not to have heard Kesney, or to even notice him further. As he waited for Vaikyur’s next order, shifting nervously in his chair, Kesney reflected on his question and realized how inappropriately forward he had been. It was not a wise thing to mention top secret information. Even in so harmless a question. But that wasn’t what softened his manner towards his superior.

He’s just lost the last bit of the family he had. Kesney reflected. Not only does he have to deal with his personal grief, but to make matters worse, he has a potentially serious military situation demanding his full attention. After years of relative peace. I’m going to have to do my best to help him. And I hope he doesn’t misinterpret my curiosity. I know I am young and inexperienced, but I want to be there for him to lean on in this time of conflict.

Kesney continued to wait, expecting anything—expecting Vaikyur to direct an immediate response against the Meilarrians. But Vaikyur just remained standing over him in ponderous silence. Kesney became more nervous as he tried without success to understand the significance of Vaikyur’s posture, of his silence.

I hope he has something planned. I would hate to see what would happen to this planet if he can’t handle this situation. We haven’t got anybody who can replace him.

Without warning, Vaikyur exhaled one long, deep breath. He turned slowly to Kesney. “It’s a Forbidden Zone, Kesney, you know that much,” Vaikyur said, his mouth tight, his eyes giving away nothing but a rare glimmer of something Kesney couldn’t interpret. “And off limits. I can’t send any of our fighters there to punish those Meilarrians without the Fer-innyera’s direct consent.”

Kesney’s heart began to race with excitement and panic. Oh, shit! He thought, blustered, freezing up. That’s right, it is a Forbidden Zone! And I just asked him without even thinking about it. He can put me in the Brig for this—or worse! Kesney’s palms pricked with sweat; he rubbed them once compulsively against the sides of his thighs.

With all of the excitement, he had forgotten that it was dangerous to ask too many questions about top secret government information, and that included the nature of the Forbidden Zones. How many times had he heard in the Academy that those were the provinces of terrorists and enemy spies and that to even discuss them could raise serious questions about a person’s motives—even about their loyalties. Kesney felt himself flush as another wave of panic surged through him. Would Vaikyur think that he, Kesney, could be such a traitor?

Kesney protested inwardly at the imagined injustice, and fought to retain control of himself as he turned to look up at the Senka still standing over him.

Vaikyur, however, was again curiously lost in thought.

Dammit, why do I care so much about the lies and protocol, even after all of these years? Vaikyur asked himself in brutal self-criticism. It would be so much easier just to accept things the way they are, not to continue with this pretense of acceptance, and silent resistance! Vaikyur felt utterly lost. Without Eiron, what had been the purpose of his life? Why should he outlive his only daughter and then his only grandson? He had secretly striven for so long to help the peoples of Tiasenne and Meilarr reach a lasting peace, but how could he care about so many nameless and unwitting people anymore when his own grandson was dead? How could he continue his secret struggle for a peace that Eiron would never now see?

And Kesney, he thought as he ended his reverie, this impertinent young pup, who’s been a palpable bundle of nerves all morning, why should I care about people like him?

Looking now at Kesney’s earnest and worried face, he answered his own question. Because he cares. Because he wants to get it right and to do right. Considering Kesney seriously now, he thought, This boy can be something, if I can just reach past his brainwashing and prejudice, I can win him over. And it will be worth the effort. If I am right, this boy may be capable of great things someday. Will I deny him that chance?

Besides, where would I be myself if Alessia had not taken such a chance on me so many long years ago?

Vaikyur, now fully his old self again, made his decision.

"Did they not teach you anything about the Forbidden Zones in the Academy, young man?" Vaikyur demanded gruffly.

Kesney stared at him, uncertain how to respond, bit his tongue and said, “Yes, sir. They taught us to be careful how what we asked about them.”

“That’s good. Anything else? You have my permission to speak. I need a refresher course on the information.”

Kesney visibly relaxed. “Well, sir, we were told what everyone on Tiasenne already knows, that they are areas where terrorist dissenters have exploded low-yield nuclear bombs and released biological weapons in an attempt to topple the government by creating widespread dissatisfaction and panic.”

“Yes, yes. Can you tell me something I don’t know?” asked Vaikyur.

“I can try, sir.” Kesney said tentatively, trying to think. “I heard that some were areas made off-limits because of the radiation hazard and the possible presence of biological toxins. But then again, that might be just speculation. Fer-innyera Alton had a special survey conducted to identify further potential terrorist bombs sites, and then declared more Forbidden Zones to keep people out and to reduce any danger to our civilians. I understand that the military were enforcing exclusion in all Forbidden Zones identically. But the public was not to be made aware of the difference. At the Academy, we were all sworn to silence—publically.”

Vaikyur watched Kesney closely; the young man kept still, but his eyes betrayed his inner concern. What was all of this leading to? He was only just beginning to wonder if Vaikyur were testing him in some way.

“Good information, and accurate, Ekasi Kesney. You may not have heard of the Ghost’s Cliff, but it’s an area within point aico-seven that was declared a Forbidden Zone by Fer-innyera Alton,” he said quietly. “However, there was never any threat of biological weapon contamination in aico-seven.” He paused only a moment. “And no nuclear bombs ever exploded there.”

It flashed through Kesney’s mind with the speed of a laser beam that Vaikyur was now sharing privileged information with him. Was the Senka trying to entrap him? The thought passed. He wasn’t that important to anyone. Besides, from everything he knew about the Senkaya-Sukura, duplicity was not his style.

“It was said at the time that many pilots vanished without a trace over that stretch of cliffs.” Vaikyur continued. “I myself have flown over them.”

Vaikyur’s face twitched with a memory. He had been to the Ghost’s Cliff once, long ago, and that excursion had altered completely the course of his life. “The cliff stretches for hundreds of miles—every blasted stack of sand, every rock and piece of scrub looks like thousands of others.” Vaikyur said.

“Sir,” Kesney interrupted, “I was only given a minimum security clearance when I graduated, and I don’t think I’m authorized to be given such information.”

“You are now,” Vaikyur returned sharply, his posture altering just slightly to underline the fact that he was fully in charge of the situation. “I decide what my staff need to know to do their jobs. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, sir.” Kesney responded quickly, with a curt shake of his head.

“This is important,” said Vaikyur in a low voice, now even more convinced that Kesney could be swayed to see the truth. Yet he had to be vague. There was no way to explain everything now.

“I am going to tell you a story, Kesney, and I want you to listen to it carefully.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The story begins in the days of Fer-innyera Alton.” Vaikyur said, eyeing Kesney a steady stare to keep him from interrupting. “There was a great deal of fear in those days, fear of the Meilarrians and of terrorist attacks.

“A ‘special service’ was commisioned by Fer-innyera Alton. Young volunteers were recruited from the military and trained as special operatives. Our service reported directly to the Fer-innyera and bypassed all of the normal military hierarchy. We were his personal agents, spies, messengers—hell, we did whatever he wanted done! He trusted us far more than the military itself, which he suspected of being riddled with dissenters.

“My father had been the Fer-innyera’s closest friend for years,” said Vaikyur, “and I had just recently graduated like you as a Junior Ekasi, so I was a natural to become a member of his ‘Special Service Team’.”

“You were a special agent for Fer-innyera Alton, Sir?” Kesney was not really surprised. He was fascinated by this news.

“Yes,” Vaikyur nodded, not noticing that Kesney had forgotten to add “sir” to his question. “Alton seemed to trust me above anyone else— perhaps because he sensed that he had been my hero as I was growing up—perhaps because he had looked up to my father in the same way.”

“I see, Sir,” Kesney listened closely.

“Then listen,” Vaikyur said and unclasped his hands, then folded them across his chest. “When Alton created the ‘Forbidden Zones’, I was one of the few to know why some such as the ‘Ghost’s Cliff’ were included.”

Vaikyur paused for a moment, reflecting, until he turned back to the Junior Ekasi's attentive face.

Vaikyur felt a wave of irritated anger clouding his eyes and forced himself to look awa, so that Kesney didn’t misinterpret his anger. "It doesn't really matter now, though, since Ezáitur has since let us all know the true history of events that occurred while he was still learning how to crawl." He spat the word "true" derisively, as if it were profanity.

Kesney didn't like the tone of the Senka's voice and the way the subject was changing. He turned around quickly to make sure that no one else had heard Vaikyur's unguarded comments.

“Respectfully, sir,” said Kesney quietly to avoid being overheard, “what you just said could be dangerously misconstrued.”

“Could it now, Kesney?” Vaikyur’s tone was deliberately unconcerned. “And why is that?”

“Sir,” Kesney said somberly, “it is well known that Fer-innyera Ezáitur has spent a great deal of effort to clean up the mess he inherited from Fer-innyera Alton and that Fer-innyera Alton had covered up his failure as our leader by falsifying government records.”

“Is that so, Kesney?” asked Vaikyur, pleasantly diverted. “And did you never stop to wonder why the ‘Forbidden Zones’ are still restricted after all of these years? You must know that radiation and biological toxin levels would be negligible after all this time.”

Kesney paled, but said nothing. He felt a sudden pang of adrenaline.

“Use your head, Kesney. Think!” Vaikyur commanded, his eyes blinking vigorously. “Isn’t it obvious that the reason those Zones are still forbidden is that Ezáitur wants it so? The public might be willing to believe the government propaganda, but if you graduated from the Academy, you’ve been educated well enough in nuclear and biological science. You should know better.”

Kesney frowned, bristling in discomfort. He couldn’t believe it! Here he was, a fresh young graduate, listening to the commander-in-chief of the army and air corps accusing the government of lying and covering it up.

His eyes betrayed horror that he was beginning to feel shake the foundations of his faith, not for a moment, but irreparably—for a lifetime. When he had decided on a military career, it was because he wanted to dedicate his life to the glory and honor of Tiasenne. Had his faith been betrayed? Could the Senka be right, and was the government feeding blatantly false propaganda to the people? It was too awful to imagine!

