Episode IV

by J. Kel

A sequel to "Children of Auron"

Hegel says somewhere that all great events and personalities in world

-- Karl Marx

"We are not alone"

Jenna Stannis intended the statement as an affirmation. She made the observation dryly, implying a summary conclusion to a long list of

non-arguable facts. Yet the tone of frustration persisted. Her Auron friend, "Li", had to know more than she was telling. How typical of an Auron! From the moment the lifecraft began orbiting the blue-bronze planet of "New Auron" -- which is what Li called it (though it had been officially cataloged as "Kaarn" after the name of its almost forgotten discoverer of centuries before), her friend had been measuring out observations with the maddening deliberateness of water torture. Li claimed she had forgotten almost all that had happened recently, but Jenna could not help doubting that. What else is being withheld?

And who was "Li"?

Jenna had been scanning the planetary surface for hours. She always

strove to be cautious, to overcome her natural impetuosity, and her misgivings about Li's assurances gave her an added incentive. She was

going to be as certain as possible about what awaited them (as if we have

any choice in the matter). They had time.

Did "Li" think the same?

Yet despite Jenna's reservations, all planetary parameters, displayed

and inferred on the monitors, were within tolerable limits. Below was an

environment capable of sustaining human, or at least human equivalent, life. She could live with the read-outs being a little too different, a little too "off". They all could.

So Jenna Stannis, space rebel extraordinaire and survivor for so many years, nursed and cursed her hesitancy. If "Li" were correct, whoever was down there should be friendly. They were Aurons after all: two adults, and several thousand -- God-help-us -- preteens.

So why aren't they responding to my calls?

She turned to Li and said, trying to restrain her irritation: "But you already know that, don't you?"

Li, floating slightly above an acceleration couch, was a gnawing mystery. How Jenna wanted to accept what had happened and move on, but it was all preposterous. "Li" had informed her that she was now, in fact, two persons: an "amalgamation" of the long-thought-dead Cally and her sister,

Molli. And the two remained separate beings -- though for how much longer was an open question. Jenna didn't believe a word of it, but was in no mind to dispute her. Should I hold my breath until the truth is forthcoming?

It was the supposed Cally part of Li who had been keeping up a running commentary on the history of Kaarn: beginning with the terrible event of ten years before when Cally, Avon, and the others (Jenna was elsewhere at the time) had saved all that was left of Auron after the planet had been annihilated. She was familiar with the story, but up until now had only heard it third hand. She never dreamed she would hear it from her former comrade Cally, a woman supposedly as dead as her home planet.

Even under ideal conditions it would have been too much to absorb and

conditions of late were far from ideal. There did remain the threads of a bond between her and Cally, but it was not going to be an easy matter to renew it. There was also a bond with Molli and it had nearly snapped. Before Jenna stretched a barren landscape of emotion: scarred, eroded, sterile of hope or sense. So she stuck determinedly to the business at hand, while Li watched like an attentive stranger. (If you are part Cally, you should know exactly what I am doing. So why are you so curious?).

Every so often, Jenna or "Li" or both, would glance over to the fitfully sleeping third member of the crew: the sedated Mykal. He was recovering from a blow to the jaw administered by Avon. He would be awake for a time, seemingly absorbing what was being said and done in full consciousness, then be back sound asleep the next time they looked. I hope he's taking notes, she thought.

"Yes, of course," said Li, without elaboration.

Jenna looked at her sharply. (Damn their air of superiority. They never abandon it, but what did it ever get them?) She turned away abruptly.

The lifecraft passed over the settlement every hour and a half -- this

was their eighth pass -- while Jenna struggled to get a feel for the place, a sense of what awaited them. The settlement was on the shore of a northern sea, on the west coast of either particularly misshapen continent or a very large island depending on your point of view.

The location seemed adequate. There was a strong ocean current flowing fast by a sickle of shore, a spit that arched out from the settlement. The current brought warmth from the lower latitudes and considerable rain -- yet it was an ocean without fish, apparently without anything above plankton on the scale of life, unless it was so far deep in the ocean it was impossible to detect from orbit. The atmosphere over the continent was

crystal clear -- but there were no birds in that air. The soil around the

settlement was tan brown (there was evidence of considerable erosion) --

but no animals on the land. Nothing apparently had evolved past blue-green

algae -- except where there was grass, more a kind of wheat actually, which

was of distinctly Auron origin. There were also trees, at least around the

settlement. Well, they seemed to be trees. The sensors were decidedly unsure on that point.

According to her scans, the settlement was no crude affair: no haphazard collection of drafty huts and creaking ox carts. It was large: a count showed over a hundred buildings (of such straightforward design and exteriors that most she presumed had to be dormitories for the thousands of children.) It was quite sophisticated, with installations that looked like power plants and even a communications center judging from the various antennae. But there were no transmissions and despite her repeated attempts to raise them, the inhabitants of Kaarn did not respond.

Why? These people had fled the Federation. They were the last hope

In fact, the whole scene was disquietingly tranquil. And speaking of indifference to concealment, there was even a very unusual building -- was it a house? -- apparently shaped, judging from its morning shadow, like a large cone, its whorls curving inward and upward in the manner of a logarithmic spiral. It must look very like an enormous seashell on the ground. And it was smack on the shore, blatantly conspicuous. Who had separated from the others in and why in so spectacular a fashion?

Well, taking the question from the opposite point of view, if it were a

Federation trap, it was the most elaborate she had ever encountered. But a

trap would enable her to fit it into her knowledge and experience quite

comfortably. This settlement refused to give such comfort.

What had Li, or the Cally part of Li, told her of the flight from ruined Auron? Just two Aurons aboard the Liberator had carried the future hope of their planet . . . in a couple of medium size rectangular ceramic cases. From that modest and pathetic beginning, they had somehow created this: a thriving complex of several thousand on a planet that was acceptable but far from ideal to humanoid life. Because Jenna did not understand how that could be possible, as a matter of course she deduced there must be danger. (How great a danger? Can I trust you to tell me? Or do even you know, my friend(s)?)

She recalled with irritation an Auron proverb. They're always so smug

about how different they are from us. But one can be both mistaken and

betrayed. What could be more obvious than that?

She felt her two guns press against her but their mass did not give reassurance.

She would delay no longer. Dawn was coming to the settlement. Jenna

made her decision: they were going in. I could ask their opinion or give them a long explanation but in either case why labor the obvious? Like it or not, I am in charge.

It was momentarily amusing to her. What shall I call them, my new band of valiant rebels, free to fight again -- thanks to Servalan's recent coup

was a name to cast fear into the dark heart of the Federation, wherever in the galaxy it might rear it's ugly presence. Jenna's Two. She attempted a

smile, but it would not come.

She would inform Li of her decision (Mykal was snoring again and she

saw no point in awakening him). She programmed the lifecraft for the retro-burst and said as if making a routine announcement, "The planet looks

safe enough. We'll land a couple of kilometers east of the settlement, where there is a plain. It' s uneven, highly eroded, but tolerable. Descent will take under an hour," she said as she studied her companion. "Unless there are objections."

"No," said Li.

Don't overwhelm me with encouragement. Jenna initiated the countdown sequence. She lay back in the acceleration couch, trying to relax. There was flash of searing light in the view ports and a nudge to the lifecraft. The descent to "New Auron" had begun.

Clinician Franton had waited for this moment since first arriving on Kaarn nearly a decade before -- that long? -- the streak across the sky that would mean an end to their exile. She had been alerted to the orbiting craft by the robot sensors hours before and both she and Pater were now watching its orbit: she, from her make shift control room in the "infirmary"; he from his house on the spit. It was the first time they had spoken to one another in months.

As she expected, he had insisted there be no response to the calls from the orbiting craft. She had concurred, but reluctantly. Of course, it was best to be cautious, though how one could hide a settlement this size from orbiting surveillance was beyond her. And she could sympathize with, but not share, Pater's suspicions of humanity. As Aurons they wanted peace, and that had never been a gift from their human brothers. But even in that there was disagreement. To her peace meant the avoidance of conflict. To Pater, it meant the destruction of all opposition.

Did she fear him? Perhaps more than she wanted to admit, though it was a fear difficult to define or isolate. Most of the time, she was far too busy to dwell on it. One thought of fear as being bred by the unknown, yet she had had ample opportunity to watch her fellow exile over the years, to know him quite well. She was worried about him. Not only his shocking change in appearance over the years (it seemed he was still losing weight), but also his isolation from her and the children.

And she had been yielding authority to him. The struggle had been wearing at her, like a silent relentless flow of water cascading over a rock. She had fought back, but finally her strength was succumbing, her will eroding. She told herself it was for the children. The children were always her primary concern. Pater's distance from them was for the better.

But in the midst of this possibly wonderful news, they had to stand together. If only she could shake her worries . . .

On the monitor there was a brief, intense flash. The instrument readings showed the craft that had been orbiting overhead was coming in. It had been barely visible at this range; when the sunlight reflected off it, it was no more than a speck in space. She showed Pater the image, but he indicated no interest. It had apparently been enough of a burden to him to endure her excitement over the end of their long exile. This event, she realized sadly, was serving only to drive them further apart.

It had not been that way at first. They had stood together in the early days, during special occasions like the children's mass birthday celebrations. But then abruptly he quit attending them. It seemed everything he did of late was abrupt. He had been quite a help in the early days, like the fine job he had done in programming the "Herbert"s, and she was grateful for it. But when he built the house, the "shell house" as she called it, the distance between them became almost unbridgeable.

As neutral as possible, she said, "The sensors confirm it is quite small, though it may be coming from a larger ship we cannot detect -- that seems unlikely . . ." her voice trailed off.

"Whatever it is, it is unwelcome," he said forcefully, as if that were the only fact of importance. His face glowered at her, his eyes angry. "Inform whoever is aboard that they must leave at once. The children must not know of this."

She was shocked. "Pater, that is hardly possible! Be reasonable. These people may need help. Suppose there are injuries or illness? I will not deny them care."

She studied the monitor, enlarging the object as much as possible as it descended. She tried not to look at him. "If it is a lifecraft, they may not be able to leave here in any event." And if it is Federation . . .

He interrupted, "It is a lifecraft," he said flatly. He had been a traffic controller, so he knew. "And that fact makes no difference. Isolate them like the contagion they are." Then he suddenly looked weary, as if some point of hers would not leave him in peace. "I grant if they need help we will have to do something, but I wish you would acknowledge the danger."

"I acknowledge the possibility, but nothing else until there is evidence." She would not back down.

"By then it will certainly be too late."

She knew there was no point in arguing. Pater had his own version of reality, and like his fortress of a house, it was impermeable to whatever ocean of reason surrounded it. She wondered fleetingly if these others would be able to reach him, but knew the answer at once. He hated them not for what they might do, but for what they were.

She would say nothing more. Let him struggle with himself. She would

not contribute to it.

"It is truly extraordinary," he said, almost musing and the tone of the

remark startled her. It was like glimpsing a stranger resembling a man long thought dead. He seldom offered anything in the way of an observation; had not done so for years, not since his "revelation".

"What do you mean 'extraordinary'?" she asked cautiously.

"The odds of course. It must be trillions to one that a ship would become disabled just in our vicinity. One would have to think that there was a plan to it, yet surely the Federation could find a more direct means of announcing its presence."

Which was her point exactly. Whoever was descending towards the

settlement was almost certainly not of the Federation. So who could it be?

