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  Durg knew his attention should have been focused upon L'gura, Raiyis of House Vayawand. But there had been three rulers of the House since Durg's kidnapping, and of greater and more terrifying interest was the Morakh who stood behind and slightly to the left of the Raiyis's chair. Yes, she was standing absolutely still, but there was the poised quivering of a recently shot arrow. She was ready to fight. To kill. Her honey brown hair had been twisted up into an elaborate knot like a temple chhatri. Down, it would probably stretch to her knees. She was very beautiful.

  Lighter-boned than a Morakh male, she was still massive when measured against her master. L'gura was thin to the point of emaciation, and his chalk white skin set off the green and blue of the jewels implanted in his cheeks and beneath his brows. He was placidly watching Durg's approach.

  It is a mark of his confidence in his Morakh that they leave the guards outside, Durg thought. And almost too late he reacted to her slashing attack. Too long among humans. Too long on a world where guests enter unarmed into rooms.

  Durg tucked into a tight ball, thus missing the larynx-crushing blow. The roll was supposed to take her in the shins. She was too fast. She sprang lightly over him, delivering a vicious thrust kick to the kidneys as she passed. Ignoring the pain, Durg snapped onto his back and caught her by the ankle. Threw her hard into the far wall. He regained his feet just in time to counter her next attack. He now had his objective. He endured two punishing blows in order to close with her. He drove his heel down hard on her instep and speared her in the throat with his right elbow, while with his left hand he drew the ceremonial sword swinging in its scabbard at her side. He used her own momentum to send her stumbling past him, and he quickly ran to L'gura, knelt, and offered the sword and the back of his neck.

  "Malika, enough!"

  At that shouted command from her master, the woman skittered to a stop inches from Durg's unprotected back. The aching between his shoulder blades diminished to a mere itch.

  L'gura stood and threw the sword back to his Morakh. "It seems he is worth enough to let him live."

  "He is still a traitor and tainted," Malika replied.

  "But so interesting. A renegade Morakh who returns home in a stolen Ilkazam ship with an Ilkazam noble and an abomination in tow." L'gura resumed his seat. "If your story is intriguing enough, I'll let you live long enough to complete it."

  Durg omitted nothing. He told of his theft by a raiding Ilkazam party led by Prince Zabb. His years of service to House Ilkazam. The journey to Earth to evaluate the success of the Ilkazam Enhancer experiment. His secret command to locate and kill the heir to House Ilkazam, Prince Tisianne. His defeat at the hands of a woman touched by that Takisian Enhancer. His abandonment, and his years on Earth. How by the grace of the Ideal a powerful weapon had been delivered into his hands.

  "Two, in fact," Durg amended. "And I realized I had a coin valuable enough to buy my return to the House of my birth and blood."

  L'gura said nothing, just stroked his upper lip thoughtfully. Malika, having ascertained she would not interrupt her master, stepped in. "Why now? Why in all these long years did you decide that now was the moment?"

  "I wished to breed. I heard you were available."

  L'gura laughed at his Morakh's outraged expression. "Durg at' Morakh bo..." The Raiyis of House Vayawand raised his brows inquiringly.

  "Blaise," Durg supplied the name of his master.

  "...bo Blaise, you are a most unusual Morakh. Tainted, yes, but very interesting. Now, tell me of this coin, and why it is valuable to me."

  "Will it buy me back into my House?"

  "If it is valuable enough."

  "Is the heir to House Ilkazam worth anything to you?"

  L'gura leaned back in his chair. Spoke to the ceiling. "If you actually held Tisianne." He snapped suddenly forward and pinned Durg with a look. "But you do not. You possess a body animated by the mind of a mudcrawling girlchild."

  "True, but the Ilkazam won't know that."

  "And what happens when the real Prince Tisianne arrives and proves us all liars?"

  "He will not. The human mudcrawlers are primitive. Years ago they attained their moon, then lost their will and nerve for space travel. They have no ships capable of crossing the void. The only ship was Prince Tisianne's, and we have removed that means of escape."

  L'gura sighed. "I have no interest in gene money. I wish to defeat Ilkazam."