“Well?” asked Vaikyur, staunchly.

Kesney shook his head in confusion. What was the question?

“Kesney,” Vaikyur continued, “for years now all the Meilarrians have done is drop probes, localized bio-toxins intended more to terrorize us than harm us, and the very occasional conventional bomb. Our government finds it convenient to pretend that most of the bombings and biological attacks are the work of small groups of sympathetic Tiasennian terrorists and that the terror attacks are diminishing because we are weeding out the culprits. But it is all lies, Kesney, all lies. There are no terrorists, just Meilarrians.”

“Sir, I…” Kesney blurted. His face, his ears, felt warm, flushed. He fumbled for words, but none came.

“Kesney, don’t you suppose that if the Meilarrians are dropping probes, it is because they are looking for something, and don’t you suppose that your beloved Fer-innyera Ezáitur knows that they’re looking for something? The rest of their tactics are all a farce, part of a cover-up to divert our attention from their true target. Otherwise they would have attacked us in fuller force by now. They have the technology to harm us—on a larger scale than they have chosen to thus far.”

“Sir—” bleated Kesney. “What?”

“If anyone overhears us we could be accused of treason. We could be sent to the asylums,” Kesney continued at a whisper.

“Don’t worry, Kesney. If you can keep a secret, I will protect you.” Vaikyur said, regarding Kesney with a secret, indulgent amusement. “And Ezáitur doesn’t dare interfere with me because he needs me too much. He won’t hear any of this from anyone present in this room. He doesn’t know what the Meilarrians are looking for, and he doesn’t know why they keep up their attacks on us. The last thing he needs is to risk losing the support of his army. If he had seriously considered getting rid of me, he would have done so by now. But I need you to understand the situation as my new communications officer. I need to be able to share information with you, so that you can do your job based on all of the available information, not on hearsay or propaganda. You are now involved in a bigger web of lies than you know. And you will have to act on the behalf of our people, and the safety of our planet. Listen to me, and do not repeat this information to anyone.”

“Yes, sir. I won’t sir.” Kesney sat still, a crease forming between his brows.

“Ezáitur doesn’t know for certain what the Meilarrians are looking for, Kesney, but he does have an idea. He is well versed in the folklore of Inen, where he grew up, and he knows the legend of the ‘Angel of Inen’ well enough to suspect that this creature might be the object of their search. If so, he wants above all things to deny them finding her.”

“The Angel of Inen!” exclaimed Kesney, delighted to have digressed to a more comfortable topic, then he pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Alessia, Sir! I’ve heard stories about her, too,” he added, nodding, his eyes taking on a light of calculation.

“You have?”

“Yes, Sir, people say that she came from an advanced civilization and gave the Meilarrians technology to use against us, and then she betrayed both Meilarr and Tiasenne by instigating war between us. She was a angel with great power, so they say, and spread lies to make the Meilarrians distrust us. They would still be our peaceful neighbors, if it were not for her interference. And yet the Meilarrians refuse to be placated.”

Vaikyur bristled visibly, but he remained silent. “But, sir, all of this happened a long time ago.” Kesney shrugged. “Alessia is dead by now, or else a very old woman. So she can’t have anything to do with this conflict, or the Ghost Cliff, or the disappearance of Ekasi Vaikyur-Erlenkov this afternoon? If she’s still alive, why don’t we just let the Meilarrians find her and save ourselves from war? Under torture, her lies would be exposed, and the Meilarrians might sue for peace. But most likely sir, it’s too late for any hope of peace. We can’t force the Meilarrians to stop fighting, unless we defeat them for once and for all.”

Vaikyur kept a rigid posture. Now he sighed, shook his head slowly, then paused. “The woman you have accused of betrayal did not give them the technology they wanted,” he said tiredly, while mentally withdrawing from the conversation. “And that’s why we’re all still alive.”

Kesney stopped, his mind stretching to incorporate this information—he never doubted that Vaikyur was speaking the truth, but he had to find out how to add this information without disarranging his prejudices.

Vaikyur stood up and straightened his back, then pointed towards the communications console. “Try to make contact one more time,” he commanded tersely.

Kesney hesitated a moment. “Yes, sir.” He turned back to his screen.

To be ignorant of what occurred before you were born is to remain always a child. For what is the worth of human life, unless it is woven into the life of our ancestors by the records of history?

—Cicero

Chapter Two

“To the inhabitants of the planet Kiel3.” The voice that emerged in full strength sundered the perfect, ageless silence within the subterranean vault. The speaker savored the possibility of shedding his identity in the comfort of encompassing darkness, a complete darkness that momentarily detached him from the world around him and from any particular defining point in time. Yet the language he had chosen to use was not his own. It was a language he knew from the records only, a language that came from the first civilization to develop in the sands of Kiel3.

“This recording is sent to you from the Seynorynaelian Federation Spaceship Syleraestia.” He continued quietly. “I am the last record-keeper of Syleraestia. I was not present when the Syleraestia last made contact with your world, nor was I responsible for the assistance your people once received from our explorers as a sign of our Federation’s good faith towards you. Yet there is something which I must now ask your people to do for us, in return for my most solemn pledge—”

The voice suddenly broke off, then went on after a moment, this time in a self-conscious tone edged with self-mocking humor.

“No, I shall not lie to you.” He amended himself carefully. “If you are to be involved in the destruction of the Seynorynaelian Empire, if the legends of Enor can be believed, then I must be honest with you or risk everything I have spent a lifetime trying to achieve. Yet I ask each of you who hear this message in the aeons to come, have you ever known what it is to be afraid to speak of what you have done? Have the limits of your deepest faith ever been tested fully? Have you ever yearned to purge your conscience in order to fulfill what you know lies ahead, only to find words of self-reproof alien to your tongue? And have you ever found it difficult to proclaim your own sins before the iron judgment of so many?

“I admit that I am afraid; afraid that much of what I have to say will seem no more than idle nonsense to you, that I will not be able to stir your hearts. And I am afraid because my own redemption rests in your hands.”

But why? Why did so much of his own fate revolve around this planet Kiel3, the Earth? The speaker’s thought slipped out, almost in grudging wonder. Kiel3—was it not a seed born on the wind that had taken root and flowered far from home? Only, who had set these seeds of life free?

Seeds had been scattered across the universe. Seeds cast by an unknown hand and left to grow wild—so were they all, all of the life-giving planets, even the great planet Seynorynael itself had grown from such a seed.

Seynorynael's Empire had then left its own mark on the universe. Now, with Seynorynael's era of glory erased by time, all that remained of her vanished civilization were the seeds of a fallen empire lying scattered among those others—long aeons dormant.

And on Kiel3, the last hope for the survival of them all.

Kiel3, a planet certain that it had grown all on its own.

But not for much longer, if I have my way.

The voice continued after a moment, dark, low, and reverberating, the melodic voice of a bard, the voice of a people whose language knew no harsh, guttural sound. It was the voice that had once swayed the will of nations throughout the known galaxies—that perhaps desired to do so again.

“I fear I am making little sense to you. I should begin at the beginning, shouldn’t I? And the beginning that matters to us as living beings, if not to the universe, is the beginning of life.

“But what are we both, you and I, your people and mine? What is life? It seems such a simple question, this one all beings in the universe ask, but who can answer it?

“And is life merely a spontaneous eruption? An accident of chance born on one lonely world at a time, an accident that will never be repeated in the same way again on any other planet? Or, once begun, does life grow like a contagion? A disease infecting the universe with creatures who turn to contemplation of questions whose answers can never be known?

“Could it be that life began on a single world long ago, and that life-cultures from that world were scattered across the universe by asteroids, or perhaps even by beings of a single ancestral race? Could it be possible that the billions of species of life across the universe evolved from the same original life cultures? Could it be possible that these scattered species might one day come in contact with each other and still find a common biological ancestry?

“Would you believe me if I told you that all of this was possible?

“Would you believe me if I told you that all of this has already happened?

“You would then ask—‘who am I to tell you this?’

“To answer that would endanger all I hope to achieve. My name means nothing, for I abandoned it long ago. I present myself to you now as simply a record-keeper.

“Yet my civilization, the civilization of the planet Seynorynael, carved out the largest known intergalactic empire in the universe. Our planet was three hundred and twenty million light years from your Milky Way Galaxy, within a large group of galaxies known to us as the Great Cluster. There, in the Great Cluster Galaxy, thousands of species of sentient beings came to life, creatures of every size and shape imaginable, and one by one we Seynorynaelians subjugated them all.

“In the beginning, this was not our intention. Ours was a peaceful planet, located near the interior of a large whirlpool galaxy within the Great Cluster. Long ago we believed that nothing which occurred in life, however important or insignificant, came about by chance, and that nothing which happened in life was without purpose and meaning. Even our most distinguished citizens kept absolute faith that it was our heroic duty to civilize the galaxy!

“When our people made their first journeys into the heavens, our space explorers found the galactic cluster teeming with life. And we proved that life had spread from one world to another. We proved the legends of our ancestors, the Ferai-Lunei: the Comet Riders, passed down from before the dark ages of our world. Creatures who had ridden on the silver tails of comets to our planet, not only once, but twice in the dim prehistory of our world.

“The Comet Riders were no mere myth. But we never knew who they were, or where they had come from.

“It was not until Fynals Hinev returned from the explorer mission that we knew with absolute certainty. Out civilization had truly begun in another time and place, on the legendary planet of Enor. When I was born, I did not know that my fate had also begun long ago on Enor, or that my future would extend so far, so very far beyond the natural bounds of time.

“I did not dream that any man could achieve immortality.”