And for a moment she hoped it would be something truly miraculous. She

remembered the brave people of the Liberator, Cally most of all. Were any

still alive? She wanted desperately to know, but Pater had shut off all

communications from the outside . . . after the awful business on some far

off planet called "Gauda Prime".

(The whole Galaxy had carried on about it, but he could not accept it.

He simply closed the communication center that day and refused to discuss

the matter again. She objected strongly, though she felt his grief, if that is what it was. In the end she acquiesced.)

That was the true beginning of our estrangement, not the house.

Hope! It was like moving a massive weight from one's body when over

the years limbs had grown weak and limp. She was exhausted and straining,

but not even Pater would be permitted to take away the joy of this event. She was ready. Let them come.

"They will want to see you, and the children," she said firmly. "And they will have questions about . . . how we accomplished what we did. What

shall I tell them?"

"Nothing. Put them off. I will program the Herberts to prevent them from entering the settlement. The rest I leave to you." He stared at her. "You know the dangers. Keep them away from me. Keep them ignorant."

Then he said, just before breaking the connection, "For all our sakes."

"Report!"

The officer's face appeared on the monitor almost as if in rushed

anticipation of her command. That struck Servalan at once. Her people were anxious, ready, now that war was being pressed. Not that it was much

of a war at the moment. Just more enemies to be herded into the camps (dreary business that). Insurrections and guerrilla attacks, quite fierce at times, to be dealt with. And there was the continuing trouble from the Auronar: far too many were in hiding or resisting.

It made perfect sense to blame on Avon, but it had to be done discretely. It could not be obvious; his name and legend were still powerful. Even if he were dead, which she thought impossible, his memory alone would serve to inspire political criminals. She would have to deal very harshly with him when she caught him; when she found him. When he returned.

There was also Lindor. One never knew who ones allies might be, but

surely Lindor would never be among them. Their president didn't just recall their ambassador at the latest developments. No, he closed the entire embassy! It was galling. Sarkoff had thereby promoted himself from a nuisance to a full-fledged irritant. Now, as if that provocation were not enough, he had ordered all trade between Lindor and the Federation suspended. It was an unheard of act of defiance. An intolerable provocation. War was indeed coming, for war to Servalan meant only the question of where to strike next.

Lindor and its allies as targets were becoming a definite possibility.

Stern measures were required, but she was not quite ready to implement them. She needed to exercise care now that she was back in the thick of it. The timing and aim of an attack had to be perfect, the results swift and sure, or the disturbances would become even worse. She must be

methodical; planning and more planning; each step deliberate. Then it would all fall into place and the real business could begin.

Her people were waiting on her. She must not disappoint them.

Even ORAC, left behind on Earth but with whom she was in constant

contact, seemed to be anticipating the drop of her other shoe. In a way,

her computer counselor seemed almost "appreciative" of the new, more active, Servalan -- though admittedly she was never sure of how to assign

emotional states to the thing, if such were even possible. Well, it did seem

slightly less insolent of late.

She had to find Avon. And "New Auron".

They could be on different ends of the galaxy for all she or anyone knew. But a "hunch", she smiled, glorious feeling that it was, told her that if she found one, the location of the other would become obvious. ORAC understood and agreed. If only all my people were like you.

"We have now entered the prime search cone," the officer stated -- the "cone" being the volume of most probable location, given the calculated

Black Shield escape modes (a colossal amount of computational work had gone into that one!) that could have been used by Avon and his fellow

fugitives. Everyone agreed that the ship itself could not have survived. It was by lifecraft then that they had ejected and escaped.

" . . . based on the volume of the search area, the number of planetary

systems involved, and assuming each ship of the Combined Fleet is capable

of searching . . ." he droned on. God, what a bore! But she forced herself to listen regardless. She had to know all the facts and all the assumptions at each stage of the operation, the most expansive (and expensive) space search in history. She would overlook nothing; leave nothing to chance. No one would be spared.

" . . . and based on the above factors, it appears that the most likely

search time, unless one assumes," he almost seemed to be clearing his

throat, "extremely fortunate circumstances, would not be less than . . . " and there he halted like he had stepped into quicksand.

"Yes?" she drawled with only a hint of impatience.

"Madam President, uh, well, ten thousand years." He waited for the

explosion.

But it did not come. No one said this was going to be easy! The sheer magnitude of the numbers presented such a barrier to success, that it actually made her feel rather good. What a delightful challenge! In truth, she had expected the figures to be even worse. But it was clear that the present search "cone" was far too large. Even the search for New Auron alone might require months, and ORAC did have an idea where that might be.

She had an inspiration. She had the Combined Fleet, did she not? Why

not "combine" the objectives? My, what a brilliant idea! There was no stopping her now!

"Tell me," she asked idly, as if toying with the officer, "out of mere

curiosity, what inhabited systems exist in the full search cone?"

"Several, Supreme Commander. They range from Lindor at the nearest to . . ."

"Enough!" That was it! "Did you say Lindor?" The officer nodded,

terrified, as if he had committed an inexcusable breach of manners. "We

have been monitoring Lindor, I presume," she asked ominously.

"Naturally, Supreme Commander. Surveillance of Lindor has never

slacked since . . ."

She silenced him. "Good! And there are no indications of anything

unusual taking place there as we speak?"

She trusted him to know what she meant. But in truth there were so many variables. Lindor was a large system. The volume of trade and traffic in and out of it was enormous. And Sarkoff could certainly not be trusted now to keep her informed. He had always been too close to the Auronar; his revolting daughter was even married to a prominent Auron. "None, as far as is known," the officer replied slowly.

She scowled. She suspected the man either knew less than he should or more than he was telling. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Dismissed!" she snapped. He saluted sharply and vanished in the

monitor.

In the old days, she had always been in the thick of command. How she

loved being on the bridge! Now, even in the depths of space, surrounded by

thousands of ships, she wondered if she had gained anything from no longer

being bound to Earth. Physically, she was nowhere and everywhere. (She

meant that literally: with teleport capability, no one could be sure on which of the ships she might be on at any given moment.) Mentally, her frustration and feelings of impotence were unresolved.

She entered the code for the direct link to Earth. Time for another chat. "ORAC," she said, organizing her thoughts, "I have just had a most

distressing report. You no doubt recall our discussion of the escape of Avon and his friends from the Black Shield using the so-called 'Penrose Process' . . ."

#It is the only possible means of escape, using the rotational energy

of the ergosphere . . .#

"Yes, yes, of course, you have persuaded me, now please don't be dull."

Some things never change.

#Then what is the point of the question?#

She frowned. "Well, the point is this: is it possible to control a ship under the given circumstances so as to eject from the 'ergosphere' at a

precise vector," she heard her voice rising, "so as to intercept a target

planet, say several hundred lightyears distant?"

For once ORAC seemed stymied in silence.

"Well?!" she demanded.

#It is possible,# the device said, finally.

She was radiant. "Could you do it?"

Again a pause. #No,# it admittedly sullenly. #Not in the time allotted. It would take computational capacity far in excess of my own or anything I could access.#

She was triumphant. "But there is an entity that possesses that power does it not?! Of that we are certain. That disgusting thing in contact

with Molli. That thing on Terminal!" she clapped her open palms.

#That is correct.#

"Thank you. What would I ever do without you?" She broke the

connection. Things were falling into place. It wasn't a proof, but her "intuition" had never failed her and now she felt it was wrapped around her with iron bands of certainty. It must be. Terminal, the thing, whatever it was that resided there, had aided and directed their escape. A solid clue, but where did it lead?

She summoned the 3-D map of both ORAC's search projections: for New Auron and Avon. The first search cone was contained snugly within the second. And there was Lindor, just a few hundred lightyears beyond the overlap. If she restricted the search to that narrow intersection, and if another of her "hunches" was correct (had they ever failed her?), things might be speeded up considerably. Only a few thousand stars to comb and then she would bag both her quarries.

She summoned the Space Commander. "There has been a change of plan, Space Commander. Call it my intuition, if you will. I will download the

coordinates following this conversation. You will search the defined volume of space exclusively using every ship of the Combined Fleet."

"Understood, Supreme Commander. May I ask what has prompted the

change?" Other than time, of course, but he would not have been surprised

if she had pursued the original search pattern until they all died from exhaustion.

"Oh, as I say, something like a hunch," she said gently, a knife-edge to her voice. "Nothing more than that."

The drogue chute opened first. Jenna saw a white mass out the view port billow and open with a tremendous snap. The lifecraft buffeted. She checked the altimeter. Ten kilometers up, falling fast, but decelerating.

Let's hope they tested the shocks. Landing was going to be scary. She had never landed in anything like a lifecraft except in simulations. She saw an awakened Mykal move groggily like he was starting to unstrap and motioned him roughly to lie back. Li looked tense. They were now sweeping over the sea, a blue plane seared by morning fire. Jenna felt a brief panic. We're coming in too fast. We're going to hit the water. But their course according to the instruments was nominal. She saw with relief the shoreline flash past, the strange house, and then -- they were right over the settlement and the things that looked like trees thrust up to the view ports. The clearing was ahead. Ground and vegetation rushed up. She closed her eyes and with a jolt they landed. The craft tilted, then held steady. And may we never have to ride in this thing again.

Jenna was the first to unstrap, then "Li". Both helped Mykal and supported him as they moved to the hatch. Jenna touched a panel and the

hatch groaned open to reveal a dark blue sky. Things were askew, however

-- the lifecraft was pitched a good 30 degrees. She offered to help Mykal

down but he shook his head. Both then jumped, landing on sandy soil. Jenna looked around, saw the chute flapping away like a cartoon ghost. Mykal turned to help Li exiting behind them. "Molli," he said. "Please call me Li," she replied and quickly looked away as she landed beside them. He looked at her bewildered.

They were out a couple of minutes before they noticed, at the top of

the rise, a human figure.

Jenna motioned to Li. "Could that be Franton?"

"Yes," said Li. (//It's her.//)

"Can you telesend to her? She might get nervous seeing someone in a

Federation uniform."

Li nodded. "I'll try, but telesending will be difficult until integration is complete."

Mykal looked at her curiously. "What do you mean, Molli?"

"Li!" she snapped. (//Cally!// //Sorry.//)

When are you going to tell him? thought Jenna.

Mykal looked hurt. "Glad you're feeling better." He was thinking: Frankly, I preferred her when she was unconscious.

Jenna said to both of them, "Please."

Li telesent the greeting and a shout returned: "Cally!"

(//Close enough.// //Agreed. Half-right.//)

The woman ran forward, nearly tripped twice, and was out of breath by

the time she reached them. "This is astonishing," she gasped. "Of all people, Cally!" She embraced Li. "I thought this," she gestured to the lifecraft, "portended something extraordinary. Was I ever right!" For a few moments everyone looked embarrassed.

"And you must be," Franton said to Jenna, then stopped. "I'm sorry, I

have absolutely no idea who you are."

Jenna kept her irritation in check -- You would know if you had answered my calls -- and managed to sound almost friendly in her response. "Jenna Stannis. A friend," she stressed the word as she held out her hand. "Ignore the uniform. I got it second hand."

Franton shook her hand while frantically trying to remember. "Another

of Blake's people! But you were reported dead or missing after . . ."

Jenna stopped her. "It's a long story. Let's just say that my MIA

status has been upgraded." She looked at Mykal, then Li. "Do you have medical facilities here? My companions, this is Mykal by the way, have had a rough time of late." She looked pointedly at Li, then handed Franton the memory cube with Li's recent medical history.