  "As do we. We are not proposing a kidnapping, a hostage situation. My master suggests that it might be more to your benefit if Tisianne brant T'sara seems to have willingly switched his allegiance."

  "It has never happened," Malika said.

  Durg shifted to look at her. "Then how much more impact this betrayal will cause."

  "No one will believe it," L'gura said.

  "They will. They will hear my young master speak, and he has the power of words."

  "Not enough to keep him alive. He is a half-breed horror."

  "Again, you are correct, but surely it is enough to keep him alive a few days?"

  "You're bargaining with me, Morakh. Are you sure you weren't stranded among the Network vacu instead of mudcrawlers?"

  "The question is... are you buying?"

  L'gura stared at Durg for a long, long time. Durg knew the man was regretting the genetic manipulations that had left the Morakh completely opaque to even the most powerful telepath. When you were certain of your pet's loyalty, it was not a problem. When you weren't

  Durg smiled inwardly but allowed no hint of his internal pleasure to show on his face.

  "Three days for your half-breed."

  "That should be enough for him to prove his usefulness."

  "There will be no reprieve," L'gura warned.

  "As you say, Most Bred."

  And Durg bowed his way out of the office.

  "We have little time," Durg said softly to Blaise.

  "Do it," Blaise ordered, and Kelly closed his eyes and contacted Baby.

  And the ship swallowed the Vayawand guard left on duty until the arrival of the House shuttle. Durg spared a moment to ponder the communication that had sprung up between the ship and the bogus Tachyon and regret it, but it was serving its purpose now, and soon Kelly would be separated from the other stolen female.

  "I've bought you three days, but don't trust it. Treachery is the great Takisian art form. They'll try to kill you before the deadline and take Kelly for themselves."

  "So I'll jump this L'gura guy --"

  "No! We save that."

  "So how the fuck do I convince this guy not to croak me?" Blaise paced a few nervous steps away, and back again. "I knew we shouldn't have come here."

  "You are an abortion, afterbirth, the most filthy thing they can imagine. Which means they will underestimate you. I will select the target and upon my command use your mind control. Strike when they are unaware. Kill them quickly."

  Durg had already selected the target -- Malika, the Morakh guard. Perhaps it was a quirk of Blaise's madness coupled with his freakish mind-control power, but the young man had found the key to a Morakh's mind. At their first encounter Durg had repelled the mental attack, but Blaise had come close to scratching the surface of that opaque mind. Months of practice had provided Blaise with the secret. Now all their lives depended upon whether the knack would translate from Morakh to Morakh.

  The boy's shrill objection pulled Durg back. "And then they'll kill me!"

  "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Are you brave enough to risk the roll of those dice?"

  The young man stared down into Durg's eyes. There was fear there, and Durg remembered Blaise was only sixteen. But House Tandeh had been founded by just such a "boy." Then that wild, fearsome smile touched Blaise's lips, and Durg felt something akin to a chill pass down his spine.

  "What the hell. I've always been lucky."

  "The greatest danger in Vayawand lies in the fact that the revolutionary energy of the masses will be dissipated in spurts, in isolated explosions. Our task as the
founders of the Committee of Action consists of unifying the masses and investing them with the greatest possible force. With that titanic power behind us we will sweep to power, not only in Vaya, but across the whole of the planet."

  The Most Bred and the Tarhiji (Kelly had discovered that meant the mind-blind bulk of the population) servants -- sat enthralled. Kelly stifled a yawn. One servant let out a small hiccup of sound, an aborted cheer. He was quickly shushed, but then Sekal leapt to his feet and lifted his wineglass to Blaise.

  "It is wonderful! It is... brilliant, it is... it is..."

  "But what does it mean?"

  It was a soft and languid voice, and it belonged to an extremely elderly, extremely precious nobleman by the name of Bat'tam. From the moment of their arrival he had been a constant visitor at their suite, but the attraction wasn't Blaise. In fact, this was the first time Bat'tam had ever addressed a word to the young man. No, Bat'tam came for Kelly -- or rather to lust after the flesh that Kelly currently inhabited. It made Kelly crazy

  Blaise stared down into Bat'tam's sagging, wrinkled face. "What does it mean?" the young man repeated softly. His purple black eyes swept the dinner table, and the now-silent nobles. "It means I shall make you the rulers of Vayawand... and the conquerors of Takis." And then he began to sing in a rich baritone.