* * * * *

Some horrific, gut-clenching nightmare was fading as Eiron Vaikyur-Erlenkov opened his eyes, and consciousness returned. In seconds, the blur of his surroundings began to focus into sharpness. It took a second for reality to sink in.

I’m still alive, he thought in profound surprise. Where am I? There was still only a blur of color around him and a terrible hammering in his head, but at least his vision was starting to clear. A few minutes passed. He knew he was lying down, and the bed covering was made of a soft blue material. Gradually, he saw that he was in a small room, fairly well lit but not by any obvious source of illumination. He looked up. The entire ceiling above him was blinding bright, like the reflection of daylight on glass.

Strange, he thought, looking away. His mind processed what he saw functionally. He couldn’t feel much. At least not in the sense of emotions, and the main one was relief. A little curiosity was mixed in there, too. He was content not to move. The heated bed underneath him seemed to emit a gentle soporific sound not unlike lapping waves. Impossible, he thought. It seemed to be trying to lull him back into sleep—and it was succeeding. I’ll be damned, he suppressed a yawn. His mind had no explanation for what was happening.

He blinked several times and forced his eyes to stay open.

His range of sight was limited to an arc just in front of him. The far wall was made of a smooth alloy. It was as reflective as glass or some kind of clear metal but was the grey-blue color of a deep sea. In the dark of it there was a lustrous shine, as though rays of light had been permanently captured within the metal itself.

Someone else was in the room, he suddenly realized. His senses were so finely attuned, that he could feel the shadow lingering beyond his range of vision.

The shadow was watching him.

He couldn’t remember how he had gotten here, and couldn’t guess who it was who had saved his life. His last thoughts were of his crashed landing and a searing pain before blackness came and drove him into dark dreams.

Get up, his mind urged him to action, but his aching body denied him movement. He tried to turn around. The effort brought a sharp pain to his neck.

His eyes were growing heavy.

Where am I? In paradise, or in purgatory? Struggling to overcome his exhaustion was no good. He looked down as though planning to test his legs. He discovered how incredibly weak they felt. But not permanently damaged, he hoped. A warm blue covering lay across the bed, pulled up over his chest and under his arms like a living cocoon feeding him back his strength. It almost seemed to vibrate to the touch, Impossible.

There was no warning when the shadow suddenly stepped from outside his vision and moved up on him from behind. He jerked instinctively up on his elbows. Knives of pain shot through his abdomen.

He pulled aside the covering with what little strength he had. He discovered he was naked from the waist up. The tattered shreds of his uniform—no more. He was wearing a pair of blue, form-fitting leggings. And on his torso were the traces of two deep puncture wounds. Two jagged, mottled scabs, one long and the other wide but small.

They had healed so well, he knew he had been there for at least several tendays.

"What is going on?" were the first words out of his mouth. His throat was dry as the desert air. A robed figure dressed in a dark, vivid blue appeared beside him, setting his heart racing. The bed covering reacted like a constricting cocoon—moving on its own to keep him still. He looked down in shock, reacting to one bizarre stimulus after another. The robe hid the face of the person wearing it. Meanwhile, Eiron felt a hypnotic warmth creeping into his body from where he lay.

The shadowed person who had saved his life lifted its arm, and gently laid a cold but human hand on his forehead.

The hand was light and small—the gentle hand of a woman.

He had no words. He just lay there, not knowing what to expect.

The hand touching his forehead stroked the side of his face in a soothing gesture. He began to fall asleep.

Every aching muscle in his body cried for release. In one last act of resistance, his mind, attuned to identify potential danger, tried to stir him awake.

"Rest. Save your questions for when you’ve recovered." Came the melodic voice of a woman. Her voice was low and soft, and full of care. "Sleep. It will cure you."

He was losing the words.

The deep darkness reclaimed him.

* * * * *

"Bad news from the reconnaissance planes. There’s no sign of Vaikyur-Erlenkov's ship. The waves have been too rough to send in deep sea probes to search for wreckage, even if we can get permission to drop some. The plane may have gone down over land, and long-range infrared scanners report no advanced life form readings. I'm sorry, sir. Headquarters is suggesting we call off the search."

The intercom in Senka Vaikyur's private quarters switched off.

Vaikyur paused for only a moment to acknowledge it. He had spent the last few hours waiting for confirmation of authorization to enter the Forbidden Zone. So, Headquarters said no. Vaikyur-Erlenkov was just one life, after all.

Vaikyur had already prepared himself for the worst. As the message ended, he turned back to the computer on his desk where he had been sifting through years of classified information—information he hoped might still be accessible, mostly forgotten with the passage of time even to those who had top security clearance.

An experienced observer would have told him to call it quits. What he was looking was darn near impossible to find, and irrelevant to the current situation. But Vaikyur was one of the last of the old line of Alton’s officers. He was part of an elder generation that had long been in power when Fer-innyera Mardius Ezáitur and his ministry seized control of the Tiasennian government.

When that happened, the old line had done what the previous old line had done before them—they hid every real record of what had transpired in their ministry, implanting access files which only they knew how to access. Proof for posterity that they had to hope would one day see the light of day. Proof that what they had done was done in the best interests of the Tiasennian people. Proof, if necessary, that they had been loyal to the nation. Proof that they hoped would save their lives.

When Ezáitur seized power, he did what every former leader had done. He had his ministry literally re-write the past. Every file and piece of information that conflicted with his plans and political beliefs was evaluated, scrutinized, discredited if needs be, destroyed, or used to prove his cause, if his propaganda people could give it a new angle.

Dissenters, for at first there had been some, were taken prisoner and locked away. Most of these were the top officers of the old line. Ezáitur arranged for trumped-up charges against the ones he deemed most dangerous. “Confessions” were slowly forced from them by torturous means.

Vaikyur well remembered the show trials in which his former colleagues were accused of espionage, even years later. Little trace of the officers he had known remained in the broken, spiritless, and wretched shells of men that could not sit erect on the defense block. Those who were not so easily broken were tortured until they had been broken, and then most of them were executed. Some dissenters were found hanged in their containment cells or shot in their private quarters before ever coming to trial. In both cases, to all appearances the accused had committed suicide. That they actually had committed suicide was less certain.

The number of high-profile cases diminished over time. The new government succeeded in molding the young to its way of thinking. And, the few such as himself who possessed privileged information chose more and more to keep it to themselves.

Protests had to be internalized. It did little good to proclaim one’s private views. There were shouts of discontent from the public who had not anticipated Ezáitur’s coup. In time, these became denunciations of those who had vanished. No pity, there, for the innocent dead. There was only room enough for fear. And a newly intensified sense of duty for which each Tiasennian, military or civilian, determined to prove his loyalty to the new government.

During the most difficult periods of military cleansing, friendship lost all value. Even now, years after Ezáitur had consolidated his leadership, any careless remark or criticism of his policies was enough for the “offender” to be called in for questioning. As Vaikyur well knew, many of the “dissenters” were simply scapegoats, blamed as secret saboteurs for the High Command's failed projects, or to divert attention from their secret operations.

Over time, the civilians assumed that these troublemakers were truly being rightfully punished. The public was in the dark. Information was a dangerous game, and entirely in the control of the government. What the government did remained one of life's thrilling mysteries, and you were glad not to know. They had their hands full enough as it was with Meilarrian spies and sympathetic terrorists everywhere; even the smallest child knew that. And if you didn't care too much about the truth, Vaikyur had to admit that the comforts of civilian life had their attractions. Ignorance must be bliss, he often thought.

Those who began to suspect that the military purges were unjustified had no way of proving it. And no way of saving themselves from the same fate if they dared to vocalize their doubts. The public had no choice but to swallow lies. Adhering to this diet for more than a century had left it unable to distinguish fact from fiction on the few occasions when real news—the truth—was actually reported. Thus, undaunted, the propaganda machine of the Ezáitur ministry so like its many predecessors was left to brainwash the young into servitude, defending a false honor and ensuring that the fight against the faceless Meilarrian enemy would never die.

Vaikyur suddenly came to attention. All he had to break the codes was his memory, and memory cleansing operations had damaged enough of that to make his search all the more difficult. But, against all the odds, he had finally broken one of the codes so complex that no computer sequence could break it on its own. A miracle, no less.

Vaikyur sighed as though he were a condemned man that had just been pardoned. He was in the ancient archival system.

Fer-innyera Alton’s archives. Vaikyur had been one of his aides.

After so many years, he remembered doctoring the information. Alton had taken credit for random but lucky victories over the Meilarrians, and even over natural disasters that befell them. He was a master of propaganda, and had the Tiasennian people eating out of his hand for much of the time he held office. Whether or not they actually respected him was less certain. The public had no lasting opinions.

Vaikyur had performed his duty, but he was a purist. He hated lying for a living. As a youth, he had been foolish enough to copy some of the unedited pictures and videoscans on his own, and running them into the computer archives. An expert at utilizing the computer systems, he had implanted access codes on top of his own personal retina scan. At the time he had not yet realized how dangerous his action might have been, or how brutal the punishment had he ever been caught. Nor had he ever suspected how valuable the information might one day become.

Important to the very survival of their race.

Truth. It was such an arbitrary word in the world. The authenticity of his documents he could personally verify, but they would never hold up as evidence. False information was the norm, every day. Nothing that reached the public was real. But Vaikyur wasn’t planning to distribute the information or dispute “fact”. He had a nobler intention: to preserve the fate of humankind.

Who and how could it be done? He didn’t know yet. Only that the presence of a new Meilarrian threat in point aico-seven was the first sign of an impending disaster. A disaster that had to be averted. And the only way to do that was to figure out what was really going on. That required more than just a refresher course in Meilarrian operations. It required information and figures, and a mind keen enough to discern from the two sets of data what could possibly have been happening on Meilarr in the intervening years.