Franton looked at all three curiously. "Yes, of course. We have an excellent infirmary. Follow me. But be careful," she said, indicated the ground, "we have quite an erosion problem around here," she said as they

began walking. "It's one of the reasons we introduced Auron grasses. The

planet has nothing like them; they take over everything," she sighed. "It

makes a bit more like home and it does help . . ."

Jenna didn't respond. She was trying to think their situation through. If what Li said is correct, these people have no ship at all. "I'm sure we all have a lot of questions," said Jenna, "Are you in charge?"

Franton paused, uncertain as to how to answer. She said casually, "We can discuss the administration of the settlement later. It's not that important." She said directly to Jenna, "I regret not responding to your call. We have to be cautious. Anyway, you must all be tired and hungry," Franton added cheerfully.

Mykal was tired and hungry but he was not going to appear weak. Rather stiffly he said, "I won't be needing medical attention, but we will need a place to stay." He glanced back at the lifecraft. "I don't think any of

us want to sleep in there." Looking at Jenna, he said "I am feeling better. Amazing what a full rest period will do . . ." But he did not complete his statement.

For the first time he noticed the trees. They lined the path to the

settlement, stretched to the west and south in perfect rows as far as he

could see in the morning light. He had never seen anything like them. Dozens of meters in height, each seemed identical to the others. The branches, bearing what looked like fruit or pods, shown in the morning light like they had been polished. Each bore huge black leaves that seemed as delicate as feathers, all following in unison, like some vast sylvan ballet, the rising sun.

For once, Mykal forgot his stomach. "These trees," he said, gesturing around him. "Their precision and regularity . . . they almost seem like they were mass produced. Are they native to the planet?"

In the faint light, Jenna saw that Franton looked uneasy. "No," she answered carefully.

Franton picked up the pace, avoiding looking at the trees. "It's very chilly this morning. I'm certain that's something we can all agree on. We can talk about the trees some other time."

Except for Franton's office and living quarters, the "infirmary" was

unoccupied. She explained there were injuries among the children -- how

could it be otherwise? -- but in practice the building was hardly used. Since it had several rooms, a kitchen, and storage areas, it would be an ideal place for the "visitors" (she had trouble with the word) to stay. Naturally, they were welcome to do so, she assured them.

It was the Cally part of Li that gave Franton her immediate problem. She wanted to speak with Pater, insisted on it in fact. Franton's efforts to move the conversation elsewhere did not work. Finally, Franton assumed an air of "very well, but you won't like it" and led the three before a large monitor in her office. There they sat, except for Mykal who stood behind them. Franton entered a few keystrokes and the visage of Pater suddenly appeared. He filled the monitor, eyes and mouth and little else, as if his face were pressed against the glass. It was as if he were, Franton thought, desperately trying to get out.

Even with Pater, Jenna noted, Franton had that eager to please demeanor of someone who was anxious but trying very hard not to show it. It was beginning to annoy her.

"Pater," Franton said quietly, "I apologize for disturbing you again. I know what you said, but look who are our visitors!"

Li leaned forward (//Let me handle this.// "Pater," she said, "do you remember me? It's good to see you again."

Pater just stared at her. Jenna shook her head slowly. Mykal looked

more puzzled. After several awkward moments, Pater finally responded. "Hello, Cally. This is a surprise." From the way he said it, it was the kind of delightful surprise you experience when you look inside your shoe and find a large, gaping hole.

She nodded slowly, drawing back. Franton continued to have a forced

smile. Jenna and Mykal looked at each other and frowned.

"Perhaps you had best introduce the others. We haven't all day," said

a resigned Pater.

"Of course," replied Franton. "Beside me is Jenna Stannis." Franton

positively beamed now, "a former member, like Cally, of Blake's rebels. And behind me is Mykal . . . I'm sorry, but I didn't get your last name."

"Hodos."

Now Franton was beside herself. "Hodos! One of the great families of Auron. Isn't this wonderful, Pater!" She looked at Pater for confirmation.

And did not find it. Pater got right to the point. "It is crucial that you three understand you cannot stay. While I acknowledge the difficulty of your position . . . "

"We're not in any position . . ." Mykal snapped.

Jenna shot a glance at Mykal and took over. "The lifecraft cannot take

off. The anti-matter drive would devastate the area. Even if we could make it to another planet in this system, none appear suitable for human life. In the traditions of space law, we ask for refuge," she added, "from the Federation."

Pater looked knowing and superior. "So you are still on the run, after

all these years? Why do I find that hard to believe? What could possibly be left, and who could care, of the fabled seven -- thanks to Avon?"

"You will have to ask him. Look, can we use your communications building?" Jenna asked.

"Absolutely not! It is forbidden." Pater snapped.

This was too much for Mykal, who already looked upon himself as a

battle hardened veteran. Despite the blow to the jaw, Mykal's respect for Avon was only slightly diminished.

"Nor do I think you would want the Federation here to confirm our

story!" Mykal angrily responded.

"Ah, another warrior Auron. In Blake's image, no doubt. You will have

to forgive us, we have been out of touch with recent history. Perhaps you

regret having recently fled a battle. Do you look forward to fighting another day?" he sneered.

Mykal had an amusing reply, but Jenna's expression told him to keep it

to himself. But before she could speak it was Li who rose to the occasion.

(//This guy makes Avon look congenial. I thought you said he was our

friend?// //He was.//)

She stood and said, "Both Mykal and Jenna have saved my life, Pater. In Jenna's case, several times. This settlement was made possible because of the efforts of myself and Blake's people; that includes Avon. There is no reason to insult them. We regret troubling you, but a request for refuge is within reason. Neither I, nor my companions, wishes to debate the matter."

Pater seemed slightly mollified. "I am asking only that you grant the

delicacy of our position and our desire to avoid any," he sought the word,

"entanglements."

"Excuse me," said Jenna, startled. "Then you don't know what is

happening?"

"Nor do I care."

"Pater!" demanded Franton, "these people are our responsibility."

"The children are our responsibility!" Pater shot back. "I have nothing further to say. You three can stay for now, but you will have to leave soon. How and where is your problem."

Franton was resigned. "Very well, Pater. We can talk about this later."

Pater was silent, his face a mixture of fear and disgust impossible to

untangle. Then he disconnected, the monitor a snowstorm of gray and black.

"I apologize," Franton gestured helplessly. "There is no excuse for him being like that. Much has happened since we fled Auron. I'm afraid," Franton said, again uncertain how to put it and worried the visitors already were too suspicious, "Pater has changed."

After Li left with Franton for the medical examination, Jenna walked

outside with Mykal. It was early morning, the color of the sky the azure of a seashell. There were sounds stirring, like singing Jenna thought, in the settlement. And despite a light mist both could see robots flitting about the campus buildings, as if in a parody of humans trying to keep warm.

Neither Mykal nor Jenna was eager to speak, but both sensed that there was something terribly off about this place. And both were put out with themselves. Jenna told herself she had been impetuous. It was a reproach almost as bad as "sentimentality". And who does that remind me of?

For his part, Mykal was ashamed. He had let his temper get the better

of him. Again.

He is new to this sort of thing. He will learn, will have to learn, and quickly. Jenna took a deep breath and tried to relax. I need someone I can count on and you don't kick a kitten. "Mykal" she began, "I've been thinking that my life was a lot easier when I was 'dead'. But since there is no going back, at least for now, I need all the help I can get." She put a finger firmly on his shoulder, "Can I count on you to perform an assignment for me?"

"Of course," he said brightly, glad to be let off so easy, but his elation died almost at once. To perform a mission for Jenna! He would do it! But he dreaded the thought of disappointing her. How could he possibly live up to the expectations of one of Blake's chosen?

"I want you to do some detective work while I try to find out what is

happening out there," she withdrew her finger and glanced up.

"You mean Avon?"

Damn! "Mykal, forget Avon. What he and I did, or tried to do years ago, no longer matters. It's not that I cannot forgive him -- I can imagine falling to so low a state," she sighed, "the point is we cannot trust him. My concerns at the moment are much more immediate -- like this place and these two (she almost said "Aurons"). What's your impression?"

"You mean the whole set up?"

"Yes. Why is Pater so eager for us to leave?"

Mykal didn't know how to respond to that. He was still fuming at the

man, but he didn't consider him a threat. He imagined for the moment the

three of them moving to the other side of the planet, but somehow he didn't

think that would satisfy Pater. And what of "Bratworld", planet of 5000 preteens? And the trees. It was all very strange . . .

He said, "Something dangerous is being hidden." He hoped Jenna would

not ask him to elaborate.

"I agree," she said. "Find out what that 'something' is."

Mykal nodded slowly, proudly.

"And that means keeping your cool," she said sharply. "The last thing we need now is to antagonize anyone, no matter how . . . severe the

provocation."

"Understood," he agreed. "It won't happen again."

"Good. Now here's what I want you to do. On my former planet, which

as you know is a haven for smugglers, we had a technique used to detect

intruders when sophisticated devices were unavailable. We would take a knife and stick the blade into the ground. Then we would hold an ear to it

and listen. Crude, but it's remarkable how effective it can be. I want you to stick a knife into the ground and listen," she gestured in the direction of the settlement. "Just listen. Report back when you know what they are hiding. Got it?"

"Yes!"

"Only when you are certain, report to me. Until then I am going to be

busy."

It was sobering to be out on one's own. That made him remember. "You and Molli? I'm worried about her."

"You mean 'Li'." This was not going to be easy. "No, just me. Mykal,

something has happened to Molli. I'm not sure what, but when I told you she hadn't quite been herself, I wasn't joking. She is not quite the same person. Don't press her. It is possible she is indeed part Cally. (Who knows with Aurons!) It is also possible she just thinks she is part Cally. Don't play psychiatrist to her. Let her sort it out; eventually, maybe quickly, she will be able to talk with you about it. Catch my drift?" He seemed to be taking it well. "As for myself, I would like to use that," she pointed to the building with the antennae, "but since it is not 'permitted', I will have to make do with the lifecraft's equipment. That's where I'll be."

Mykal looked confused. "I still don't understand. Doing what?"

"Trying to determine how much time we have before the Federation finds us."

He groaned. "Do you think that is likely? I mean, they haven't found

this planet in ten years."

"I doubt they were looking that hard and while I don't understand why,

apparently Avon never told them where to find it. But now they have a very

strong incentive. The mere fact that this place exists makes it a threat to Servalan. Believe me, I know how my life works: they will find this place. And soon. So as a member of 'Jenna's Two'," she tried to smile, but it came out a grimace, "I'm also counting on you to find a way to get us out of here."

Is that all? Mykal acknowledged the gravity of the problem, his concern for Molli momentarily receding. "'Jenna's Two'. I like that. The Federation will cringe in terror at the sound of it," he said laconically.

Jenna did not respond. "Cringe" was certainly the correct way to put

it, though as a result of terror seemed highly unlikely.

"Well, Cally," said Franton brightly, playing the role of family physician to a hilt, "it's such a shock seeing you after all these years." She looked at her closely: "I had been so worried. Now it's like you have hardly changed!"

