I have a message from another time... Eyrie Productions, Unlimited presents UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT - SYMPHONY OF THE SWORD - Entr'acte: The Courtship of Princess Dessler Benjamin D. Hutchins (c) 2001 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited Devlin Carter sat on the edge of a narrow bunk in a small gray room. This was a situation he'd pictured himself in, from time to time, usually in particularly paranoid dreams. The primary difference between this reality and his dreams was that the door wasn't locked. At least, he didn't think it was. Although, should he venture out into the corridor, he wasn't sure exactly what would happen. He was, after all, a civilian aboard a military vessel, and an alien to boot. He sat back and sighed. What had he been thinking, letting Amanda convince him to come along on this trip? He was about as welcome on this ship as an atmospheric contaminant outbreak. The captain had let him on board only because Amanda had requested it. He was not in the habit of granting such strange requests when they were made by relatively junior pilot officers; but the fact that this particular relatively junior pilot officer's surname was "Dessler" made the situation slightly more complicated, and in the end Captain Dorlak had felt it best to give the Earthman a bunk and keep silent about it. The captain obviously hadn't -liked- it, though, and the twentysomething warrant officer who had directed Devlin to his cabin hadn't liked it much either. He hadn't actually sneered, but he'd come awfully close to it as he told Devlin, "Here is your accommodation, Earthman. For your safety, it is probably best if you do not roam about. You might find yourself in a restricted area and not realize it until the security forces come to... chastise you." So here he remained, wondering exactly what was going on. He'd left Earth on a couple of occasions before, but never aboard a warship, Earth's or anybody else's. Unlike on a commercial starliner, there were no announcements to the passengers informing them what the ship was up to. If Devlin's watch had remained accurate, and he had no reason to suppose that it had not, they would have cleared Customs by now, and would either be maneuvering to a jump point or queueing for a metaspace gate. As if commanded by his thought, the speaker mounted on the wall - sorry, bulkhead - above the door to his small cabin clicked, and a voice he recognized as that of the captain started speaking. Unfortunately, it started speaking Gamilon, not Standard, and the only words of Gamilon which Devlin Carter knew were not very likely to appear in any announcement made by a warship's captain to his crew. Still, context was everything, and Devlin guessed that this was an announcement that the ship was about to go to FTL, however it was going to do it. He sighed, lay down, and felt around for bunk restraints. He didn't find any, which (he hoped) meant that the ship wasn't equipped with a particularly violent drive. All the same, he grabbed hold of the sides of the bunk and held on. If they weren't using a metaspace jumpgate, he might be in for a bumpy ride. Another voice, this one rather pleasant and feminine, came on the speaker, said a couple of other things, and then began what was obviously a countdown. Devlin was trying to remember the Gamilon cardinal numbers, but before he could call them to mind, the count apparently reached "zero", and there was a momentary plummeting sensation as the lights in the room flickered. And that was all. The captain made another announcement, and then the speaker clicked off. Devlin let go of the bunk edges, sat up, and looked around, a bit warily. What had that been? Were they in metaspace? It hadn't felt like a hyperdrive jump, and anyway, a ship as grandiose as the Imperial battleship Destiny's Fist wouldn't use such a slow means of getting a VIP home to Gamilon. Devlin had been considering this for only a moment when the door opened again. Devlin stood up instinctively as another uniformed Gamilon entered the cabin. This one was also young, younger than the warrant who had shown him to this cabin; in fact, she didn't look much older than Devlin himself. She was in her middle teens, shorter than Devlin and a bit stocky - not fat, by any means, but nicely filled out. Like Amanda (and all other Gamilons, for that matter), she had robin's-egg blue skin; unlike Amanda's, her hair was bright red, and cropped short except for an arching fall of bangs that obscured one blue-green eye. She wore the gray-and-black jumpsuit and low boots of the standard Gamilon space-duty uniform, with a blaster and a short, broad sword like a Roman gladius on her belt. The little tag above her breast pocket probably said her name, but Devlin could read Gamilon even less than he could speak it. If the girl's appearance surprised him, her next actions surprised