  The sound drowned out Bat'tam's plaintive query of "How?"

  "Arise, ye prisoners of Vayawand! Arise, ye wretched of Takis, for justice thunders condemnation, a better world's in birth. No more tradition's chains shall bind us, arise, ye slaves; no more in thrall! Takis shall rise on new foundations, we have been naught, we shall be all!"

  The tune was stirring, the words simple. Several of the nobles, and a few of the Tarhiji servants, tried it out on the chorus. Durg slipped down the table refilling wineglasses. Bat'tam lifted his and then locked eyes with the Morakh.

  "I hope your master can fight as well as he can talk," Bat'tam said.

  Durg blinked slowly several times, then finally said, "He doesn't need to. This battle's already won."

  Chapter Nine

  A small avalanche of white gypsum sand heralded Mark's return.

  "No sign of the army." He slapped energetically at his pants legs, and sand hopped like terrified fleas from the material.

  "What a relief," Jay said. "I was sure worried that a bunch of jeeps and tanks and helicopters were gonna come sneaking up on us."

  Mark's face crumpled.

  "POPINJAY," boomed Turtle through the speakers set into his shell. "IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE AN ASSHOLE, WHY DON'T YOU JUST CLIMB BACK IN THAT RENTAL CAR AND LEAVE?"

  "Because I want to see the spaceship. And don't call me Popinjay, damn it."

  "They're metal. They're not beautiful like our ships," Tach murmured, speaking almost more to herself than her companions.

  Mark knelt and began rooting through the luggage. There wasn't much. While Jay had gone to rent a car Mark and Tach had bought a few changes of clothing in Alamogordo, New Mexico. Tach had also added a deck of cards and a traveling Scrabble set to her meager belongings. Mark and Tommy were so excited about this journey that Tach hadn't had the heart to tell them how stone-cold boring space travel could be.

  The snap of the latches was loud in the desert darkness. Flicking on a pocket flashlight, the tall ace once again surveyed his stash of powders.

  "They haven't changed since the last time you checked -- four hours ago," Jay said.

  Mark rocked back to squat on his heels. "I know. I just keep wishing I could have made more. I've got four of everybody. That's it."

  "Mark, we have pharmaceuticals on my planet," Tach reminded him.

  "Yeah, but it'll take time to get the proper chemical equivalents, and if things get hot, we may not have it." He shook his head and shut the case.

  "Well, let's just hope the Network baggage handlers didn't train at Tomlin International," Jay said. "Otherwise your dope is history."

  Mark grinned. "I think this qualifies as carryon."

  Tach was listening with perhaps half an ear to the humans' conversation. Mostly she scanned the explosion of light that was the Milky Way. A star dislodged itself from its fellows and began a slow arcing fall toward Earth.

  "There, Mr. Ackroyd, there's your spaceship."

  Jay frowned up the line of her arm. "Uh-uh, shooting star."

  "Spaceship."

  The star continued its descent. Jay gnawed at his lower lip. "Okay, airplane then."

  "JESUS, ACKROYD," Turtle said. "YOU SOUND LIKE A UFO DEBUNKER. IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE THERE'S GOING TO BE A SPACESHIP, WHY ARE WE ALL STANDING AROUND FREEZING OUR BUTTS IN THE DESERT?"

  "I don't know about you. Me, I'm getting two hundred bucks a day."

  Lifting her wrist, Tach checked the sweep hand on her watch. No, it wasn't an illusion; the pilot of the Network vessel was descending at terrifying speed. Then suddenly Turtle and Popinjay's bickering was drowned under the crash of an enormous sonic boom.

  "Holy shit," Jay breathed, and they all followed his gaze. "Twenty billion dollars spent on Star Wars, and they can't even detect that."

  A ship was slipping down a wash of moonlight. The shape was triangular, the regularity broken by a light-filled dome that topped the vessel -- a moonstone mounted in a silver setting. After the clarion announcement of its arrival, its landing was virtually soundless, but some braking force was in operation, for whirling dust devils of white gypsum sand went coiling and twining toward the ship like beckoning fingers. Gypsum flakes chattered hysterically against Turtle's metal sides, and Jay, Tach, and Mark covered their eyes and gave their backs to the stinging sandstorm.