Fer-innyera Alton’s policies and legacy were nothing but a faint memory. Vaikyur didn’t know how he was going to ensure the ongoing security of the information once he accessed it. More than fifty long years had passed since he had accessed the archives of Alton’s system.

He had hidden the truth and kept it hidden. Since that time, he had continued his dangerous objective, and cataloged every major Meilarrian assault and data regarding their activities. At first, his access to undoctored information had been but little. In time, he had climbed the military hierarchy to head of the Tiasennian Army, and his power was beyond question. There were no security leaks in his private quarters, and if there were, he had means of quelling rumors against his own actions.

If Ezáitur had any real inkling of Vaikyur’s misconduct, he was smart enough to let the man get away with it. When Ezáitur took over from Alton's regime, the new Fer-innyera had quickly realized that he could not rely upon the “history” he had been given.

The potential danger of the situation was clear. The Meilarrians were an unknown threat, and capable of sabotaging his absolute authority at a moment’s notice. Their attacks grew more aggressive for unknown reasons from time to time. Ezáitur desperately wanted to weed out the facts before a time came when he could no longer hide the lies or hide behind them. It might not have been necessary, but it was his nature. A clever man, egotistical and often tyrannical, he could not bear to be kept in the dark.

Ezáitur played a game with Vaikyur. It had begun long ago with Ezáitur’s investigation of Alton’s secret messengers. Among the old line officers, they alone seemed to survive the purges—to a man. Ezáitur felt he needed them at arm’s length, but near enough. Yet they were watched night and day. But Vaikyur was smart and knew how to play the game. For years, he feigned absolute loyalty to Ezáitur and tried to keep the new leader apprised of everything he might possibly need to know, sensing the Fer-innyera’s need to wield an absolute, omniscient authority.

Ezáitur knew about Vaikyur’s close relationship to Fer-innyera Alton, but as a subordinate aide, of a subordinate nature. Vaikyur feigned absolute obedience to the leader, and in part succeeded in convincing Ezáitur of his unquestioned loyalty because Ezáitur needed to feel as though the transition of power had been a smooth, peaceful one. Ezáitur’s propaganda machine was heavily engaged in making it appear as much. In time, Ezáitur came to regard Vaikyur as a loyal subordinate and saw his own rise to power as justified, as though he had been Alton’s appointed heir of a sort, if in a strange way through the approval of Vaikyur and the knowledge that Vaikyur afforded him of Alton’s ministry.

Their relationship was a strange one. Vaikyur was older than Ezáitur, and had for so long played subordinate that when Ezáitur elevated him to his position as Senkaya-Sukura, the Operational Commander of the Tiasennian Army, he was surprised to discover that Vaikyur was ambitious after all.

Yet, Vaikyur kept an outward show of unquestioned loyalty. Year after year, as his own name became synonymous with victories and greatness, he shared the glory humbly with his leader, yet his brilliance shone clear the longer he held his position. In time, he had the absolute loyalty of the army itself, of every man under his personal command. Vaikyur protected them, honored them, gave them more than words of glory to cherish and uphold, even through the ugliest of times, even when they discovered what conspiracy of lies their world was founded on. Vaikyur knew how to measure and manage his people. He could be brutal if necessary, but seldom had to be. And that was part of the hallmark of his legacy.

Ezáitur was privately regretting his leniency in the early years, and half reveled in the prospect at beating Vaikyur at the game they played. He even came to enjoy harassing him. But the truth was that Ezáitur had begun to realize in the last ten years how invaluable the man was. If Vaikyur survived, it was because they were both getting old, and Ezáitur had no intentions of being involved in a test of loyalty. The Army loved Vaikyur. Ezáitur had the people eating out of his hand, as long as Vaikyur kept the Army backing up his lies.

Ezáitur still played the interrogation game, calling Vaikyur in for questioning every so often. Vaikyur never gave away any real information, even when they had tried medication on him—and that never happened again, Vaikyur made certain of it. Vaikyur had once heard Pukhar whining about Vaikyur’s endurance under pressure. Pukhar was fed up with trying to investigate him and was eager to send his “boys” to deal with him. No one ever saw "Pukhar's boys", but they were the ones who took “dissidents” and transformed them into the groveling repentants or mindless shells who damned themselves at trial. Puhkar was an evil man who enjoyed cruelty and had grown rather giddy with the power of his position.

When nothing at all came out of the last interview with Vaikyur, Ezáitur had felt it necessary to have research made into the old techniques of interrogation evasion. Alton's spies were masters at it. Ezáitur still hadn’t been able to figure out what methods had been used to train them to keep silence throughout heavy questioning. Alton had destroyed the files detailing complicated military research in this area the minute he sensed that his authority was compromised. Ezáitur himself preferred the unquestionable silence of “suicide” as a means of containing information rather than to trust of any mind tricks or mind-controlling nano-chip implants.

Vaikyur knew he had a nano-implant in his brain, but he also knew how to use it, and how to keep anyone else from using it against him. He also suspected that with the latest show of strength from the Meilarrians, it was only a matter of time before he was going to be questioned, politely, about his observations and speculations on the matter. The thought that the Meilarrians had not been idle, that they had been developing secret weapons in these years of relative dormancy, was alarming.

So alarming that Vaikyur’s personal security would never again be an issue. To dispose of his Operational Commanding Officer with the threat of a war imminent would be the last sane action of any leader. Vaikyur relied upon the fact that Ezáitur was essentially a coward, and had a great fear of dying. Moreover, that he had an idea that one day the future would look upon his reign as a golden age in Tiasennian history, and a consuming desire to be the one perceived as the protector of Tiasenne, however his actions might actually put the planet in peril. He was not entirely dealing in reality. But Vaikyur believed that he knew how to handle him.

The Fer-innyera held the Meilarrians’ tactics and their race in general in contempt. For years it had seemed that the unknown potential of the Meilarrian danger wouldn’t seriously threaten Tiasenne in his lifetime. In the meanwhile, Ezáitur had grown complacent. Now that Erlenkov’s fighter had been shot down, it seemed certain that something was about to happen. The Fer-innyera was certain to be thinking about how these events might affect them.

Vaikyur sifted through files, silent as a predator intent upon its prey. He had a devil of a time locating anything about point aico-seven. And then, success! An image sprang to life on the screen. It was faint, and the figure had been distorted. The face was barely visible. The data that corresponded flowed across the right panel of the screen.

Vaikyur allowed his memory to play back images of the past. He felt mixed emotions. Fear, wonder, hope, and uncertainty such as he had not felt since the days of his youth—not for his own personal safety, but for the beautiful ideals of his youth, and the mysteries of a communal past. He winced with the memory. How, as a youth, he had climbed the Ghosts’s cliff. And the discoveries he had made had more than opened his eyes, they had lifted his gaze to the cosmos.

The events of Ezáitur’s take-over and all of the intervening years had forced him to suppress such thoughts, such delirious wonder. These sudden memories of his youth as he sat in his chair, the Senkaya-Sukura of the entire Tiasennian forces, brought him to a halt, and his eyes filled with tears.

The moment of emotion passed. But the images stirred his memory. And he sat long in the silence.

First study to con ceal what you are. Seek wisdom a little while by yourself. Thus grows the fruit; the seed must be buried in the earth for a little space.

There it must be hid, and slowly grow. —Marcus Aurelius, The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius

Chapter Three

"Where am I?" Eiron Vaikyur Erlenkov groaned hoarsely as he awoke. Memory and awareness and all-pervading pain returned a moment later. He vaguely remembered that forgetting where you are was a cardinal sin for a soldier. He didn’t actually give a damn about it, but at least his brain was still working. The important thing to focus on at the moment was survival.

He blinked a few times, glancing around the same room as in his first brief awakening. Now on the wall across from him, there was a strange elliptical light panel that caught his attention because it was flashing off and on.

Eiron was in the kind of mood that, having so recently had a reprieve from death, he was willing to accept any surprise and every minute as it came. The fact that he had been healed and was still being cared for, rather than finding himself in a Meilarrian torture cell, gave him reason to hope that a friendly or neutral force had rescued him, and that he had some hope of reaching home once he felt better. His mind reasoned him out of fear, and into a kind of patient curiosity. He was even able to believe in miracles.

Without warning, the wall beside the light panel literally dissolved into thin air. Watching, Eiron jerked upright. His breath caught in his throat. An open doorway appeared in the wall before him, yawning darkness beyond it.

The wall had dissolved into thin air! Fascinated more than alarmed, he quickly gathered his wits. Had he been looking all that time at something like a hologram—but far more advanced than a simple light-projection—a false image of a solid wall? And was any of the room surrounding him real, or was it all some kind of advanced scientifically generated illusion? He had no time to wonder further.

The person who had saved his life strode through the arched doorway. Her identity was masked in a dark blue cloak. All that appeared under the hood was the line of her jaw, and a lower lip soft and round. She did not seem to be blinded, even though her eyes remained covered.

She stood just inside the door. Perhaps she was surprised to see that he was awake. Behind her, the doorway melted back into the wall. Eiron’s eyes widened further as the flashing light panel disappeared entirely. The room became once again a complete cell of smooth alloy walls, with no visible entrance or exit.

This time, Eiron’s mind couldn’t handle the shock, illusion or not. He thrashed once in the bed, moving instinctively back and away from the robed woman. It wasn’t a dream. Suddenly he wanted out. If that illusion was nothing more than a camouflaging image, the door was still really behind it. He could find his way home on his own!

With that in mind, Eiron pushed back the covering and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He forced his legs under him and stood. That was a mistake. He had no strength in his body. And a blinding pain in his head crippled his mind. He had to lean his arm and shoulder against the wall for a moment until the pain subsided. He was weak and nauseous.

Meanwhile, the woman didn’t move. She just seemed to watch him. Then, she stepped back, as though giving him permission to move around freely. He didn’t know what to do, and what this meant. He decided to try his earlier thought, and head for the door. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way around to the far wall.