him even more. Seeing him, she grinned, squared herself, snapped her heels together, and saluted him crisply, then addressed him in Standard: "Mr. Carter. Pilot Officer First Class Kitarina Telaia Dragonaar, Icewing Flight, 12th Gamilon Space Battle Wing, at your service. Welcome aboard His Imperial Majesty's glorious flagship Destiny's Fist!" Devlin instinctively ran his hand over his stiff shock of golden hair, which did nothing but flatten it down and make it spring back up again comically; adjusted his rumpled gray duster coat and t-shirt, which did nothing but rearrange the wrinkles; and cleared his throat, which altered his slightly reedy tenor voice not a bit as he replied, "Er... Carter Devlin. Or Devlin Carter. Take your pick - " "It don't matter," said Kitarina cheerily. "Yeah, Skyblade warned me about you. She said you'd charm the boots off me if I gave you half a chance." Her grin widened a little bit more as she added, "Now that I've seen how handsome you are, I just might." Devlin swallowed. "Er... " he said. Pilot Officer Dragonaar threw back her head and let fly a bright, full-throated laugh, then jabbed Devlin in the ribs with an elbow and said, "Relax, Carter. Think I want Her Imperial Scariness to eviscerate us both? Anyway, I don't fish that side of the pond, eh, what?" she added in a cheery parody of his Queen's English accent. She elbowed him again, then threw an arm around his neck and scruffled the top of his head rather painfully with a knuckle. "Should I call you Carter or Devlin?" "Uh, well... take your pick, what?" said Devlin, recovering a little of his aplomb in the face of this girl's exuberance. She was the most un-Gamilon Gamilon he'd ever encountered - not that he'd encountered all that many Gamilons, really, but... "Well, if it's up to me, I like 'Carter' better," she said. "Rolls off the tongue with a certain... finesse." She repeated it a couple of times, each time making her enunciation more sultry. "Carter. Carrrrter. Carrrrrterrrrrrr." She grinned again. "You can call me Rina. Or 'Sniper' if you want to do the callsign thing." "I assume 'Skyblade' is Am - er - Princess Dessler, then?" Rina laughed again. "Listen to -him-," she said to some unseen third party. "'Princess Dessler', oh my! Aren't we -formal-. Yes, that's her callsign. Or that's how it comes out in Standard, anyway." She blinked, then glanced at her left wrist, where there was a small chronometer built into the wristband of her flightsuit. "OK, I'm spending too much time on this. C'mon, let's go." "Go? Go where?" "Flight deck," said Rina, hauling Devlin out into the hallway by the lapels. "Her Imperial Scariness wants you, and as her Flight Exec, it's my job to get you. Follow me and try to look like you belong here." She set off at a brisk walk that, despite her short stature, he had to almost trot to keep up with. Officers and crewmen passed; Rina saluted the officers and was saluted by the enlisted without breaking stride for any of them. They gave Devlin odd looks, but since he was with a pilot officer, none of them paused or stopped him to comment. "What was that announcement right before you turned up?" asked Devlin. "Oh, that was Captain Doorknob announcing that we'd just completed spacefold operations, as if -that- wasn't blindingly obvious to any trained spacer," said Rina dismissively. "Do yourself a favor, Carter - if you're ever in the military, do everything you can to avoid being posted to a flagship. They get all the stupidest officers and most boring missions. It sounds big and glamorous, but all you end up doing is flying parade escorts, polishing your blaster and playing with yourself." "Er... quite," said Devlin. They walked for perhaps five minutes, with Sniper making occasional snide comments about this or that aspect of the ship's operations ("most advanced warship in the fleet, third most powerful main gun in the quadrant, worst coffee in Known Space") and pausing to salute officers. Devlin noticed that the ship seemed to have a tremendous profusion of officers. He didn't recognize the Gamilon rank insignia, but more than half of the people they encountered in their five-minute walk to the flight deck wore silver-trimmed jackets and a lot of gold braid. The flight deck ("very restricted area," Sniper informed him; "only pilot officers, mechanics, mess attendants, gunnery and ordnance officers, Bureau of Inspection personnel, visiting dignitaries, Imperial news media, and the very, very stupidest sons of nobility allowed") was a large, mostly open room that smelled of hot metal, cold fuel and dirty lubricants, spanning the entire width of the ship. The floor featured several large square elevators which carried fightercraft to and from the repair and storage bays belowdecks; along the side walls were small bays containing light scoutships, shuttles and such. As he followed Sniper onto the flight deck, Devlin