(//Well, when are you going to tell her?// //Me?// //You.// //She'll

catch on soon enough.//)

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired." (//Very tired.//) (//Extremely tired.//)

Franton adjusted the apparatus and inserted the memory cube Jenna had given her. The patient watched with apprehension. It did not take long

for the brain scan data to become unusual. Less than a minute after the

memory tracings lit up the monitor, Franton was frowning, performing adjustments and system checks. But the tracings were unchanged, as weird

as ever. Even by Auron standards, she thought, these brain wave patterns were very strange.

Franton sat beside Li. "Now Jenna did not elaborate on your condition," she said, trying to put it delicately. "Did something unusual happen to you recently?"

(//You might say so.//)

"Look, you will find this hard to accept," Li said as Franton looked puzzled, "but I am not exactly Cally. In fact, I'm not sure who I am," she sighed.

(//Maybe you're not, but I am!// //You're a big help.// //Look who's

talking!//)

"I don't understand. You are Cally, aren't you?"

"Partly," said Li, "but I am also her sister -- not Zelda, but Molli, the other one. Cally has become part of me, or me of her. I suppose it's all the same. Anyway, we are 'blending'. Has anything like this ever happened?" (//Pity them if it has.//

Franton returned her attention to the monitor, putting the memory cube on the equivalent of fast forward. Finally, with considerable care, she

said, "Not to my knowledge. I believe you are telling the truth. These readings don't make sense under any other interpretation," she forced a

smile, "but I wish I had one. I do recall Zelda mentioning a third sister, but Zelda was a very close-mouthed woman. She never elaborated and, of course, manners prevented me from prying. Poor Zelda! I miss her. She was a brave woman, if dull. Why don't you tell me what happened."

Li nodded slowly. //I agree, time to tell the whole story.// //Except

. . .//

"I don't remember a lot of what happened, especially after the two

of us were 'joined', but here goes . . ."

So the Cally part of Li began with what had happened to "Avon's Six" following the destruction of Auron: Cally's "death", Servalan's triumph, Molli's messages. Then Molli took over: the "entity", Molli's capture, escape, and "reunion" -- if one could put it that way -- of the sisters.

(The business about Blake and the others being alive they kept to

themselves. Neither sister knew how to explain it in a rational manner. It was one of those things that made less sense the more you talked about

and it was far too important to simply mention in passing. The timing and

presentation had to be perfect.)

Franton decided detailed questioning would have to wait. "Well, that's

quite a story. You know," she sighed, "I never understood my father's obsession with the cloning/telepathy program. I carried on his work, but I questioned it more than once. I thought it would lead to nothing but difficulties. Maybe I would have understood if we had had more time with the Project . . .," her voice died as she realized her mistake. Pater was right. That must not be discussed with the visitors.

Li glanced at her. "What 'project'?"

"The cloning project, of course," she quickly lied. "Anyway, I believe what you have told me. The instruments speak the truth," she said with an airy voice as she turned the machine off. "So, what should I call you?"

Li shrugged. "Call me 'Li'. Everybody else does."

"Well then, 'Li', welcome to Kaarn. I think it best you stay here while I

observe you. There are plenty of rooms, just take one."

Li had a sudden thought. "When can I see the children?"

"Soon, I think," said Franton, unhappy. Pater would be furious. "You

must understand you will be quite a shock to them. They know little of their history."

Li looked at her oddly. "You haven't told them?"

"Oh, we will, eventually," she hurried along. "Pater and I have discussed it quite a bit but I agree with him that it would only trouble them for now. They are so happy," she smiled again, even less convincingly.

(//This is bad.// //She's hiding something.// //She's hiding a lot.//)

But Li decided not to press. "I'm sure you know best. It's just that I have been eager to find out how the you both managed this. It seemed impossible for only two people."

Franton rolled her eyes. "Without the robots it would have been impossible! Even with them, it's like herding cats."

"I can imagine. Forgive me for asking, but I have an obvious question.

What do you plan to do in a few years when . . ."

"When what?" Franton looked confused.

"Well, you know." (//Puberty, Dr. Franton.//) (//Sex.//)

"Oh. That." She sighed deeply, her voice taking a remote tone, one

that mixed awe with despair. "We try not to think about it."

Inside his study, the waves pounding against the curved walls of the

house, Pater was burrowed into thought: what might be the significance of

this extraordinary event, this incredible coincidence? Perhaps he had acted in haste in his insistence that the visitors depart at once. Since his "revelation", when he realized he had been chosen by fate to complete the mission of his people, he had waited for a sign. For years, he had thought it would come only when the children were ready. But now he was unsure. It was arrogance to presume how Nature would reveal itself. Perhaps he was being "told" he would not have to bear the whole of the burden of destiny, though he would gladly accept it. No, others might join him. In fact, he had hoped at one time even Franton would. But she had become an impediment.

It would seem the reappearance of Cally, of whom he still had slight

admiration, and Jenna changed nothing, offered nothing . . . but the young man with them might be a whole different matter. What was his name? "Mykal Hodos". Yes. This Mykal had spirit and intelligence, qualities in the young which generally horrified Pater, but which might be useful if properly guided and controlled . . .

He stood and stared out the huge window which embraced the whole of the living chamber. As the sun rose, the solar tide (Kaarn had no moon) receded. He liked the feel of the power of the elements, a power he let surge around and within him. They were signs of nature's blessing and that

made them good.

He must know more about this Mykal. He would reprogram the security system! The Herberts would no longer function to keep all the visitors away from the children. For Mykal, the door would be left ajar. Pater would watch closely when Mykal walked through it. And if Mykal should be promising . . .

With Cally asleep ("Li", that is -- this was going to take some getting

used to), Franton did a systems check. She expected to find the Herberts

on full-security alert -- an option that had not been used since the

founding of the settlement -- and she was worried how extreme Pater would

make it. It was thus reassuring to discover that none of the precautions

taken would bring serious harm to the visitors. So she needn't feel too guilty about not warning them. In fact, it appeared her fears were unfounded. Pater had actually programmed the security system of the children's complex to permit Mykal to enter. He would be free to explore the settlement at will. For there to be a breach at all in Pater's paranoia ranked as nothing less than a miracle to Franton.

What a surprising choice, she thought, but a pleasant one.

So an outsider would be let into the secret of the settlement. As she

disconnected from the system, she was certain this was a step in the right

direction. That there was still hope for Pater; hope for them all.

Shortly before noon, Mykal entered the campus, the educational and

housing complex of the 5000 surviving children of the Auron holocaust. Laid out like a vast checkerboard (he noted at least a 100 identical cubical buildings), as Jenna had indicated this was no minimal survival enclave. It was a carefully if dully designed, fully functional, city. While one could complain about the architect lacking in imagination, the mere fact that the complex existed was extraordinary. Two people, even with robotic help -- and the robots Mykal had encountered were not at all suited for construction -- should not have been able to build anything like this. The city was even complete with landscaping. Every building and playground was surrounded by, every thoroughfare was lined with, plants of extraordinary designs and colors. And, of course, there were the trees. Their convoluted loveliness and mechanized grace, in such contrast to the chaotic wastelands to the east, went a long way to make up for the joyless layout of the settlement.

So through the parks and play areas Mykal went, as if on a holiday stroll in a place he shouldn't be. Past the buildings, the trees, and the bizarre flowers. He had never seen a star-shaped flower formed from nested triangles in a green and pink polka dot pattern. Certainly not on Auron. Where had they come from? He thought of plucking one and giving

it to Molli ("Li!") but could not bring himself to do so. Even touching the thing seemed wrong.

The buildings themselves continued to intrigue; he could find no evidence whatever of assembly. It was almost as if they had grown on the spot. Everything was seamless and apparently impervious to damage. When he was sure no one could see him, he tried scratching the surface of one building with a sharp rock. The scratch was visible, barely, but as he watched, even it slowly disappeared, almost as if it were healing. There was not the slightest hint of wear or weathering on any of the buildings. It was as if they had been constructed only yesterday, yet they must be years old.

Mykal, having no particular plan of action, went where curiosity led him (as expected the communications center was sealed). He observed the children, heard the youthful shrieks of eager play. Yet it seemed no one had an interest in him. They would stop briefly and stare at him silently as he passed, then resume whatever activity they were engaged in as if nothing of

importance were taking place.

The robots seemed even less intrigued. He watched them flow by,

humming with activity and purpose. Most were of a standard cylindrical shape but a few were were shaped like rounded cones, others ablate spheres. In all cases their functions eluded him. Occasionally one would stop and appear to study him from a distance before moving on, but like the children, seeming to have no interest or concern.

Had they been informed there were visitors? In one instance, he stumbled into a class and no one paid the slightest attention to him. Embarrassed, he left quickly.

It was frustrating to someone used to getting quick answers. Yet Mykal was moved: the children of Auron had survived. Weird as it was, they could have done a lot worse than this place.

Finally, after two hours of this aimless wandering, he decided to try a

direct approach. Like it or not, the children were his best chance for

information. Confronting one of the students did not seem altogether out of line. He positioned himself outside a building and waited until the children ran outside -- the traditional joy at the end of the school day. He then entered the building hoping to find a child left behind. This tactic seemed promising -- he certainly had been kept behind in class often enough.

And luck was with him. There was a girl at a work station, staring at an enormous monitor and with her was a robot instructor. The student was thin with dark hair and an intense face. The robot a rounded shiny cone about a meter in height. Mykal sat beside them at an adjacent workstation, doing his best to look harmless, politely hoping to be noticed. He received one glance by the girl.

He was sure he was being studied by the robot.

I'm glad to be here too. "Uh, hello. My name is Mykal. What's yours?"

The girl stopped what she was doing and glared at him. "Trysha. My

friends call me 'Trysh', but since you're not my friend, I ask that you not. The Herberts told us there were visitors, but that we were not to approach them," she said stiffly, returning to her work.

Well, it's a start.

#That is correct#, the robot chimed in in an impertinent tone. #Young

man, please state your business, or you will be requested to leave.#

Mykal was wounded, but he was on a mission. He would not fail! And what are "Herberts", anyway?

"And who might you be?" he asked innocently.

#My designation is HERBERT 92X,#" it responded crisply.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. 'Herbert 92X'?"

#Correct,# said the robot. *The designate is a corruption of the acronym for Heuristic Education RoBoT, number 92 of the experimental series.#

"Oh," Mykal responded, more relaxed now. "I have seen a number of

robots since arriving here. I guessed they were general function types, not special purpose."

The Herbert was conciliatory. #Robots here are programmed for

well-defined functions; it was decided, however, that there was no need for

a profusion of designs, other than some slight variations. Thus your conclusion is in error, though understandably so. Of the 'Herbert' series, there are approximately 200 robots, two assigned to each dormitory.#

He glanced over to Trysha, She seemed bored by the conversation.

"Say 'Herbert 92X'," said Mykal, "I don't want to interrupt anything, but I am terribly curious -- would you mind if your pupil and I had a little chat?" He felt inspired now. "It might be an interesting part of her educational experience."

The robot paused, as if thinking it over. "#This is extremely unusual,

yet there is apparently,# it paused again, #nothing improper about your request. The conversation, however, must be observed, as the children are

always to be chaperoned.#

Mykal exuded gratitude. "I appreciate your concern. I'll just sit here with 'Trysha', ask a few questions and then be on my way. Is that acceptable?"

#Agreed,# replied the Herbert, and busily began what appeared to be

maintenance on an unoccupied work station.

Mykal turned to Trysha, still absorbed by what was happening on the

monitor. There is one thing I am dying to know. "Trysha, can the children

telesend?" he asked in a low voice.