  The ship settled, three great landing pylons sinking with a crunch into the sand. It was the first sound directly attributable to the arrival of the alien vessel, and Tachyon noticed that even the desert night birds remained undisturbed. Their fitful cheeping still pierced the darkness. Suddenly a large spot sprang to blinding life and pinned the foursome like bugs on a needle of light.

  "Are you sure Blaise is headed for Takis?" asked Jay softly.

  "It seems the most likely guess," Tach answered.

  "I'd hate to be climbing aboard that thing for a guess."

  "THEN I GUESS ITS A GOOD THING YOU'RE NOT COMING," Turtle boomed through his speakers.

  Tach was eyeballing the ship, trying to estimate its interior capacity. The answers she was coming up with weren't very encouraging. The sleek little flying pie wedge was fast, but it was small. Obviously only a scout ship. Turtle seemed to suddenly bulk much larger beside her.

  A ramp extruded tonguelike from the side of the ship, the motion accompanied by a soft humming. It dropped with a soft thud onto the sand, and they heard the sound of boot heels rapping metallically in the night. The bird song cut off abruptly. At her side Tach heard Mark draw in a sharp breath and hold it.

  They're about to see an alien, she thought. Naturally they're frightened.

  The Network contact reached the base of the ramp. It was still in the shadow of the ship, so Tachyon couldn't determine the species. It stepped forward, and moonlight lit the tips of the white blond hair, seemed to etch the tipped-up gray eyes with kohl. It smiled down at her.

  Darkness crashed over Tachyon like a wave.

  Chapter Ten

  "Shit, what the fuck's wrong now?" were the dulcet words Tachyon heard when she regained consciousness.

  Mark was patting first her hands, then her cheek, then going back to her hands. Her head was propped in Jay's lap. She knew because the smell of cheap aftershave was overwhelming.

  "I always have this devastating effect on women," drawled a new, yet horribly familiar voice.

  The accent was light, lilting, rather like a Rumanian crossed with a Swede. Tachyon talked the same way -- when she remembered to affect the accent. Only one other race would speak English with that particular cadence. Tach opened one eye, risked another glance. No, nothing had changed. It was still a Takisian. It was still her wicked cousin Zabb.
/>   "JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP," Turtle growled.

  Zabb turned his attention to the looming bulk of the Turtle shell. It was a long three seconds as he carefully scanned the armored surface. "Don't tell me you built another one of these ugly horrors? And I gave you such a perfect opportunity for a redesign."

  Five years before, a ship from House Ilkazam had rather belatedly returned to Earth to evaluate the results of its botched experiment. Of lesser priority was to determine the fate and the whereabouts of the heir to the House. Zabb had captained that ship, and he'd been searching for Tachyon in order to kill him. In that effort he was foiled by Tom Tudbury, but he had managed to jettison Tommy's shell during the fracas. Tommy obviously hadn't forgotten. He lifted a few feet off the ground, and Tach shrilled out, "Get me up! And Turtle, calm down."

  "Yes, mushroom, sit!" Zabb ordered, and then laughed.

  With Mark's supporting hand beneath her elbow, she started to struggle to her feet, only to have a pair of finely manicured hands close about her waist, swing her up, and set her lightly on her feet.

  The touch of his telepathy was glass sharp, as cold as icicles. Tachyon looked up into the beautiful, laughing face of her cousin.

  My, how you've changed, purred her tormentor.

  Tachyon slammed up her primitive shields, more to shut off the sound of his mental laughter than any desire to protect her mind's secrets. Zabb lifted her hand, dropped gracefully to one knee before her, and lifted his face expectantly. Angrily she snatched back her hand.

  No!

  Because I've been such a bad boy? Zabb asked blandly, as he climbed to his feet.

  Because you dishonor me. Greet me properly.

  I take reality as I find it. You can't really expect me to salute you man to man?

  You know what I am.

  I know who you are. What you are is rather evident for the stars to see.