glanced forward (he guessed it was forward, judging by the way parked ships were facing) and then recoiled in sudden fright, his heart almost stopping in his chest. The forward wall wasn't there; all there was beyond the hundred-yard span of deck and ceiling forward was a yawning slash of star-studded blackness, beyond which the ship's sloping foredeck and twin helix-cannon turrets could be seen. Devlin stumbled backward, instinctively sucking in a breath. Rina Dragonaar turned, looking puzzled, then burst out laughing. "Relax, Carter," she said. "There's a climate management field. Keeps the heat and air in and debris out, but our ships' shield generators have a modulator in them that lets them pass through freely. Good stuff." She clapped him on the shoulder, grabbed a fistful of his coat, and dragged him onward. "C'mon." On one of the elevators sat a two-place Lockheed Lightning IV starfighter - cutting edge gear, Rina informed him, less than six months in service, Icewing the first flight in the Navy to have them - connected to a maintenance pack by several steaming hoses. A uniformed pilot was standing next to it, adjusting something inside one of the maintenance panels. "OK, boss - one Earthman, still twitchin'," said Rina. The pilot turned, revealing herself to be Amanda. She nodded, unsmiling, and said in a clipped tone, "Get him a flightsuit." "Yes ma'am," said Rina, apparently unconcerned with her commander's cool tone. "C'mon, Carter," she said, tugging on Devlin's collar again. "Locker room's this way." The locker room was a locker room; they're the same everywhere. Rina led Devlin to one of the lockers without a nameplate, opened it, and then got him out of his clothes and into a flightsuit with such brisk, clinical professionalism that he hadn't really grasped what was going on until it was over with. As he stood regarding himself in a mirror, she handed him a small kit bag which contained the clothes he had arrived wearing. "OK, Carter, you're all set," she said, clapping him on the shoulder and then leading him back toward the flight deck. "Just remember to close your face shield if you lose cabin integrity, 'cause nobody likes sucking vacuum." "Er... " Devlin's hand strayed to the knob on the side of his helmet. "... Quite," he finished with a nervous smile. Rina took him back out to the flight deck; the fighter Amanda had been working on was now idling, the maintenance pack stowed and rolled away. Devlin put his kit bag into the little cargo compartment Rina pointed out, then climbed rather awkwardly up the collapsible ladder on the side of the ship, over the side, and into the inline cockpit's rear seat. Amanda - at least, he assumed it was Amanda - was up front, already strapped in, visor down, checking over various controls. Sniper leaned over the cockpit coaming and helped him sort out the straps, cabled his helmet to the comm system, showed him how to work the intercom system and ejection seat, and advised him not to touch anything else. This he immediately agreed to. Then she grinned, patted Amanda on the shoulder, and jumped down to the deck. There was a clatter and click as she pushed the collapsible ladder into its housing; then she stepped back, squared herself up, and saluted. The cockpit canopy dropped with a hiss. Devlin swallowed to pop his ears and sat quiet as the fighter rose with a whine of repulsorlifts. There was a soft 'thump' underneath him as the landing gear retracted. "Fighter Control, Icewing Leader requests permission to launch," Amanda's voice crackled in his helmet's built-in earphones. "Icewing Leader, Control," came back a clipped, calm voice. "You are cleared to launch." "Icewing Leader, acknowledge," said Amanda, and the fighter began to move. It gathered speed, the stalls and parked scoutships blurring past, until it leaped out of the bay into open space like a bullet from a rifle barrel. Amanda banked smoothly over the foredecks, turned, and left the great ship behind. Devlin turned to look at it, but warships didn't really impress him all that much, and he was too preoccupied to give it the look it really deserved. They flew for a few minutes in silence, the battleship getting progressively smaller as it cruised in the opposite direction from the speeding fighter. Presently, a click sounded in Devlin's ears, and then Amanda's voice, in a softer, more human tone than she'd used on the flight deck. "Devlin... " "Yes?" he replied, then fumbled with the push-to-talk control and repeated it so she could hear him. "I... " She paused, but the hiss in his ear told him the channel was still open, and then she continued, "I apologize for the way you were treated aboard the flagship. I thought Captain Dorlak would have better grace than to make you a virtual prisoner." The last sentence almost oozed bitterness; then her voice became apologetic again as she added, "Perhaps I should not have