When he thought he reached the door, he gave the wall a push with his left hand. It was unquestionably solid.

He almost fell backward onto the floor. There was no way out.

The robed woman caught him with one arm. Her skin was soft and gentle, her strength like a thin steel beam supporting him.

"Take it easy. Don't worry, you're perfectly safe here." The strange woman said in a voice with a pleasing resonance he immediately distrusted, or wanted to. He felt vulnerable and he hated it.

“Safe?” She nodded.

“Where did you find me?”

“On the ledge. Outside.”

“I remember!” Eiron said. Everything that had happened was coming back. “The Meilarrian space fighters shot me down,” he admitted it, feeling just a bit of lingering humiliation now that he was out of danger.

“You were seriously injured,” she told him. “I brought you here to heal you. You had two very serious wounds."

“Then thank the doctor, whoever he was,” Eiron said, suppressing a visceral memory of watching his insides spew blood like a fountain.

“Save the thanks for later. Just get better. That’s not going to ever entirely heal. You can’t do the things you’ve been doing up to now, or next time you’ll wind up dead.”

“Well, I’m not complaining, believe me. Can you help me back to the bed?” He asked. She immediately allowed him to lean on her body. In a few strides, he made it to the bed and sat down. It took a moment for him to swing his legs back. He found his energy entirely drained.

"The Meilarrians—" he suddenly thought to wonder.

"They left.” She said. “Then another plane like yours came skirting by the cliffs—”

“Another?”

“Yes, but it left quickly.”

He was silent, but his brow drew together as he pondered this.

“They’ve given up,” he sighed. “So it seems like I’m stuck here until I can make it back home on my own," he said it in part to test her. She didn’t respond. Well, he thought, at least she didn’t disagree right away, and that gave him hope that he would make it home. He began to relax.

“I guess I should thank you for saving my life," he said. “There’s no way I can repay you for it.”

“Can you tell me who you are?” she asked. “If you remember.”

“Of course,” he laughed. “Eiron, Senior Ekasi Eiron Vaikyur-Erlenkov."

She flinched suddenly. He suspected she knew of the Tiasennian commander Vaikyur. But then she said something he did not expect.

“That’s a Meilarrian name—Erlenkov.”

“How do you know?” he demanded, suddenly angry and defensive. “It’s a Tiasennian name.”

“Not originally.” She returned quietly. Eiron said nothing. He felt his face grow hot.

And now he was conscious of the fact that she was staring at him. Whatever he did or said, he couldn’t hide his face.

He was tall enough, with a lean, wiry frame and the look of a runner, the look of an independent man. His nose bent just slightly to one side. He was attractive, despite the jagged scar that marred his left eyebrow. His teeth were slightly crooked—he chose not to have had them fixed. His wide-set blue eyes still held the long, thoughtful look of youth, despite his life’s experience. His short hair was straight, and sand-blond. A coarse beard was now growing along his jaw.

His skin was only a shade or so lighter than the blue veins which spidered under the surface. Dark enough that people always noticed—Eiron Vaikyur-Erlenkov was not just Tiasennian. No one but his grandfather and a few of the top officers knew that his father had come from Meilarr.

Eiron Vaikure-Erlenkov was a private man. He wasn’t the type who wore his emotions on his sleeve. His motives were often a subject of speculation. He was articulate when he spoke, and had a wry sort of humor. He knew how to make conversation when the situation called for it. But underneath his self-assured façade, he never let down the defensive barriers. He had been known to say that “giving a damn is the hardest thing to make yourself do”, but at the same time, there were some things for which he was willing to make a decisive stand. Above all other things in life he valued dignity, honor, and integrity.

He had the reputation of being a dare-devil in the sky. This behavior gave the people around him plenty to gossip about, but it was in some ways a tactic he employed to divert those around him from talking about what he was.

“You’re not going to think I’m a Meilarrian spy, are you?” he asked. “You saw that the Meilarrians shot me down. And my uniform—I am an officer in the Tiasennian Army Air Corps.” “I know that. I wasn’t questioning your loyalties. But now I have to wonder why you thought I might suspect them.”

"No reason." He laughed, feigning a hint of wilting frustration and involuntary amusement. “I’ll ask you about it later, then.” She said. “Don’t worry about it now. I’m not going to turn you in to anyone. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“Oh,” he said. Maybe she was. But that didn’t explain his present strange environment, or the advanced technology that kept him confined there. He was just beginning to re-question the nature of her environment. Who was she? He wondered. Was she trustworthy?

She hid her face. Hid it. But he had a glimpse of her jaw—

Immediately she moved to pull her hood down lower. He could no longer see any of her face. So. He thought to himself. She was a Meilarrian. Hiding out here, on planet Tiasenne. It made perfect sense.

“You’re smart,” he thought. “Believe me, when I get home, I’m going to thank my lucky stars I’m alive, and forget all about you, if that’s the way you want it.” Instead of answering, she just laughed. Her laughter was musical, more like real music than laughter.

"I’m not holding you prisoner here,” she said. “I came to see if you wanted a little exercise.”

“I don’t feel well enough.” “You’ve been sleeping. You tried to move too fast. How do you feel now?” she asked. Her arm made a slight little gesture.

Eiron had been talking so much, he stopped to reconsider his strength. He moved his head a little—no pain, there.

“Just a minute,” he said, with a hand up. He swung his legs back around—they were manageable. He put them on the floor. Weak, but enough energy to move about. He felt extremely refreshed, as though he had just had a wonderful nap. He stood up entirely. “I think I can manage.” He said.

“Good,” she replied. “My living space is probably better than you’ll be used to at the barracks.” She said. Then she turned towards the area of the wall through which the mysterious doorway had appeared.

The light panel flashed on; then, the doorway opened up.

Eiron was too weary from his recovery to even care how impossible this all was.

“Follow me, then.” She said, heading towards the aperture.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he said, moving cautiously. His legs were strangely warm. He must have just finally woken up.

"How long have I been in here, anyway?" He asked.

"About two tendays." “Has to be longer than that,” he laughed. A step away from her now, he saw that she was a little shorter than him. Under the robe she was shapely but slender, probably a young woman. She walked with a fluid agility—quiet, smooth. A gait as gentle as water, and like a predator stalking its prey.

"So, what’s your name?” he asked in a light-hearted manner. They had reached the doorway. It was cold in the draught, and he felt the back of his neck rising involuntarily. The air seemed to spark with electricity.

"Alessia," she replied in a detached way, as though it didn’t even matter.

They quickly walked through into a large dark cavern, and the recovery room behind him vanished from view—literally.

Eiron turned around, watching open-mouthed as the opening leading to it as filled gradually with a swirl of dust that formed into a solid, smooth wall of sandstone and granite.

* * * * *

"Senka Vaikyur, I am sorry that your grandson is dead." Secretary Natoly Marúsh said, with an air of indifference that contradicted his words. There was a clinical quality to his high-pitched voice, when he summoned it. Most of the time it had the raw, whining quality of a child's. "I understand how painful this subject is for you, especially after the tragedy of your daughter's death,” Marúsh said. “We all feel your loss—and Senior Ekasi Erlenkov was one of our best pilots as you know." He continued with a farce of sympathy.

Vaikyur blinked, waiting.

“But,” Marúsh said, all traces of sympathy abandoning his voice, “you must put your grief behind you for a moment and help us to piece together what happened to him at point aico-seven. Perhaps you know something about the area, something about our enemy, some piece of information that has yet to come to light. Please try to think, now. Our sentries and intelligence teams are having a difficult enough time as it is dealing with this new situation.”

Secretary Marúsh had taken a seat across from Senka Vaikyur in the large, plush, black office chair behind his lacquered desk. He was a broad, corpulent man, not merely pleasantly stout, but more flaccid than stocky. He had little beetle eyes and a short, upturned nose. His close-cropped hair had turned dark grey. Today, an intent expression had taken hold of his sweaty, round face. Though Marúsh was the Fer-innyera’s Head Secretary, Vaikyur knew that the man was in fact simply Ezáitur's toady of the moment and had very little real power at all.

Marúsh was the sort of man who kept a ready arsenal of choice words and expressions designed to make himself come across as competent, efficient, intelligent, calm, and self-confident. But when questioned on subjects outside his limited knowledge, Secretary Marúsh became vague, distracted, and his image of self-composure crumpled mightily under the onslaught of his internal insecurities. Today, however, Vaikyur noticed a change in Marúsh’s usual behavior.

Vaikyur had always been considered a man who was good at reading expressions, and at present Secretary Marúsh appeared worried. Very worried. No doubt about losing his position in the event that he failed to squeeze any new information out of his guest, Vaikyur thought silently. This fear was understandable, since Marúsh was already the sixth Head Secretary to take office under Ezáitur's leadership.

For the past two weeks, Vaikyur had been expecting this little meeting. At least they had given him some time to mourn.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about." Vaikyur shrugged and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. It was no secret he didn't like Marúsh very much. The defiant air in his gesture conveyed this. “I’ve already disclosed what I know about point aico-seven. It’s on file. I can’t help you any more than that.”

"I am referring, Senka, to some secret information you have that concerns point aico-seven. With additional, ah—" Marúsh fumbled for the right word, "background, we might be able to learn why Ekasi Erlenkov was shot down."

"I see."

"His death may be of vital importance to discover why the Meilarrians and their terrorist allies have re-appeared in the Forbidden Zones. They’re planning something. We think this latest attack is only the beginning." Marúsh's fresh look of concern seemed plastered on. The only cracks in his facade were his eyes. Marúsh’s eyes were small, hard, and calculating, and they darted with frank impatience over the Senkaya-Sukura.