//Of course, silly man. But it drives them crazy.//

"Them?" Probably the two adults, though it might mean the Herberts, or both. This particular Herbert moved slightly further away. "Call me Mr. Hodos. So why don't you start by telling me what you are doing." There was a flurry of colored 3-D imagines congealing into what looked like a flower bud on the monitor. As he watched, the bud grew, flowered, and germinated. Then as rapidly another design was tried.

As he had hoped, Trysha, like most intelligent children, was delighted to show off. "As the Herberts always remind us: 'if you can't design it, you can't build it.' I am studying an application of projective transformations, also known as W-curves, on living forms. Examples of such transformations are logarithmic spirals . . . "

Ouch! Trysha was almost as advanced in mathematics at age ten as Mykal had been and just about as irritating. Let's try again.

"How about slowing down a bit -- take it from a higher level." He gestured with his hand above his head. "Just what is the goal of what you are doing? It seems artistic."

"Aesthetic considerations are a factor, but they are not the only

criterion of design," she glared. "This is my biology project. I am studying morphogenesis, specifically how form and function correlate in organisms."

"And what is your particular project?"

"Well, I'm not quite ready," she seemed almost shy for a moment, "but

my Herbert thinks I am pretty close. I am designing my plant. Then I will build it."

That silenced Mykal. He kept watching the flower in its colorful

generations. Finally, he asked, "What exactly do you mean: 'build a plant'?"

Shyness vanished, Trysha was exasperated. "Well, things must be very

backward where you come from. Everybody should know how to build at least

a simple plant. Sorry, I don't mean to be rude," her voice was gentler but her expression was unchanged. "Haven't you ever done anything like this?"

"No," said Mykal chagrined. He was reeling. How does one build a plant? Perhaps she didn't mean that literally. "But you should know that I came from Auron as well."

Deep sigh. "As well as what? And what is Auron?"

Mykal felt the ground slipping away. "Trysha, bear with me. I want to

ask a few questions. They may sound stupid but please answer them as carefully as you can. For starters, what is the curriculum around here?

"History, language, mathematics, ethics, with the following . . ."

"I get the picture. So tell me some history."

"I know everything from the Diaspora through Vastator to the Second

Federation up through the Galactic war," she said confidently.

"And Blake's Rebellion?"

She shook her head. "Who is Blake?"

Uh oh. Mykal decided not to pursue that for the moment. He asked,

"What about before the Diaspora?"

She hesitated. "There is not much known." Then she said brightly: "I know about Project Apple, the first landing on Earth's moon, Luna."

"Origin of the name?"

"It comes from Sir Albert Newton, who discovered the nature of gravity while contemplating the relationship between an apple falling from a tree and the orbital trajectory of Luna. Project Apple verified that Sir Albert was correct about gravity and many other things. My Herbert says many discoveries as profound are made under trees -- all you need is the right apple," she giggled.

"True enough, or the right tree. But apples are sometimes in short

supply. As are trees."

"Then you make them. We make all the trees we need," she said proudly. Then she asked again, "What is Auron?"

Alarm bells were going off inside Mykal. He moved his hand to the

keyboard and typed on the screen: "TELESEND!".

Trysha asked why. Mykal typed in "PLEASE!".

//All right. But they don't like us to do it.//

SO I GATHERED. I BET IT REALLY ANNOYS PATER.

//Oh yes. He hates it, though we don't see him very much.//

As I suspected. WHERE DO YOU COME FROM?

Trysha seemed confused and annoyed. //We come from here, of course.//

WHERE IS 'HERE'?

She made a sweeping gesture. //Kaarn!//

Suddenly Herbert reappeared behind him. #It is regretted but you must leave now. The student's lessons are such that a prolonged interruption is not acceptable.#

Mykal quickly cleared the screen. "Sorry. I thank you both for your time. Say Herb, you wouldn't mind if I continued to walk around here, would you?" he asked the robot, sounding apologetic.

Again the pause. #*As long as the children are not disturbed, there

should be no problem.#

"I'll do my best. You know, I was thinking of walking over to that house on the spit. It looks interesting. It seems to have a very original design."

#That is a forbidden area,# declared the Herbert abruptly.

Oh, is it now? "Gee! May I ask why?"

Herbert paused again. Who is it communicating with? #That information is denied. Elaboration is not possible without administrator level security rights.#

Mykal leaned against one of the trees, his arms folded. In the spirit of Trysha's maxim, it seemed a good place and post for someone trying to reach a conclusion. Well, what to conclude? It was clear that much was being kept from the children, and himself. He and his people (how good it was to use that phrase!) deserved better.

Was he being overly suspicious? After all, there had been no hostile

act against him. Perhaps the two adults sincerely believed that the children were too young to be told the truth. But if so -- who would decide the time of truth, who would do the telling, and would the children be permitted to question that "truth" if they were dissatisfied with it?

What was the answer to the mystery of the settlement? It had to be

practically staring him in the face. Could the children actually make plants? From the examples he had seen, the answer clearly was "yes". If only he could examine the problem from the right angle it would all become clear . . .

Such were his thoughts as he was propped against the tree in the fading afternoon. He studied the tree. He could not believe it was anything but a real tree, one alive as himself. Just because it was without bark meant

nothing. For example, it did have fruit. Yet the design was so odd, so many flamboyant spirals wrapped around limbs that were as round and smooth as tubes. The tree's overall appearance resembled the result of a dragon having mated with a chemical refinery.

Each of the main branches had several pods. It was natural for someone like Mykal to wonder if they were edible. Hunger and curiosity combined to lead to the next step. He pulled down one of the branches and snapped off a pod. Though the branch, like the tree, had a wood-like grain and feel, the skin of the pod had an odd plastic texture. He cracked it open. There was no fruit inside . . . instead there were cubes, perfect cubes, dozens of them clustered together. He removed the skin. Then with mounting fascination, he examined the cubes, forgetting that he was still holding the branch.

Memory cubes. This tree grows memory cubes!

He did not know how long he stood there when he was interrupted by a

metallic voice. #Please do not attempt to eat them. They are not edible.#

Mykal put the cubes in his pocket and let the branch snap back, hitting

him in the face. He was fully conscious now. "Of course. I was only studying them. Would you mind if I kept these?"

#Yes. Plenty will be grown before the next programming.#

Before the next programming! "Out of curiosity, what will you grow

then?"

#There are several possibilities. Currently there are potential shortages in the following: . . .#

Mykal interrupted, "It hardly matters, now does it? Everything from

steaks to shirts, from berries to buildings, in all the quantities you want: that's what can grow in your garden, my contrary little friend." He laughed.

#That is correct.#

These are not trees. They are biochemical processing plants, to a

Mykal faced the robot. "I'm new around here. I spoke earlier with a student who was 'building a plant'. Does she need a 'tree' to do that?"

#No, she was probably designing only the final form of the plant. After that, the seed will be created. The 'tree' as you call it is merely a convenience to make articles that are small and in high demand.#

"Kind of a floral factory."

#The metaphor/analogy is adequate.#

"You and your pals have been watching me, haven't you?"

#That is correct.#

Mykal crouched to it's level and put his arm around it. Well, a "plant" among the plants. "Now, who put you up to such a rude thing?"

#The answer cannot be given,# the Herbert stated.

But I bet we both know it. "All right, Herbert whatever. One final question: why the 'tree' shape?"

There was a long pause and when the robot's voice returned, it sounded

oddly different: "So we would never forget what makes our existence possible."

On the cliff above the shore, the twilight sky was clear as the sun set. The wind was damp and cold, but Mykal paid no notice to it. He had come to a rise overlooking the spit. And at the end of the spit, hidden in the dusk, its base submerged in the ocean, stood the house.

From this angle, the house was shaped like an enormous teardrop, a

teardrop curved along the pattern of a graceful logarithmic spiral, topped

by a pinnacle clear as crystal thrust into the darkening sky.

(. . . the waves lapped against the house as a swell rolled in and the

water glistened in the dying light like blood from a wound . . .)

He would enter it and drag the truth out of Pater (though not right this moment -- the tide was full, and the path to the house was submerged). He was not asking for fairness. All he asked for was comprehension. Yet what questions could he ask and how would he ask them? Language was not failing, but it was struggling. Hi, call me Mykal. Things sure are weird around here. Mind telling me what's up. That was as subtle an opening as he could imagine.

The trees and the buildings . . . They are the same. Only the form is

different. That's what Trysha was studying. Form. Design. Pattern. What biologists called morphogenesis, the problem that had haunted Dr. Geir. Trysha would build a flower today . . . and later, what would she design and build? When any pattern imaginable, which makes physical sense, can be imposed on matter . . .

The house is a single organic structure. It is a metaphor of the power of life over matter. The house, Mykal decided, would have disturbed Dr. Geir, but he might have liked it.

There was a single light on in the house; Mykal admired the gothic touch. He was certain that the owner knew he was there, but wanted him to wait a while longer. Meteors streaked overhead. Mykal shivered again, waved at the house, and then headed back to the infirmary.

It was nearly an hour before he returned. Li's door was shut. She

would be asleep and there was no point in waking her. He knew he would be

incoherent, all guesses and possibilities and nothing resembling a proof. Except . . . and he clutched the memory cubes in his pocket.

He went to his room and put the cluster of memory cubes in a drawer.

He suddenly remembered that his recorder was in the lifecraft but decided against going back to retrieve it. He would not need it this time.

(Later, he would be grateful that he did not record the conversation

with Pater.)

He was tired but he could not sleep. He struggled, turning violent in

the bed; he fought blathering fears and mad rages to dark exhaustion until at last, after hours of pounding and tossing, he entered a state where a deep dream came of:

Storm clouds tearing through orange sky and he was . . .

Standing before an ocean, welling up in waves white and furious . . .

When there was a rip in the sky, a dagger of sunlight piercing through . . .

And he heard himself saying as the storm died: "Forgive me this day for what I have done."

When he awoke, he heard "Li" (he was resigning himself to the name) in

the kitchen. A few minutes later, he joined her, but neither said anything. It was one of those moments when two people have so much to say to each other, but neither knows where to begin, and both fear where it will end. He was moving beyond despair. Whatever happened today and whatever he would learn, he would do it alone. And truth would be his compensation for the irretrievable loss of love.

Upon completion of his breakfast, he said, "I will be gone for most of

the day. Tonight, I want to talk."

She did not look at him. "Of course."

"I don't have a lot of time. May I be direct?"

She smiled at him for the first time. "You can be rather good at it."

"Is there someone else?"

(//You might say so.//) "No."

"Jenna has been hinting that something happened to you. I want to know first if there is a physical barrier between us, like" he hesitated, "the

age difference."

(//Tell him yes. He's not my type.// //Cally!//)

It sounded stupid even as he said it, but she looked at him with

sympathy. "It's nothing physical, Mykal. It's more," she smiled wistfully, "metaphysical."

He straightened. "Then is what Jenna said correct? Is Cally with you?"

She nodded slowly. "Try to understand, Mykal. I don't quite have

control of my life," she said.

(//When did you ever!// //Cally . . .// //Yes?// //Show some consideration: get lost.// //Suit yourself. Bye(!)//)

"You are also Molli, aren't you?"

"Partly. At least at the moment."

He studied her, his desperate need to know overcoming his reserve.

"Jenna said it was something strange. I guess she was right. I hope you will tell me everything. I doubt I can help, but I don't want to be shut out." He summoned all his courage and said, "I care very much for Molli. I don't want to lose her without knowing why."