insisted that you come along after all." Devlin looked around, back at the dwindling profile of the warship, and then keyed his microphone. "It's all right," he said. "It's really important to you, this introduction to your father. Right?" "I... yes. But I misjudged... " Amanda sighed. "I had no idea Father would send the Fist to pick me up. For Christmas it was a patrol scout; for fall break, Sniper in this very fighter. Something must be going on at home that's made him nervous about my safety. I may have brought you into danger as well as Captain Dorlak's disdain." "Oh, well, you know me," Devlin said with exaggerated lightness. "Danger. Ha! I laugh at danger." "This is serious, Devlin," said Amanda, only a little sharply. "I should have tried to gather more information about the situation on Gamilon before bringing you." "Well... " Devlin fought down his instinctive tendency to try for levity in difficult situations and replied seriously, "Well, it's a bit late for that now, what? We'll just have to make the best of it somehow." Amanda was about to respond, but something beeped insistently for the pilot's attention at that moment, and she clicked off to tend to it. Devlin decided he didn't like the sound of that siren; tension crept up his back as it wailed on for a moment, and then Amanda's voice returned, taut as a bridge wire. "We have a problem, Earthman. Hold tight, try to stay calm, and don't distract me with questions." Devlin knew that tone well enough that he asked not a one, though a veritable -flood- of questions poured into his mind the instant she told him to withhold them. What kind of problem? How serious? Equipment? Navigation? Fuel? A moment later, a blue-white slash of cannon fire ripped past the nose of the fighter, and Devlin had his answer. He bit his tongue rather than blurt out the disgustingly obvious fact that someone was shooting at them. Amanda was an experienced starfighter pilot. She'd have noticed that already. Acceleration slammed Devlin back into his seat as Amanda threw the Lightning's throttles open. The obedient ship surged forward, exhaust-shock cones blurring blue out of the trailing ports of its nacelles. The cannon fire followed them; one salvo splashed off the fighter's aft shields. Devlin looked around, trying to see the enemy, and presently he spotted them. Even for someone as unfamiliar with combat hardware as Devlin Carter, they were unmistakable, their cruciform outline and wingtip thrusters so different from anything else in service right now. Starfuries! The standard starfighter of, among others, the Earth Alliance military, also found quite commonly in the United Federation of Planets' Starfleet. Earthforce's recruiting posters featured a Starfury quite prominently, its plasma cannons blasting a nameless enemy ship carefully obscured by the fireball of its own destruction. Devlin swallowed hard and forced himself not to wonder aloud whether they were under attack by other Earthmen. Instead, he tried to count the attackers, but this was futile. They were maneuvering so violently, and Amanda was doing the same to counter them, that all Devlin could tell for certain was that there were more than two, and probably fewer than forty. "Destiny's Fist, Icewing Leader," Amanda's voice sounded in his ears, clipped and professional, giving only the faintest hint of the stress she was under as she dodged fire. "I am under attack by five unidentified hostiles. Request assistance." Five! How could she tell there were five? Devlin supposed that was all part of the training. One of these instruments probably said how many of them there were, but even if they had been labeled in Standard, Devlin doubted he'd have been able to read them properly. "Icewing Leader, can you identify the type of your attackers?" came the calm voice of the flagship's comm officer. "SF-23 Starfury, E-type," Amanda replied. "No markings, no IFF." She slammed the Lightning into a sudden sideslip, jinking around a spurt of fire from one of the Starfuries, and then opened up with her craft's twin wingroot blasters. Scarlet pulses of energy strobed across the Starfury's shields, then tore into one of the X-shaped craft's wingtip thrusters and exploded it. Unbalanced, the Fury began spinning. Rather than press home to a kill, Amanda ignored it, tapping her afterburners briefly in an attempt to escape a box formation the others were preparing for her. "Roger, Icewing Leader," said the flagship's comm officer after what seemed to Devlin like an altogether-too-long pause. "Help is on the way." I only hope it reaches us in time, Devlin mused. Amanda was an excellent pilot - had it been otherwise, she would not have worn a flight leader's wings, even as the eldest daughter of Emperor Desslok the First. However, the enemy pilots, whoever they were, were good too, and the Starfuries, for all their curious shape and oddball maneuver