"It’s perfectly clear what the enemy is after. As you say, they want to take over our world and murder all of us," Vaikyur said in a deadpan voice, with a bright spark of concealed contempt in his eyes. "They are a completely violent people not at all like our own. They have no reason to want to destroy us other than greed and barbarity."

"Yes, my dear Vaikyur. I know your real feelings on the subject," Marúsh waved a hand dismissively.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Vaikyur said.

Marúsh laughed. “Repeat that for the recorder, Vaikyur. I’m not trying to get a confession out of you, and you know that no one wants any harm to come to you. The Fer-innyera is your friend. He trusts that as his operational commander, you will continue to do what must be done regardless of your private feelings, as you have done for many years. The Meilarrians are our enemy. Heaven knows how a man like you can respect them. But the Fer-innyera has never found this to compromise your leadership before. He even feels that your respect for the Meilarrians is our best line of defense against them. It is important to know one’s adversary. It makes it easier to defeat him."

"Yes." Vaikyur said, feeling nauseated once more by these platitudes.

“But, I think it wise you remember that they are terrorists, nothing more, and nothing less. They must be dealt with accordingly. That is their ultimate fate.”

"Of course,” Vaikyur agreed. “What we want to know is, how they might have managed to surpass our comet fighters in range and agility. They’ve developed a new fighter. We’re having the Central Aeronautic lab working out its capabilities as we speak, but we need help from you to figure out what makes their minds tick, and what they might be planning if they ever were to have the advantage. Your experience in their strategy, in their tactics—even in their psychology—is unparalleled, especially given the fact that your own daughter was attached to one of them.”

"One question.” Vaikyur said. “Are we officially afraid of the enemy now?" Vaikyur narrowed his eyes, carefully planning his moves. "Last I heard the Fer-innyera was confident that there is no real threat."

"Of course not." Marúsh wavered, trying to remember what the official angle was. It was dangerous to forget what the official angle was.

"Then do go on, Vaikyur." Marúsh instructed; Vaikyur suppressed an inclination to sigh. He found himself suddenly incapable of playing any games.

"All right,” he said, looking Marúsh squarely in the eye. “Background on point aico-seven, was it? All I know is that it’s useless scrubland, desert, and cliffs. Hardly worth all this fuss.” “The Fer-innyera is worried—“

“About what? Some unidentified threat coming out of that wasteland? You know nothing but desert plants can live out there for long. Ezáitur has other things to worry about.”

“He wants the truth, Vaikyur. No matter how bad it is. For once, he wants the truth.” Marúsh said, and then seemed to cringe. He realized he should not have said “for once”. But, puffed up on his own sense of importance—he had the Fer-innyera’s backing—Marúsh shrugged it off. He knew Ezáitur would understand the indiscretion. It was necessary to make Vaikyur talk. Vaikyur sighed, sensing that Marúsh had blundered for a reason. Obviously, Ezáitur had made it clear to him that he wanted Vaikyur’s real opinion.

“What do you want me to tell you, Marúsh, that we are one step away from disaster if Meilarr ever attacks us in full force? I’m no mind-reader. I don’t know any more you, or more than my own common sense tells me."

For a moment after Vaikyur finished, silence hung in the air.

Marúsh refused to be daunted.

"Allow me to be candid, my friend." Secretary Marúsh pushed himself away from the desk and propped his feet on the edge, crossing his legs.

"I think we both know how I feel about you."

"Amusing, Vaikyur, truly. Care for a smoke?"

Vaikyur didn't answer.

"Perhaps not." Marúsh paused, clearing his throat. "The Meilarrians have been looking for something for many years. Some sort of technological device—we’re not sure what. But it’s common knowledge that during Fer-innyera Alton's leadership, you were a secret messenger, with access to the Top Secret files on the Forbidden Zones."

"Yes."

"At that time a few of these exclusion areas were restricted from military and public access because of the danger of low-grade nuclear bombs, biological attacks, and armed spy planes."

I certainly hope we’ve established this all by now, Vaikyur thought impatiently.

“Yes,” Vaikyur said.

"I'm sure you realize how difficult it has been keeping the areas off limits. We set some up as false military bases and weapons test areas. The civilians don’t really even know."

“Yes,” Vaikyur agreed.

"Well, it helps that the Forbidden Zones are all remote locations.”

“Isn’t that strange,” Vaikyur said, deadpan once more.

The Secretary stopped for a moment. In a rare moment, his thinking skills and imagination engaged. And, Vaikyur saw, for a moment Marúsh actually agreed with him.

“That may be something important,” he said out loud, unable to let go of the idea. Vaikyur shifted in his chair, thinking that Marúsh was not such an idiot after all.

"Anyway," Marúsh continued, remembering that his time was well-budgeted. "Some of our younger officers keep asking why we bother keeping the Zones with low radiation levels under exclusion status. There was some talk of opening them up to routine patrols, if not to the public.”

“But of course now we can’t do that." Marúsh coughed and lit another smokeweed. "Thanks to Ezáitur's wisdom and foresight, we've kept everything under control until now." Marúsh said, blowing a ring into the air and closing the cap of his lighter with a loud clip.

“Yes.”

“Can you imagine what trouble we’d be having now if the public knew how intrusive the Meilarrians really are in our lives? It’s been so long since they attacked a populated area, that some people consider them a kind of joke.”

“The Meilarrians play games with us, Marúsh.” Vaikyur said. “The civilian attacks are just a cover-up. A distraction. They do it to divert our forces from their true targets. Bombs out in an open field, polluting a lake halfway across the planet—random acts of violence and destruction, directed against us, but not at us. Who can understand their minds, and what they hope to accomplish? At the least, they haven’t provoked open war, or attacked large cities in several years.

“Only this time, they circled northern Inen. We didn’t even see them coming, and they could have easily taken out half of the city before we could shoot them down. But they left the city in peace. They obliterated my grandson’s patrol unit and drove him outside the city, into the Southwestern Sea. Why?” Vaikyur wondered. “Believe me, Marúsh, if I knew the answers myself, I would rest easy at night.”

Marúsh hesitated a moment.

"Aico-seven was never attacked.” Marúsh said, shaking his head in thought. “I checked our files on it. The Meilarrians once used the sea cliff as a landing area for a massive failed attack on Inen." Marúsh went on. "I’ve also been informed that there were a number of disappearances in that same area years later. Alton’s secret intelligence found out that the area had potentially toxic levels of radiation and restricted the area. Some say it was because so many planes disappeared without a trace."

Vaikyur listened but did not comment.

"The Meilarrians never returned. We had planes watching the area for years, but there hasn’t been any activity in the area for over fifty years.” Marúsh continued. “Now, there isn’t a single person alive who would believe that that rocky cliff is a suitable place to build a military base. It would be an ideal location for weapons testing, either nuclear or biological—if the area weren’t so close to the capital, only fifty nariars away. It’s just lucky that no appreciable sign of radiation contamination has over reached Inen from there.” Marúsh tapped his smokeweed.

“Yes, it is.” Vaikyur agreed, silently struggling to maintain his composure.

"What I don’t understand is this. The Meilarrians dropped a deep-ground probe outside Inen. We found it shortly after Vaikyur-Erlenkov went down. It was sending out a seismic wave, obviously searching for something underground. Frankly, we’d never seen anything like it. Far more advanced than the last probe we found.”

“The one in the classified military relics warehouse.” Vaikyur nodded. “I was informed of all of this a few days ago.”

“Do you know what they’re hoping to find?”

“The location of our top-security shelters. Most likely.” Vaikyur said.

“Ezáitur was concerned that might be it.” Marúsh said. “But he feels there may be more to it.”

Vaikyur kept silent, his arms crossed over his chest, just staring as if in amazement at Marúsh.

“We can understand the threat that their new advance in technology poses to our security, and we are working hard to deal with that situation. We also suspected that they were trying to determine whether or not we had any evacuation shelters ready. We suspect that they may be planning a major offensive strike against us. But we have faith in your abilities, Vaikyur, and in our lines of defense. We need to be certain, however, that there is no hidden threat in this latest assault. At least not by any of our own officers. And the connection to point aico-seven is puzzling. Why did the Meilarrians drive your grandson’s fighter out over the Southwestern Sea?”

“He’s a good pilot. He survived longer than his unit.” Vaikyur said. “I suppose they were headed in that direction. The Meilarrians don’t know that the area is off limits.”

"Yes," Marúsh said. Suddenly, he leaned forward furtively as though about to impart some great secret, "I must confide in you.”

“Confide? Confide what?”

“Ezáitur is aware of Alton's security secrets, of the nano-implant technology that has been lost to our government science. He is aware that you have some knowledge of this, and of secret information that details the origins of the war against Meilarr. He has no doubt that you are a loyal Tiasennian. But he may attempt to break you, Vaikyur, one of these days, just to jog your memory.” Marúsh leaned back.

“I can’t tell him what I don’t know.” Vaikyur replied.

“Or remember?” Marúsh laughed. “My son cried at the news of Vaikyur’s Erlenkov’s death.”

Vaikyur’s eyes flashed.

“But I’m sure that the boy will get over it.” Marúsh continued. “We haven’t got anyone to replace you. Cooperate, if you can. Nothing will happen to you if you cooperate.”

“Personally, I want nothing more than to punish the bastards for all that has happened.” Vaikyur said, and for the first time, with real emotion.

Marúsh stared at him. “That’s what we all want, Vaikyur.”

We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell. —Wilde, The Duchess of Padua

Chapter Four

Gritty dark brown sandstone and swirling layers of pink granite formed each of the four walls of a room cut from solid rock, but as for the means of entry or escape he had hoped to find, Eiron saw none. The rock composition reminded him of the ledge where he had crashed. That was good news, anyway. That meant he had not been taken far.

But why was Alessia here? No one was permitted to live in the Forbidden Zones. And how morbid it feels—to be living below the ground! Well, he wasn’t one to criticize; underground or not, the place was better than dying on the ledge outside.