She acknowledged the strength it required for him to say that, but her

answer was maddeningly ambiguous: "You won't."

Both faced each other, drawing closer. "You know my feelings. This,"

he looked directly into her eyes, "complicates matters, but what I feel will not change." He took her hand and kissed it.

"Oh my," she whispered, as embarrassed as she was touched.

"Good-bye, Molli."

"We will talk later," she said, sounding more confident then she felt, more unhappy than she realized.

And with that Mykal Hodos strode out the door to the awakening

settlement, past the rustling of the odd trees and the sights and smells of

the strange flowers, to the shore and the house where the dawn and truth awaited.

"I see you have come for answers -- what in common parlance is called

the truth. Be warned. People always demand honesty full and complete --

until it is given them. Then they feel betrayed and bring the whole machinery of manners in protest of the insult to their honor. I do hope you shall spare me such immaturity."

In his enormous chair, Pater slouched before Mykal. He had been

listening the past hour as Mykal related his life story: Auron, his family, Dr. Geir, Servalan, Jenna, Molli, and Avon. As he listened, Mykal's voice echoing in the cavern that was the house's central chamber, Pater would glance up from time to time to the dark recesses of the distant spiraling ceiling where but a single small skylight resided. He would do as as if reaching for divine guidance. Indeed, had the ceiling been well lit, as Mykal had hoped it to be, it might have given such a feeling of inspiration. But the murky opaqueness Mykal found above him suggested an unending dreariness confined under an oversized dunce cap; a place that might have been put to better use as a home for desolate bats.

Mykal replied, "I think I am up to it."

Pater was visibly relishing his role as all-knowing master of wisdom before his ignorant and possibly innocent pupil. His manner was confident, but in a strident way: there was no doubt in his mind that he was about to pleasure his guest with a fascinating story which anyone would consider themselves honored to hear. Yet his eyes were remote, tired circles in haunted flesh, suggesting a much older man overcome by despair at the fate

of humanity -- or one who had overindulged on drugs. His limbs were spindly and his unkempt beard seemed to have no other purpose than to suggest that someone who covered his face with hair had to be wiser than someone who didn't. The total effect was that of being in the presence of a hairy, malnourished, and overly large spider. Mykal had spent years in academia. He knew the type well. He resigned himself to the worst.

Mykal began his questioning. "Nice place. But the location," he gestured to the ocean, "isn't it a bit dangerous? Completely exposed; half

in the water. . ." The land bridge to the house was broken and ragged with

rocks; barely passable even during low tide.

But before replying, Pater had a question of his own. "Do you like the design?"

"Yes." It's different, I'll give it that.

"I modeled it after the common seashell. I find the spiral pattern, the gyre, to be endlessly fascinating. That simple curve which is so fundamental to life is the perfect symbol of what I have discovered. This house is intended as a tribute to that discovery, to Nature itself. The spiral design also made programming particularly easy. But I sense you are concerned about storms, wave damage, corrosion and such?"

"Yes." No, why would anyone think that?

"The materials of this house are as strong as they can possibly be; a

good fifty times stronger than anything in your experience. The house -- you

noticed the outer buttresses I am sure -- is solidly anchored into hundreds of meters of rock. Like all the buildings in the settlement, it can also repair itself should any damage occur. I could destroy it, but Nature would have a very difficult time harming the house."

"Then how was it built?"

Pater's eyes flashed. "That requires the explanation you are seeking.

So let me, as yourself, begin with some background. Unlike Clinician Franton, I was an outsider to what was called the 'Foresight Project'. I was but a mere lead traffic controller doing system testing who just happened to be in the right place when I was caught in the whirlwind that destroyed Auron. Nevertheless, I assure you that what I am about to tell you is accurate. It has been confirmed many times in my talks with Franton and my own experiences with the technology. It is my hope that you will understand how I came to the momentous realizations that I did. Perhaps even to come to agree with me."

He almost seemed to wink. "I do regret the unfortunate atmosphere of our introduction. But I have learned over the years to be cautious; to expect the worst of humanity and not to be disappointed."

"A sound policy," Mykal had to agree. "But I am an Auron."

"Yes, I am aware of that," he said gravely, "and it is in your favor. But you may have been corrupted . . ."

Mykal frowned.

Pater went on. "To begin. We Auronar have always been fascinated by the mechanisms of life. After Vastator, when we turned inward to understand how evolution had crafted us and to where it was leading, understanding the 'how' of life became our first obsession.

"It was not a popular nor easy quest, as you are well aware, but the

Auronar never abandoned it despite centuries of frequently violent opposition. And over those centuries," he took in a long breath, "on balance, our achievements, social and scientific, would appear to have justified our determination. Consider our accomplishments: the eradication of illness and genetic defects, the creation of a race of telepaths -- a remarkable achievement, though its value continues to elude me -- and individuals with other advanced mental powers (Mykal suppressed a groan). Finally, our world at peace. Yet few realized how fragile our triumph was, how deep were our delusions.

"The Project that culminated in this settlement began with the collapse of the massive decades long research project into morphogenis. When the overwhelming majority of scientists abandoned it for the so-called 'Time Project', a few highly capable engineers and bio-technicians remained, determined to carry on from the original effort what they felt was still valuable.

"Their starting point was a simple observation made centuries before: in their researches into DNA and its properties, it was noted that DNA is not only interesting scientifically for its coding, its programming if you will, but it is also valuable in an material engineering sense -- as 'stuff' to build structures. A computer scientist might have put it this way: in the twin intersecting gyres of DNA resides a software aspect and a hardware aspect. To understanding this amazing substance -- a substance integral to all life; that can self-replicate and control the organism's growth and form; which would ultimately serve as a model for the technology that made the settlement possible -- both these aspects must be kept firmly in mind.

"From that realization a new research program began. Its goal was the understanding and re-engineering of DNA itself. It was to achieve total control over the machinery of life: RNA, the enzymes, ribosomes, and so forth. But even that lofty aim was insufficient to some of the scientists and technicians of this project."

"The name again?" Mykal dared to interrupt.

''As I said, only an informal one: Foresight," but Mykal could not place it. "To continue. The few -- it is always a few, isn't it? -- wondered if there might be a way to move beyond DNA's fragile protein machinery to create non-protein machines, and thus give us the power to create fantastic new materials in virtually unlimited quantities. Suffice it to say," he smiled, "it is indeed possible.

"Does the idea sound unnerving? If you agree, you might suppose there

would have been opposition. So there was, but not nearly as much as one might have expected. The opposition was, in fact, always focused on one particularly goal or another, never the whole. This is crucial to understanding what happened. To grasp the implications of 'Foresight' would have required levels of interest and knowledge utterly beyond the vast majority. Aurons are all too 'human' in that respect. The main opposition, in fact, was from rival academics who felt it might impact the credibility of their researches. Given such a narrow perspective, opposition came to be viewed as merely another funding game. It was politics, always politics.

"Understandably, the public, ignorant and indifferent as it was, paid

little attention to the 'debate', if one wishes to dignify the occasionally acrimonious discussion with such a term. Yet the implications for once were as real as they were fantastic. One regrets so few took them seriously.

"I should point out that the starting point -- the notion of taking existing molecular machinery and modifying it in both structure and programming -- was sound, but it was terribly tedious. Whatever DNA and its attendant machinery are -- and ignore the wearisome complex terminology, just concentrate on the functional essences -- the system is adapted extremely well by Nature to what it does. By dealing with such a well-adapted system, a unfortunately long detour had been taken. Yet, it ultimately did succeed. This settlement is proof.

"What was finally achieved was the ability to manipulate matter at the

molecular level, that is, true molecular engineering -- hence the name: 'nanotechnology'. The term is logical, if unappealing, as the grabbing, pushing, and joining of atoms takes place at the scale of billionths of a meter, the so-called 'nano' scale.

"The results that the public saw could be termed 'Phase I Nanotechnology' -- the ability to make very small computers and molecular

machines, but things no more complex than are normally made on the

macroscopic level. Crude as these devices were, however, they pointed to

something far beyond themselves: 'Phase II Nanotechnology' -- the ability

to effortlessly design the structure, the patterns of matter. In other words, Phase I combined with very powerful design capabilities controlled by advanced machine intelligences, independent or linked directly to the mind. This is an explosive combination.

"One thing I should mention about nanotechnology is the possibility the

ancients had it. The evidence I submit are certain medical artifacts rumored to date just prior to the great divide of our being -- Vastator. No one has actually seen let alone touched such a device but the extant records are persuasive. No satisfactory explanation has ever been made as to how these artifacts and materials could have been fabricated. I believe they were created by nanotechnology. If so, what I am telling you might shed enormous light on what happened to them.

"But I digress. It became clear that Phase I could slip into Phase II

very quickly. So the debate began again, but even more highly restricted as to the participants. When would the 'slip' come, what would it be like, what should be done? Nobody had the slightest idea. A pilot to 'explore' these questions was therefore initiated. Security tightened enormously. No systematic spread of information reached the populace. Oh, some

information did leak out, such is unavoidable, but it all sounded too fantastic. No one believed it."

Pater suddenly became angry. "They would still be dawdling there, but

events forced their hand. The continued and surprising success of Blake's

Rebellion, and the fact that one of the Auronar was part of it, meant that eventually the galactic conflict would come to our home world.

"Please understand: any world, any individual, in the possession of Phase II nanotechnology can only be defeated, if they can be defeated at

all, by an equivalent technology. If you grasp just that one point, you grasp all that is necessary.

"Under pressure of the threat of war, work on the prototype was accelerated." He paused. "With a little more time, Auron might have been saved. I can say that flatly. In fact, Auron would rule the galaxy now. But saving Auron would have involved placing what was termed an 'active shield' of nano-machines into the planet's biosphere to guard against biological and

similar 'nano' invaders. Personally, I find the concept of an 'active shield' repulsive, but that is not the point. The point is that every idea proposed but one was rejected out of hand as politically unfeasible.

"That idea, the new focus of Foresight under Clinician Franton was this:

given the threat of war, suppose we had to 'preserve' Auron? What would we

need to enable our people and our culture to survive on another planet? With nanotechnology the answer was stunning in its conciseness: one box of 'gene stock' and one box of nano-machines and memory cubes. These were the

seeds to grow anything needed on a new world -- all that was required was water and carbon and some trace elements. Nanotechnology cannot create

elements, of course. It has nothing to do with nuclear technology.

"Final testing was underway when the Federation attack came. You know the rest. What Avon and his crew transported to Kaarn, without their

having the slightest knowledge, was the most potent technology ever created. Perhaps the last."

Pater took a breath as a wave crashed outside. "This settlement, this house, are only an illustration of the power of Phase II nanotechnology.

Using only the most common of elements, the simplest of materials -- there

is no pollution here, all waste is completely reused as raw material -- using only the power of the mind and a single seed planted on a dry rock on a sunny day is all it took. I could have built billions of houses with hardly any more effort, well, we have achieved a utopia of plenty. But utopia was not the reason for the settlement: it was survival. Despite our many disagreements, I give Franton this: it was because of her determination that the children of Auron survived for whatever destiny awaits them."

So why does he hate her so? Mykal saw the opening. "But they do not

even know they are Auronar."

"They will be told their history at the appropriate time."

"Will you tell them all the factors that made their survival possible?"