style, were in these numbers adequate to give a Lightning a run for its money. The spaceframe shuddered as a burst of fire raked the starboard wing, making the shields glitter visibly and leaving smoking spots on the ice-blue thermocoat. "If we die, Earthman," Amanda said through gritted teeth, "you have my most profound apologies." Devlin did not reply. Amanda spared him an instant's glance in a small mirror positioned to allow the ship's pilot to do just that; he had his eyes closed, his face composed as if in deep concentration. Praying, perhaps. As the Lightning jerked again to the impact of enemy fire, she reflected that that might not be such a bad idea. At the top of a landing tower in central Gamilor, the capital city of Gamilon, Amanda Dessler stood and surveyed the wreckage of what had been a fine, nearly-new starfighter. Icewing Flight's Lightning trainer would never fly again, but it had died with honor, performing every spacecraft's ultimate mission: to get its crew back to the ground safely. Her face grim and slightly lacking in color, she turned on her heel and entered the tower's elevator, disappearing into the lower levels of the building. Left behind on the platform, Devlin turned to Rina Dragonaar, whose own battered-but-reparable Lightning was still spooling down in the next landing slot over. "I think," said Devlin, "the Princess is upset." Sniper gave him a look, then laughed and pried the wrecked two-seater's cargo compartment open. "I think you're right," she replied as she fished out his kit bag. When Rina and Devlin caught up with her half an hour later, Amanda was still tight-lipped and silent. Whatever she'd had to say, she'd said to someone else, probably at considerable volume. All three of them had had an opportunity to shower the sweat of battle out of their hair and put on fresh duty uniforms (or in Devlin's case, his old clothes), and now they rode an elevated train through the center of Gamilor. Devlin, not wanting to irritate Amanda further by trying to break the silence just yet, sat looking out the windows, taking in his first view of an alien capital. Gamilor didn't look all that different from a city on Earth. It had glassy spires, highways and railways, aircar traffic, and all the other hallmarks of a major modern city. There was nothing Devlin could put his finger on that said, "This is an alien place," and yet he -knew- that it was. Was that just because he was consciously aware that he was on an alien world, or was there some subtle difference, invisible to his waking eye, that nevertheless tipped off his instincts? One thing he -was- conscious of was the fact that he was getting a lot of odd looks, being the only pink-skinned person on the train, and in the company of two military officers to boot. No one thought it was particularly odd that the officers were so young - at fifteen, Amanda and Rina both had three years' seniority in the Imperial Navy already - but what were they doing with the offworlder? Devlin could see the questions running through their heads. Was he a prisoner? A captured spy? Why wasn't he bound? Suppose he was armed? Would the officers protect them? They weren't particularly -hostile-, or even all that suspicious - just curious, and a little afraid. Well, that was understandable. We're all afraid of the unknown, right? Devlin remembered vividly his first meeting with Amanda, a year and a half before, on the first day of their freshman year at WPI. He'd had no idea who she was, had failed utterly to be impressed by the name "Dessler", and for some reason, she had liked that. They had been friends - of a sort - almost immediately... but he hadn't stopped being a bit frightened of her until nearly Christmas. He became aware that Rina was giving him an odd, quirky smile, and realized he was sitting there looking out the window at nothing in particular and grinning. Blinking, he pulled himself back to the present. The train had stopped; Amanda was getting off. Rina gestured for Devlin to come on, and he followed the two out onto the platform, down the escalator, and up a broad, white-paved boulevard to a grand plaza. No turnstiles - the trains were free. He wondered how they kept the white roads clean, and why there was so little traffic. There were plenty of pedestrians around, uniformed and dressed in civilian clothes that rather looked like uniforms, but the only vehicles he could see around here wore official livery. The dense surface and aerial traffic he'd noted from the train was absent here. The building they were walking to was immense, a square tower of gleaming duralloy and klaster with four smaller sub-towers at the corners, all sweeping upward in an assemblage of asymptotic curves that made it look even taller than it was. Devlin wondered what it could be. They must be almost in the dead center of the city now. Something in Devlin's brain made the connection. Center