Eiron's well-trained eye took in every small detail. This new space had a lower ceiling but was easily five times the size of the room he had just left. In the center of this room a great log fire crackled and spat glowing sparks of wood, sending undulating shadows into the dark corners and onto the multi-colored, striated walls.

The strangest part was how this room contrasted with the recovery room. The floor here was nothing but dirt. A few primitive hardwood chairs formed a circle around a log fire, made in the center of the room, with stones around it. Nearby lay a pile of ordinary-looking blankets that appeared to serve as a bed for some creature, perhaps an animal she kept. A small old table by the fire held lovely ceramic jugs full of water, bandages, and multifarious glass vials large and small, possibly full of medicines. They were decorated with copper and gold, and circular patterns etched in metal. He would have guessed they were hand-made, if it hadn’t been for the craftsmanship of the metallic seals.

Where does she get her provisions from? he wondered. How does she keep from starving way out here? And why does she choose to live in such a primitive condition?

A dark pot dangled from a spit erected over the flames.

“You’ve got something cooking.” He said. He began to notice the spicy aroma tantalizing his stomach.

“It’s for you,” Alessia said. She took a seat in one of the chairs. He decided to sit beside her. “After you eat, I’ll show you around, and then you can do with yourself as you please.”

“All right,” he agreed. “I’m hungry enough to eat anything. What is it?”

“Soup.” She said. “I didn’t know what you might like, so I made something simple. Meat, groundfruit, and such.”

“That sounds good. You live here, way out in a Forbidden Zone,” he observed. He didn’t look at her. Her face was still covered. He ended up just watching the blaze. His body felt stiff from the sleep, but it was good to be up and awake.

“Well, and how did you get here?” she returned, evading the issue.

He smiled. “I flew, remember?”

She laughed, relieved to be in good spirits, even though what they were discussing was dangerous, not the sort of thing to be laughing at under ordinary circumstances. Eiron could be imprisoned simply for being in a Forbidden Zone. He wasn’t at all worried about that now, though. “What brought you here?” she asked. “It's been a long time since I’ve seen anyone from the outside world."

No doubt, he thought. No one ever came near the Forbidden Zones on purpose. “I’m a pilot.” Eiron replied, making a sudden gesture to pick up one of the stoneware pieces on the table. For no apparent reason, Alessia reacted to his sudden movement. She got up and went to pick up the soup. He turned to watch. She reached for the handle, her fingers gripping it too tightly, accenting her knuckles as the soft, supple skin stretched over her knuckle bone.

Her hand betrayed two things about her—one, that she was tense, that she wasn’t so much at ease as her manner suggested, and two, that she was definitely not a pure Tiasennian. She removed the soup and brought it over to the table.

“Isn’t that hot?” he asked, watching as she put it down.

She stopped a moment, then shook her head. “Not really.”

She served him a bowl.

“Aren’t you going to have any?” he asked.

“I will if it will make you feel better,” she said, and got out another bowl.

Eiron took a bite. He felt a warm, soothing sensation down to his toes. “This is good.” He said. He realized it must have been drugged from the way it made him feel, but not by anything dangerous. Possibly a healing agent. He was grateful. The sensation eased his pain, without messing up his mind. He decided not to ask what it was.

"Thank you,” she said. “It will help you heal faster, so I’m glad you like it.”

“I don’t suppose I might have my uniform back,” he said.

“I’m afraid it’s not possible,” she said. “I’ll have to give you something else to wear. Are you cold?”

“No. It really was that bad, wasn’t it?”

“You almost bled to death.” She said quietly. “And that was only the beginning. But, you’re eating. I can tell you later.”

“Do you know anything about the air corps?”

“You’re a Senior Ekasi.” She replied, surprising him. “I guessed as much from the insignia.”

“Yes,” he said, not knowing whether or not to laugh. "I was patrolling north of Inen before the Meilarrians attacked me, to answer your question." "You’re not from Meilarr, but you could pass for Meilarrian.”

“You would know.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a Meilarrian yourself. Why else would you hide your face?”

“I assure you I am not.”

“I won’t turn you in,” Eiron said. “You saved my life. But it makes sense why you live out here. All the prejudice against anyone like us, anyone with darker skin—I’ve lived through it myself. I do understand.”

She laughed. “I am not Meilarrian.”

“You’re lying.”

“I am Alessia Valeria, the child of Nerena Naliya Valeria. And she was the daughter of General Zadúmchov—the revered leader of The Martial Scientific Force. My father was the last known Enorian colonizer. He was known as Zariqua Enassa on my home world, on Seynorynael—"

Eiron was staring blankly at her. He didn’t know how to react, or if he should laugh. But she was serious, and he really couldn’t laugh at her. The more she said, the more a creeping cold shiver permeated through him. And everything about the strange things he had seen began to make a kind of strange sense. He couldn’t deal with it. He shrugged it off.

"Somewhere on Meilarr? I don’t want to know,” he said. He didn’t want to think she was crazy. But who could believe such a ridiculous story?

"I've been to Meilarr." Alessia said. “There is only a little similarity between what I consider living and what Meilarrian life is like.” “You’ve been to Meilarr?” He decided not to ask the more obvious question—how had she had gotten back? "Your father was Meilarrian, wasn’t he?”

"Yes. I mean, no! Look Alessia, I don't mean to be rude, but where is this all leading? You still haven't told me who you are."

"Yes, I did."

"All right, then," he agreed dismissively, "maybe you did, but I've never heard of this Say-nor-i-something or other place you claim to come from. And I don’t believe you. I read all those stories at the Academy about what beings we found on other worlds, planets we visited more than a century ago—”

“What stories?” She sounded interested. “I don’t know, all kinds of stories. I admit I wasn't always paying a whole lot of attention to the details. But I do know that you’re either Tiasennian, Meilarrian, or half-breed like me. End of story. There’s nothing else. Only children believe in other-world creatures like angels." He laughed again.

“Angels.” She echoed, in a hollow voice. “Yes, angels are only legendary creatures. Not beings of flesh and blood.”

He stopped suddenly, his eyes flaring wide with involuntarily anxiety as he recalled a small part of one such popular tale from his youth.

…and the angels became as creatures of flesh and blood. Many years later, there was once such a creature who haunted the city of Inen. It was said her power could paralyze the heart of the bravest of men. She was, like the ocean itself, a creature of great good, and much to be feared, for it was in her power to cloak herself in human form to deceive and destroy the people of Tiasenne. She was a creature of death, truly an angel. Many years passed before the Fer-innyera tricked the creature, Alessia, the angel of Inen, back into the sky, to the sea of stars from whence she had come…

“What is it?” Alessia asked, as Eiron dropped the spoon into his soup.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“Tell me.”

“There was a woman,” he began.

“Yes?”

“She had the same name as you.”

“I know.” Alessia said.

“She died almost a hundred years ago," Eiron said. “She was Fer-innyera Orashean’s friend, until she betrayed him. She betrayed all of Tiasenne. She joined forces with the Meilarrians against Tiasenne, as the story goes."

“I share the name. So you think I might be a Meilarrian spy,” she said suddenly.

“Are you?” he asked.

“No. But you are a loyal Tiasennian, I see." “Yes. Just don't take me for an ignorant idealist.” “Would that be so awful?” she asked. “I might even like you better for it. You can say what you like here,” Alessia said, sensing that he had been conditioned to secrecy. “I am guilty just by living in this area of disobedience to the Tiasennian state. I will not repeat anything you say to anyone, just remember that.”

“Well, I probably shouldn’t tell you, but I can’t abide the Fer-innyera. We all have to keep up appearances, though, don’t we?” Eiron said. “Not only for ourselves, but there’s still the people to think about, and to protect. What’s true is that only a few senior officers and guys like me know that Ezáitur’s a murdering butcher.”

"Is the truth important to you?"

"Yes.” He said. "It's rare and invaluable if you can get it." He said, hoping he didn't sound naïve, but not really caring if he did. He had ideals, but that didn't make him an idealist. “But I find that it often comes at too high a price. "And defending truth is a hard task," he admitted, proving to her that he could be honest. If he hadn’t felt he could speak freely, he would have kept his mouth shut. Having ideals didn't make him a fool.

"It never is for anyone,” she agreed. “But what happened that made it so hard for you, as you say?”

"My grandfather’s position. During training at the Academy I had to be careful never to let my instructors know that my grandfather shared information with me about the secret inner workings of the government, past and present. If anyone had ever found out that I was anything other than an obedient pilot, you can imagine how short my military career would have been. Even those who are politically disenchanted have to know when to keep their mouths shut, you understand."

"I do know.”

"Well, Alessia, you've let me slip off the subject.”

"Which one?"

"That tricky little question about your loyalties.”

“What do you think about them?”

“What do I think?” he echoed, pausing, staring at her. “You aren’t simply a civilian, that much is clear. You may be sympathetic towards Meilarr, but no, I don’t think you’re a Meilarrian sabatoeur or spy."

"Why not?" She asked in a tone that invited him to elaborate.

He shook his head. "First of all, you wouldn't be talking to me like this. And second, no Meilarrian would have pulled me away from Meilarrians. But if you are a sympathizer… at least sympathy isn't a crime. Well, not unless the government's listening," he amended.

She laughed.

“Are you a descendant of one of the Meilarrian scientists—the ones who were invited to join Tiasennian society?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I suppose my loyalties might seem questionable to you. But you see, I have difficulty trusting people, so I don’t like talking about thhis," Alessia said, breaking his reverie unexpectedly.

“We don’t have to, then.”

"Good. When I asked how you came to be here, I was actually hoping for more news."

"News? About what?"

"Well, why did those Meilarrian ships attack you?"

“I’m a Tiasennian pilot.”