Pater scowled. "It is not so simple. The value of Franton, as the value of everyone in this galaxy, as is the value of truth, is now an open question. It became so as a result of the crime again Auron. I believe that I and the children were chosen to survive, but that is a conclusion not lightly reached. There is a serious question of ethics which I had to resolve before accepting the answer. Only after years of effort did the answer finally come."

Mykal tensed. No word had a greater potential for misuse these days than "ethics". The word invariably signaled that something fast was about to be pulled. "I guess I don't understand," he said cautiously.

Pater laughed coarsely. "Someone as intelligent as yourself? I seriously doubt that. Mykal!" he leaned forward, "of course you will resist what I am telling you. Most would. The question I answered when I understood the full power of nanotechnology is at the core of ethics: not the 'why', the purpose or destiny of intelligent life, but the value. What is its value?"

He leaned back and waited.

"Continue," prompted Mykal.

"With Phase II nanotechnology, there is no limit to what I or anyone can accomplish. Believe me, for once that boast has an exact meaning, yet one which is almost impossible to believe unless you can see what this technology can do: complete control of the mind over the structure of the mental, the material, the patterns of life for whatever our will desires. This settlement could easily have been extended over the entire planet. Or, had someone been so inclined, the power we now possess could have destroyed this planet, its sun, the galaxy itself.

"Franton shrinks from that realization. She is hopeful that humans and

Aurons together will rise to meet the challenge, though she cannot say how,

and after our many clashes over the years refuses now even to discuss the matter. I do not share her hopes. Neither will I permit her to stand in the way."

Mykal asked, "Then what is your discovery?" He suspected strongly that in the history of ethics, Pater's revelations were old news.

"We have come to the crossroads, the most profound in our history," he thundered. "This technology cannot be suppressed. The usual means of

control, upon which the whole of our civilization is built, are utterly inadequate. The potential of nanotechnology is so vast, we must rethink our place as living beings. We must reconsider our reverence of intelligence. To survive in the new order, if we are deemed worthy to survive, we must accept our obligations to Nature or perish in our failure."

Pater leaned forward. "Intelligent life, even after moving into the galaxy, has always been utterly dependent upon the ecosphere, wherever we

were lucky enough to find one to support us. It functions superbly without us; we die very quickly without it. Yet since the beginning of civilization, humans and later Aurons turned their backs on Nature. We have become alienated from that which supports us and ever more threatening to it. Now I am telling you as I will tell everyone: rethink your place."

He waited. Mykal replied coolly, "Aren't there other ways of looking at this? I mean, in the spirit of the great Edward and his thinking tools, a child is totally dependent upon its parents for all its early life, yet who would argue that the child's life can be dispensed with at their whim? We were dependent upon plants and animals, though you must realize this technology makes that no longer true, but they are in turn dependent upon the material substrate. If we push your principle, don't we find ourselves perilously close to advocating 'rock rights'? I respect nature, but see no reason to grovel before it. I would not hesitate to cut down a tree for firewood to keep from freezing. I fail to see how it could be argued it would be better I did nothing and died. Is the only value of life to be found in enriching the soil? Ethics only makes sense in a context in which knowledge and choice are possible. Nature is not a choosing entity."

Pater shook his head. "Pathetic, Mykal. So pathetic. We must

acknowledge the superiority of the ecosphere! It is the only way! This technology," he made a sweeping gesture, "forces us to that conclusion. No argument can withstand it. All that was our nurturer and noble heritage, we must and will submit to -- if we are to survive. Once that is realized, further discussion is pointless. The answer to the question of our proper place is then revealed."

Mykal was depressed. It was as if he had wandered into a cave to

confront an enormous dragon, only to discover the cave empty except for a

frightened cat. He replied, "I am willing to concede that this 'nanotechnology' considerably heightens the moral dilemmas we face -- we always face -- but it does not resolve them in one blow as you imply. You have used it beneficially. Why cannot others?"

"Because I know! I understand!

"You mean you have the correct attitude. Is that it?"

"No, Mykal. That is not it. Listen, if I could destroy this technology . . .," he stopped, shaking his head. "Though if that option ever existed, it is gone now -- I believe it makes cowards of us all." His voice had warmth for the first time, "Together we can control it, however."

Mykal was shocked. "What exactly do you mean?"

Pater rose and exulted in triumph. "I intend to act in defense of the only value of existence -- to save the ecospheres that have supported us for so long and which we now threaten with extinction. I am seeking followers in my quest to restore the supremacy of what gave us life!"

Mykal muttered, "You aim to enslave all intelligent life to save it."

"Why, destroy it, if it comes to that." Pater looked out to the sea.

"Together, with nanotechnology, the children of Auron will force humanity to leave Nature, and each other, in peace. Hear me: humanity has lost it's claim to continue. That species has become stained by its crimes; it's loss would no longer be a special loss. However, there are options." He shrugged, "We could quarantine them; ensure that they are no danger to anyone or anything, or . . ."

Mykal rose angrily. "And of those humans who had nothing to do with

that crime? Or those who fought to prevent it? They too can never have the stain removed? With one brushstroke you damn an entire species! In the name of what logic? And what of the concepts of good, of freedom, of independence, of rights? What is left after your 'ethics' is done with them?"

Pater looked amused. "I am being more generous than you concede. That species, and their supposed rights that you wave about like a banner, has not merely 'lost it's value' -- it never had any! What supports their lives is the highest and only value! All else is shadow. Others have stated the theorem, but I have completed the proof. Let the humans wail. They will quickly discover how weak they are. Mykal, left to their own devices they will commit suicide regardless. This new war makes that certain. We are heading for the third and final Vespera and nothing can stop it. But you and I still have time to preserve what is good."

"Look," Mykal said wearily, "you are way out of touch with more than

galactic history. None of this stuff is new. You're just another advocate of murder as a reasoned alternative to suicide. I will not have any part of this, you . . ." Mykal was getting warmed up, but he stopped, remembering Jenna's console.

"Do not revile the truth! I am not a murderer! Punishment will be

administered only when necessary. Besides," he was becoming increasingly

agitated, "it is possible to use the nano-machines to observe everything, powers of surveillance beyond your wildest imaginings. We could use the

machines to reprogram those who resist or who cannot or will not understand. Yes!" He turned violently from the window. "Let us not burden our discussion with details. Nanotechnology can solve any problem we face."

"Any problem?" Mykal yelled. "How can you be so sure of that? What if one of your followers errors, let alone disagrees? What if the secret leaks out, which it will. Can you watch everyone at all times? If nanotechnology caused Vastator, nothing you have said demonstrates the result of implementing your ideas would be any different."

Pater said with solemnity, "We have come to the end of history. This time there will be no failure. I will ensure that." He drew closer, hysteria on his face. "I know what I would do. Sterilize them, reduce their precious intelligence, change their form, make them root like pigs for millennia -- with just enough awareness of their state to know why they are in it. Man has always been a dirty animal; such a fate would be most fitting. He will learn his place!"

There was a chilling silence. "I think I had better go."

"Mykal," moaned Pater, "You are just like Franton. You keep miring the

discussion in detail, trivial, stupid detail! Stop being a good little Auree." Mykal looked at him sharply. "Nature cannot, will not, be defeated. By living you affirm that truth. I simply carry it to the final step!" He stepped directly in front of Mykal, fists clinched, as if he were about to assault him. "If you accept the essentials of my argument, we can work out your damn details."

Mykal was calm now, surprising himself. He said, "God is in the details. That is what Dr. Geir taught me. Sorry, I lack your confidence." Mykal looked around. "This house . . . when the children are grown, will they be permitted to have houses like these? Wherever they want them?"

Pater was furious. "Never! That would be ecologically unsound! The

ecosphere is far too fragile. It would be absolutely forbidden!"

"But that prohibition would not apply to you. Why? By your own statements, nanotechnology can completely eliminate any pollution. So what

is the problem? Or are some people's waste products more benign than

others?"

"People are the pollution!"

Mykal shook his head. "That's what I mean. So what makes you so special?"

"I understand! They don't!" he stamped out the words.

"We're back to attitude. Teach them; persuade them."

"They won't listen!"

"That's your problem." Mykal risked jabbing a finger at him. "Which is why you haven't the courage to tell the children their history. That history might make it harder to mold them, wouldn't it? Do you suspect even a ten-year-old wouldn't accept your terms, if you won't? That no one will follow your logic because you can't?"

"You are deliberately misinterpreting what I am saying!"

Mykal looked over to the vast window, spray flecked against it, the light broken into rainbow patterns. He swallowed. "No, I am not. I am more in sympathy with parts of what you say than you realize. Many would be. Given the history of humanity there is little to inspire optimism. It is truly frightening, the dangers of nanotechnology. And we 'Aurees' remain human enough to want revenge. But I will not yield to nonsense. And nonsense becomes no nobler by sanctioning unspeakable cruelty. No matter how legitimate the intent, how justifiable the hatred you feel, as sentient beings we owe each other respect for our sentience -- the foundation of our existence and ethics. Whatever the crimes of some humans, humanity cannot be deprived of its value. That is the eternal honor that belongs to us all."

Mykal pointed angrily in the direction of the settlement. "They have a

right to be left alone, they have a right to know the truth. A right equally shared by every Auron and human. Let me give you some advice: act quickly. Because if you don't, you will discover what Servalan is discovering: a policy of force is doomed to failure. Someone will wrest this power from you. Someone who lacks your interest in philosophical niceties. Your discovery amounts to this: give you unlimited power and you will let us know if we are worthy of your rule. The names and professed benefactors may change, but the essence is the same. Pater, for god's sake, it's wrong."

"Of course, no system designed for man can work," Pater said, hurriedly. "Don't you see? We can do what Servalan could never do."

"With luck we'll never know," Mykal turned to leave then stopped. "But I am grateful you admit that your ideas require a Servalan to enforce them. But isn't one enough? Yes, I have met her, and sorry, you're no Servalan."

"How boring is your blaspheming! You only prove to me the degree to

which intelligence is a destructive force," Pater snapped. "As if I didn't already know. Join me, or face the consequences with the rest of them."

He pressed closer: "I have seen the horror of war in all its fullness. You know nothing of it."

"I think I might be starting to catch on. And I am prepared to face the consequences. They are better than anything you have to offer."

Mykal stepped back to the main entrance as it automatically dilated

before him. Pater glared at him; then Pater said, his voice ominous, "I had such hope for you, Mykal. The principles are right. They conclusions follow. They cannot be denied. If you cannot see that, you are doomed. You say you are concerned about details, but you labor trivialities."

"It would concern you -- if the gun were in my hand."

"But you're an Auron," Pater smiled. "That's hardly likely."

The words could barely get past. "Don't count on it."

"What a tiresome little man you are. As hopeless as Cally!"

"I take that as a complement."

Pater sighed, "My struggle would have been much easier with you. You

have a way with children. I can see that. They like you. They trust you."

"They can't get enough of me," Mykal agreed.

"They will need guidance. Think about it."

"I have. I think the children can do better than either of us." He turned to leave.

"Like from that murderer, your hero, Avon?" Pater sneered after him.

He knew, as all who have intellectual pretensions do, that there is no refuting a sneer. "There's a shining example of what humanity has to offer."

"You know," Mykal said, "I cannot say I'm overly fond of him myself. But he did save my life and he saved yours as well. Is that why you hate him so?"

"My life is no concern of his."

"But is it of concern to you?"