of the city, grandiose building, restricted traffic around it, Amanda was heading for it upon homecoming. What else could it be but Emperor Desslok's palace? They entered the palace's great entrance hall, all chrome and glass, in silence save for the sharp CLICK of the two armed and armored guards coming to attention at first sight of Amanda. She nodded to them, but didn't speak, and led the way to an elevator on the far wall. Inside, she keyed a sequence of numbers into the keypad rather than speaking, and they traveled for several seconds, up, then sideways, then up again. The doors opened onto a short corridor that led to a single door. Through this door, Amanda marched without hesitation, Rina following, Devlin following her. It hissed softly shut behind them, leaving them in a comfortably appointed, if rather severely decorated, sitting room, complete with white-leather-and-chrome couches and a window offering a panoramic view of perhaps a quarter of Gamilor. Amanda strode to the middle of the room, stopped, slowly unfastened the collar of her uniform jacket, then turned and whipped it off, leaving herself clad in trousers and black singlet. The explosive motion seemed to unwind a spring that had been cranked up tight inside her somewhere, for with it came a wordless exclamation that seemed to summarize all the tightly controlled emotion she'd been seething with throughout the silent train and elevator ride to this room. Then she threw herself down into one of the couches and gestured for Rina and Devlin to join her. "I've come home to assassination attempts before," Amanda observed as the others flanked her, Rina with the ease of long association, Devlin with a hint of hesitation, "but never before -arriving-. She's getting bolder." Devlin was about to ask, "Who?" - though he was fairly sure he knew already - when the door chimed. Amanda sighed, got up, and put her jacket back on. Devlin got to his feet as well, and Rina went to answer the door. She waited until Amanda had finished squaring away her uniform, then pressed the activator and stepped aside, just like a butler. In swept a girl a couple of years younger than Amanda, a small, slim figure in a long pearl-gray gown. She passed Rina (who stood stony and silent, all trace of her usual cheerfulness washed away) without a glance, glided to the middle of the room, and took Amanda's hands in her own, making high-pitched sounds whose tone indicated to Devlin that they were expressions of concern. "It's very kind of you, sister," Amanda replied in Standard, "but as you can see, I'm perfectly all right. It was an amateurish attempt, and crude. We were in no real danger." Devlin thought this was laying it on a bit thick, but held his peace. "Oh, well, I am relieved to hear that," said the younger girl, switching languages to accommodate her elder sister's whim. "You know I simply hate the thought of anything unfortunate happening to you, dear Amanda. It keeps me awake at night." "I'm sure," Amanda replied dryly, "but you needn't worry. My enemies are too clumsy to pose any true threat." The younger Dessler's smile turned ever so slightly cold, her voice ever so slightly hard, as she replied, "Of course. It's silly of me to worry, but you must grant your little sister her quirks, mustn't you?" "Of course," Amanda replied. She took her hands out of her sister's, turned slightly to include Devlin, and said, "Sister, I must introduce you to a friend of mine from school, Mr. Devlin Carter of Earth. Devlin, my younger sister, the Princess Xenia Laila Dessler." Devlin swept himself into his very best courtly bow, but as Xenia failed to extend a hand, he didn't follow his usual pattern for such introductions and kiss it. That was just as well. Xenia was giving him the kind of look a person might give another's just-introduced pet dog, if that person didn't particularly like dogs: polite, vaguely interested, but hoping he didn't come any nearer. Nevertheless, Devlin soldiered on, straightening and saying to her, "Charmed to make Your Highness's acquaintance." Xenia didn't pet him on the head and ask him who's a good boy then, but neither did she express herself pleased in return; she simply nodded, gave him a brief smile that didn't reach her eyes, and turned back to Amanda again. "Well, sister dear, I must be off," she said. "I trust we'll see you at Father's reception dinner tonight?" "Of course," said Amanda lightly. "It is, after all, in my honor." "Then I'll leave you to your rest. Until tonight... " "Until tonight, dear Xenia," said Amanda, and the younger Dessler turned and swept out, again passing Rina Dragonaar without a glance. Rina remained at attention next to the door until it had closed again behind the younger princess; then she relaxed slightly, made a gesture at the closed door which Devlin figured simply -had- to be impolite, and uttered a percussive word which brought