“Yes,” she laughed. “What I meant was that I'd like to hear what you were doing out here just before you got shot down."

"I was flying a patrol mission about twenty nariars from here, two nariars north of the capital."

"Northern Inen?"

"Yes. That area's not routine for my patrol." He explained. “For the past two days some of the citizens living in the northern outskirts of the city had been complaining that they'd heard a strange rumbling sound at night. They knew something was up, since supply ships don't follow the northern route this time of year."

"Your Meilarrian friends up to no good?"

He nodded. "We were just about to head for home when we picked up a Meilarrian space fighter on radar heading west. I decided that we would follow it, maybe find out if the Meilarrians had a new target and report our findings back to Headquarters."

"The Meilarrians had other ideas, though."

"It seems so. We were just coming to the edge of the Forbidden Zone when five more of them appeared out of nowhere. The rest of my patrol were shot down immediately, but I managed to take out one of the Meilarrians before the others forced me out over the Forbidden Zone where they could finish me off. They had the advantage. Usually our fighters fly rings around theirs, but from what I saw—well these looked a new prototype." He chewed his lip, contemplating the events.

“What’s wrong?”

"A lot could be wrong. Those fighters I encountered were faster than anything I've seen before, and I’m not just saying that to salvage my ego. If I’m right, this means their aerospace technology may have finally caught up with ours, or surpassed it. They may be more dangerous than ever before."

"You remind me of an old friend of mine." Alessia interrupted suddenly.

“I hope that’s a compliment.” “It is.”

"I should be reporting back. I've got things to do. The High Command will need my report about the terrorists' attack and what they were doing. I could use the flare in my uniform to signal the rescue planes and ask them to send a message—"

"You're not going anywhere." Alessia insisted firmly. "You may have things to do, but first you've got to get better."

"I can't just forget about what I saw—"

"But you're going to have to for now. You wouldn't reach any of your ships, even if you could make it up to the surface on your own, which you wouldn’t. And it's not safe up there yet."

"What?"

"The Meilarrians have been returning to this area since you crashed here. Five, perhaps six of their space fighters are circling the area even now."

Eiron's eyes darted reflexively to the ceiling above. How did she know that the Meilarrians had returned? He hadn't heard any engine noise.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. I don't play games."

"I didn’t hear anything.” “It doesn’t matter. I was monitoring them before I came to check on you.

“Oh,” he said. “In that case I suppose it couldn’t hurt to kick around here a few more days. I'll bet the Service has even given me the standard memorial service already. I wonder how grandfather is taking it. I'm all the family he has left."

"I’m sorry to hear that.”

"He's a good man—you’ve probably already heard about him as a leader. But as a grandfather he was more than anyone will ever know. A good teacher, a man you can respect," Eiron saw that she was interested and went on. “Tough but honest. He’s the most respected commander that we've ever had, even if he doesn’t hide the fact that he doesn't agree with some of the policies of the government. But Fer-innyera Ezáitur doesn’t seem to mind. Everyone in the High Command knows they were good friends, in the past. And Ezáitur openly recognizes his usefulness. Senka Vaikyur has been the most successful military tactician that Tiasenne has had in the last hundred years, but he has had the uncanny ability to earn the unswerving loyalty of almost every officer that has served under him.”

"I’m not surprised.”

"But you don’t know grandfather," Eiron said. "The High Command are always suspecting him of having some kind of secret knowledge about the Meilarrians, but he just refutes their innuendo and questions." Eiron found himself laughing again. "There are some people who dislike him enormously, but he's too valuable to criticize openly. I think Ezáitur is secretly afraid that if Vaikyur disappeared there would be a rebellion within the military.”

“That would be terrible!”

“Exactly.”

“You’re done with that soup now?”

“Yes.”

“Then might I suggest a walk around, Eiron?”

“You might.”

“There are quite a few rooms here. You can make yourself at home. I have a small indoor garden—not much of one, with the dry heat here—and a library, if you’re interested.” “Very much interested.”

For the first time, he noticed that there were several doorways in the walls. Including the opening that led to his room. He had almost forgotten that little miracle. Before his mind had time to contemplate what it might mean, she reached out to take his hand. “Enough heavy talk for one day.”

“Agreed.”

All my possessions for a moment of time. —Queen Elizabeth I of England

Chapter Five

“Fynals Hinev was the greatest scientist of Seynorynael.” The record-keeper said, straining to keep his voice impartial. “I knew him before his name gained fame throughout the Empire, when he had returned from his mission of exploration. Hinev was then only one of Kudenka’s explorers. Among all of the returning explorer scientists, Hinev was nevertheless a visionary, and it was he who brought back the information that most reshaped and guided our second project for universal exploration. A member of our Federation’s first major intergalactic explorer mission, Hinev was himself a living relic of our young civilization—for three thousand years had passed since the explorers left our world. Time slows down at light speed, you see.

“It was Hinev who first theorized that the magnitudes of each planet's star had been a factor causing the divergent evolution from one race into the varied forms of humanoid species. It was Hinev who had gathered the data that proved that a multitude of red-star, yellow-star, and white-star people occupied the majority of the inhabitable worlds; least common of all were blue-star humanoids.

“I remember one particular day as I walked past Hinev's new laboratory in the biochemistry and genetics facility at the Federation Science Building. It was shortly after the return of Kudenka’s explorers—Kudenka was their leader, even if Hinev’s work began to overshadow his. I overheard part of a simple physics lesson Hinev gave a very young Alessia, his new pupil.” The voice seemed to drift into tones of fond amusement, as though the speaker had momentarily forgotten the gravity of his narration. “He was explaining to her our system of star classification. The girl learned well. He told her of worlds like ours, where the sun's light appeared white from the surface of a planet. But the stars were of all sizes and colors. She turned the tables on him and gave him a lesson on the size, heat, and dimensions of our own blue star. Hinev, the greatest scientist of Seynorynael in its entire fifty thousand year reign over the galaxies! As though he didn’t know. She was so young then, so naïve.

“He told her of Beli-ka, a star the color of fire, and of the people who lived in a solar system near our own. A red star's surface was cool, its light dim, and it could burn for many years, through the lifetimes of uncounted civilizations. He told her of a planet with a yellow star. The yellow stars were warmer, brighter—they burned nearly ten billions years. And then, he told her of white stars. The white stars were doomed to die, some after only several million years.

“And our own was a white-blue star. Doomed to die after only a million years. Blue stars, though always forming anew, were the rarest of livable star systems. The intense light and heat of such a star burned brilliantly—but it was but a brief existence. The gamma radiation of our own blue-white star, Valeria, killed almost all life forms from other planets that came to visit our world without a radiation shield. Some blue stars lived only ten thousand years.

“Hinev was explaining to her that life, even our own race, took millions of years to evolve in nearly every solar system outside our own. Which meant one of two things: that our race had evolved very rapidly. Or else we had come from some other planet.

“And if not? She asked. By the standards of evolution he had found on every planet but ours, our race should not have existed. Life on Seynorynael should have been impossible, even though the planet itself was more than six billion years old,.” The voice continued, now artfully level and detached once more. “This was the reason why many considered Seynorynaelian life miraculous. This was why Seynorynaelians would come to value their own lives above the other races. Our race had evolved more rapidly than any other known life form, some said. Others believed that our presence on Seynorynael was proof that we had achieved space travel a million years before any other race. In either event—we came to see ourselves as superior to all of the other races, and as their natural betters. But Hinev believed that all races were descended from one, and that they were equal.

“Hinev explained to Alessia why the other races had been afraid of us. Even other humanoids he had encountered as an explorer thought that Seynorynaelians looked like ghosts. Our skin, a very pale gray, has a strange quality to it depending on the lighting conditions of our environment—to us this was normal. But to the other races, it was simply unbelievable. “Hinev and his explorers had discovered that in other hominid and humanoid races, there was a substance we did not have in our blood—a hemoglobin that could bind to oxygen and turn it red. Alessia had never met an alien with red blood before, even though there were many aliens traveling through our capital Ariyalsynai. She had lived a sheltered life. “But our own people had evolved organs in the skin to deflect most of Valeria's blue light. This adaptation helped us survive the radiation that forced most visitors to our world to remain inside the city domes or wear radiation filtration suits anywhere within the weather-safe latitudinal rings. On all of the known worlds in our Federation of planets, only two species of blue-star humanoids were known to exist, and one of these species was the Seynorynaelian race.

“We were lucky, Hinev told her. Life on a blue-star world was doomed, for the life of the blue star was brief. Yet our race had somehow managed to develop and advanced rapidly enough that we had a hope of escaping our world, before our race could meet its end.

“Our astrophysicists could reasonably predict when this might happen, he assured her, theoretically, though a blue star could burn out at any time. It would form a supernova that would destroy anything within its range, even a six billion year-old planet such as Seynorynael. Supernova shock waves from Valeria would one day affect all of the life on worlds within several light-years of our star. Nothing living within a few light years would escape the destruction.

“Our world was older than our star, Alessia pointed out. Yes, Hinev told her, and he was pleased she had realized how strange it was that our blue star was not even a million years old. How could life have developed on our planet, without the presence of a star to give it heat and light? “It was indeed a very great mystery, which he did not explain that afternoon.

“Valeria was a short-lived star, only fifty thousand years old, on that afternoon shortly before the Empire under the Council of Elders was born. And it had only another fifty thousand years to burn before life would be obliterated by the supernova of Valeria. The planet Seynorynael’s time was running out. Our civilization’s time was running out.

“Is it any wonder then that Hinev and the returning explorers thought about ways to preserve our future?

“Hinev had his own desperate agenda with time, and against death. For what he had seen, for all he had known, that no other living beings but his explorers could understand—he was desperate to conquer Time.

“And he did. It was Fynals Hinev who perfected the serum of immortality. “On his pupil, Alessia.”