"When I consider the nature of man, the brutality of his history, the

violence of his existence, the answer is 'No'." His mouth formed a large "O".

"That's where we disagree. Dr. Geir said life always matters; that it was the key to all of existence, at all levels. He thought death was the pointless waste, not life. He was certain there was a better way; that the mind would render death irrelevant. I think I'll stick with him."

"Your Dr. Geir sounds like a very foolish man, but then you appear to have a habit of sticking with such. Do not evade the subject. Avon is a killer, nothing more. Content to take any side of an issue, fighting the Federation one day, serving it the next." Suddenly, Pater had an inspiration. "What do you think happened to your teacher?"

"For what it's worth, murdered by the Federation."

He chuckled. "What a surprise. Tell me, did your hero care?"

"Why, yes he did," said Mykal. "As I said, I was there. I saw him. I know he cared."

But Pater was unconvinced. He was true to the logic of his feelings. Now that his philosophy had drained intelligence, consciousness and thought of all meaning and morality, Avon's action was of no more consequence than a decision to pitch one rock rather than another into a barren sea. Hating humanity was wasteful, might even be futile. Controlling it was all that mattered. "I regret no agreement is possible between us. You have made your choice, with Avon and the others of his ilk. I will now make mine."

"Do we have any say in this?"

"Since none of you will submit to the truth, it is clear that whatever

you say is of no consequence."

"I could make a similar reply."

"Humanity is a disease on Nature and all that lives in harmony with it! All animal life is parasitic and intelligent life most of all. Humanity has fought that truth. It is the Auron destiny to make them bow before it!"

"It would be the Auron comedy to take such nonsense seriously."

Pater shook his head. "You have a lot to learn."

"I think I have learned enough. Your house," he made a sweeping gesture mirroring Pater, "this settlement. Were they gifts of nature? You advocate an ethical principle that would have made it impossible for our ancestors to have ever left the caves. You talk of submitting to nature, but the only practical consequence is submission to you."

"Because it is true. And as a man of honor in service to that truth, I

am prepared to die for my beliefs."

"But the problem for the rest of us is to live with them. And your honor is no help there."

Pater turned red. "That is indeed your problem."

"You can't kill them all!" Mykal cried.

"With this technology," he roared, "I can! I can do anything! They will all be in my power. Their lives will be exposed as empty, shallow, meaningless -- except to the extend they can persuade me to be merciful!"

Mykal looked down, his rage becoming anguish. He remembered Avon,

standing in the tunnel, while the smoke swirled around him and his terrifying smile of hideous pain as death flowed . . .

He lifted his head, "With all your talk of life, Pater, all your appeals to science and truth, it never seems to have occurred to you that your whole approach to the problem may be wrong. The Auron scientists asked the 'how' of life; you and many others have asked the 'why'. But it's funny, you never asked the most basic question, the question that Dr. Geir always asked."

Pater tensed. "What question was that?"

"You forgot to ask: 'what is life?'"

And with that Mykal turned and left the house as the doorway sealed

behind him.

There is nothing like a war to focus one's attention on the truly vital things in life, thought Jenna, as she contemplated the two tasks facing her. The first was to find out where Servalan's massive fleet was heading. That was easy. The reports that darted among the stars, though cryptic and evasive, were as frantically clear as a shouted warning in the night. Given the strength of the resistance and the number of brushfire rebellions that had broken out, the Federation was hardly averse to advertising its strength. The size of the Combined Fleet was itself a threat: it was larger than anything assembled since the Galactic war. There was no need at present for Servalan to break off from her prime mission and engage in fly-swatting. The Combined Fleet would be used for grander purposes. Kaarn was directly in its path.

But there were only the barest of possibilities to guide Jenna in pursuit of her second task: find Avon. Naturally, she told herself, she was merely trying to avoid ever being in the same sector again with the man. The fact of the matter was, however, that since Servalan was hunting him, Jenna had to find him first. The more she kept her enemies separate, the better her (Servalan's) chances for survival.

First, he had to be on a planet inhabited by humanity (the entity that directed us here would have ensured that). Second, Avon was not going to broadcast his whereabouts. But what if, and it was a large if, he or someone wanted her to find him? The task might be easier than it appeared. How would his location be announced? Well, she had a scanner, and she was a proficient programmer. The only additional tool needed was her knowledge of her enemies' minds.

(From time to time, she wondered how Mykal and "Li" were doing, though she was determined to leave them on their own. They could do nothing for her now, nor she for them.)

She had to think and thinking is a very lonely action -- and because the target of her thinking was Avon, an angry one. The realization of that continuing link hammered at her. She was still bound to him. Their fates were still drawn painfully together as if in some irresistible gravitational field. Anger obscured her vision. Pain dragged her down. She thrust anger and pain aside.

We will not be free until the Plan, whatever it is, has been fulfilled.

She despised such language. There were few quicker ways to lose one's head than by ruminating about what destiny one had been chosen to fulfill, to view oneself as an instrument of some cosmic chess game. It was a one-way ticket to madness. But she was beginning to sense that her say in the matter might be minimal. If that were the case, then soon she, Avon, and Servalan would be together again. It was not her task to prevent the inevitable. It was only to better the odds.

Well, if Avon were in this arm of the galaxy, the list of candidate planetary systems would be short. This far from the Center there were

probably only about 100,000 sol-type systems, the vast majority uninhabited. Given that Servalan's fleet was sweeping in the direction of

Kaarn, and from Kaarn it was only a few hundred lightyears to Lindor . . .

She did not know Lindor, only its leader, Sarkoff. He had figured in an episode of Jenna's life she remembered only too well. It had been brief and bitter (weren't they all?); Avon, as usual, had been of little help. Be that as it may, she and Avon had this in common: neither could stand being in the same room with President Sarkoff (and his daughter was worse). But Blake had seen promise in the man (so had Cally!) and while nothing had come of it as with so many of Blake's chosen, Lindor had become over the years a thorn not easily removed from the side of the Federation. With war looming, that could change. So Jenna listened closely to Lindor.

What would the message be? What would leap out to her but not give

alarm to everyone else in the galaxy? The problem delighted her mind while

sinking her heart. She worked, ferociously determined not to yield to despair. She barely slept, recording and analyzing the transmissions and

thinking all the time: Please don't let it be Lindor.

Whatever the message was, it was certain to be repeated. Many times. And, Lindor was in the midst of an election campaign. That surely would be a source of tiresome repetition.

Let us now state that her hunches and heuristics did pay off. On the

evening of the second day, she discovered the message. It was addressed to

her: Avon was on Lindor and someone -- not necessarily Avon, wanted her there!

So with the Combined Fleet drawing closer, the time for fighting was not yet, but the time for running was definitely at hand. Now her troubles spun out of control. How to get off Kaarn? What to do with the Aurons?

She needed miracles and all that was being handed her was a summons.

(It was only the memory of the man whom she had followed so many years before that told her that regardless of the dearth of miracles, the

responsibility accepted must not be evaded.)

And so she sat there looking for all the galaxy like she was posing for

an image of defeat, all bronze and bird droppings in the middle of some run-down park. In the dim light of the lifecraft, Jenna Stannis was waiting for a troop of angels to come pounding on the door.

The trees stood over him like plumed sentinels in the twilight. For the first time since he had seen them, Mykal entertained the thought that in their beauty and power could reside a very nasty threat. He had to face the fear openly. It was the only way to prevent it from subverting his thinking. The trees were merely symbols, he told himself. What engendered them was the true danger: the most powerful agent of destruction ever given humanity. But it was also, potentially, an engine of creation. That was the dilemma. A child could use the power safely. He had seen that. But if the will had no moral guidance, had been denied even the understanding of such a strange concept; if that will was confused or indifferent to the knowledge of good and evil, it was certain that a torrent of destruction the equal of Vastator would be unleashed. The will of one lunatic -- and that was the point Mykal was desperate in his understanding to escape -- might be sufficient to bring the bloody curtain down on the whole of civilization.

In Pater, Mykal's abstract dilemma of thought had become palpable

reality. There was a mind in the balance between horror at what he could do and the madness to do it. To which side would the balance tilt?

Pater, Mykal realized, was everything he feared and hated.

It was time to act. Since the destruction of Auron, Mykal had longed

for a sword to hurl back at the universe that had taken from him everything he had loved. All he would need were allies. There was only one obstacle remaining before him, the one that had dogged him all his life. Understanding and communicating are widely different abilities. Between the first and the second was a grand gulf. He must bridge it. He must find a way to communicate the understanding that had been given him. Only when Jenna and Li understood, would they . . .

It was very late when he reached the infirmary. He had been walking

furiously, but his route had been a wandering one. He was tired, but he would not sleep this night.

He thought of O'Kir, Geir, Molli, so many others. But his determination went down without a bubble. Then he thought of Avon . . . and he swore at

himself and stormed inside like a man demanding justice.

Step one: awaken "Li".

Step two: Franton? No. She hadn't lied, but she sure had been stingy

with the truth. Franton should have made an effort to tell them right from the beginning. No, step two would be Jenna.

He retrieved the cubes, shoving them in his pocket. Then he shook Li

awake. Startled and angry at first, she saw at once as the light came on that this was the long suppressed Mykal capable of deadly seriousness. The

"Cally" part of her was alert at once; Molli quickly followed. Li started to speak. He put his finger to his head. //What's wrong?//

He pointed to her clothes and gestured to the outside. Now! he seemed

to say. She nodded quickly.

Outside the building he pointed in the direction of the lifecraft and

broke into a run, Li following close behind. //Mykal what has happened!?

Tell me!//

He would! But at the moment only wild whispers in black air, gasps of

silver breath that stung like a whip crack came out. He was not in shape for this. "We are in real trouble. The trees . . ." he stopped running.

"The trees," he repeated as she caught up. //Yes, Mykal// he heard the telesend (Molli?) faintly, //What about the trees?//

He was breathing deep, his hands on his knees. He shook his head and

began running again. "I'll tell you with Jenna."

He expected resistance and disbelief, but neither happened. For once

he had been able to convey complete emotional urgency, openness, and

perhaps even caring, to the degree he had always wanted to. Something had

gotten through to her (them?). The thought almost made him happy. As

communication, it was crude, but it made for a fine start.

He led her south of the settlement, then turned to the direction of the

lifecraft. Li kept up with him, but suddenly stopped him with a touch. She was not sure if he were lost or trying to be circumspect. She took his hand and there was a voice like a humming wire inside him. //Mykal, this is Molli. We/I are/am with you. Have faith in me/us . . . and yourself.//

He was grateful to her but could not acknowledge it. "Later," he said,

and they began walking quickly -- careful not to trip in the dark -- to the lifecraft, lit faintly in the distance.

Seldom had there been a more obvious course of action to follow. Get

off Kaarn and head anywhere -- except Lindor. Lindor's recalling its entire diplomatic corps, discontinuing it's trade, were more than acts of protest. They were rallying cries for insurrection, as Servalan would certainly judge them. Lindor was where the Combined Fleet was certain to converge after it sacked Kaarn. Thus, it would be suicide for Jenna to be anywhere near that conflagration. It was time to again plunge into the big deep.

But the Aurons (Blake, leave me be.) closed that option. And the

message made matters worse.

Why had the message been sent to her? Could Avon have approved it?

Forget Avon! Whatever the answer, they were helpless without a ship.

She hit the wall of the lifecraft with her fist, and the interior lights flick