a hint of a grin to Amanda's lips. "Indeed," she said, sitting down again and unfastening her collar. "Well, Earthman, that was my loving sister Xenia; you've met her for yourself at last." Devlin perched himself on the edge of the opposite sofa, elbows on knees. "Lovely," he said wanly. "Kit," said Amanda to Sniper, a note of weariness in her voice, "I must prepare a few things before the reception tonight. Can you see to it that Devlin has appropriate clothing?" "Sure thing," said the other pilot brightly. "C'mon, Carter. You must be hungry too." "Er, well, I am rather, but... " Devlin looked a question at Amanda. "Go with her, Earthman," said Amanda. "Please. Tonight, after the reception... " She spread her hands. "It was an impulsive mistake to bring you here, but now that the mistake is made, we must make the best of it. Go. I will see you later." Devlin hesitated a moment longer, then sighed and followed Rina back to the elevator. "Try not to take it too personally," Rina told Devlin as they emerged from the palace onto the grand plaza again. "She's upset at herself, not you." Devlin nodded, looking a little preoccupied. "I know," he replied. "Still... it's not that I'm upset at her. I just wish I could help." "You can," Rina replied. They had reached the elevated railway platform now, and as they stood waiting for a train, she went on, "But the best way you can help right now is to stay out of the way." A train arrived while Devlin was thinking that over. They entered and sat down; as it started moving again, he sighed. "Well," he said glumly, "that's something I've a good bit of experience in, what? Stayin' out of the way." Rina sighed, leaning back with her arms folded behind her head. "Carter, when she said bringing you was a mistake, she didn't mean she was sorry to have you around. She meant she was sorry it's going to be such a hassle for you. She didn't think through what coming here at a time like this would mean for you." Devlin slouched in his seat, his hands plunged deep into his trouser pockets, and closed his eyes, head bowed. "I know," he said. Rina stretched her body almost straight, holding it taut like the string of a bow, then subsided with a sigh into a matching slouch. "Anyway," said Devlin in a lighter tone, a few minutes later, "now I know where Amanda gets her kind and loving nature from. She has such a close-knit, caring family, what?" Rina snickered, then punched him in the shoulder. "Careful, Carter," she said. "You're in danger of sounding like -me-." Devlin noticed as they moved around the city that, now that he was with only one companion, he felt the stares of the strangers around him quite acutely. Unlike the people on the train on their way here, this group felt faintly hostile, as though if he hadn't been with a uniformed naval officer, some of them might have tried to start something. The thought made him distinctly uneasy. As he and Rina sat in the corner booth of a noodle shop somewhere downtown, he decided to distract himself from the worrisome thought by asking her a question. "So... " he began. "Mm?" she inquired. "I don't want to seem like I'm pryin', what, but I'm a terribly curious sort of person and I often find I just can't leave well enough alone." Rina grinned. "Go ahead, ask me anything." "How long have you known Amanda? The way you talk to her, I'm guessing it's been since before you were soldiers... " The redhead gave a short laugh. "Oh, yeah, long before. I've known Amanda Dessler my whole life. You might say she's my reason for living." Devlin blinked. "... Come again?" "The Dragonaar family have been retainers of the Desslers since before the dynasty - before old Darvok Dessler took the throne in 1640," Rina told him. "We have an old family saying - 'For every Dessler a Dragonaar.' One of us is born for every member of the Imperial family. Each of us grows up alongside a Dessler, helping, guiding, guarding. It's what we do. My father guards Desslok; my sister Corimel guards Garon; I guard Amanda. Except Amanda's so damn independent she won't stand for a proper bodyguard, so I ended up as more of a best pal/first love/wingmate/go-fer type thing," she added with a grin. Devlin looked thoughtful (so thoughtful he missed part of Rina's list of qualifications entirely). "You're born into... servitude?" He'd almost said "slavery", but decided against it at the last moment. "I guess you'd see it that way," Rina replied, shrugging. "We see it as an honor. We're the guardians, the helpmeets, and the confidantes of kings. We don't have titles, but no noble house is more honored than the name of Dragonaar." She grinned again. "One day, my children will guard yours." Devlin choked on his klah. "I s-say," he sputtered, coughing. "It's a bit early to be sayin' -that-, what?" "Deny it all you want," said Rina cheerily. "I know the signs. Except for her time at WPI, I've lived alongside Amanda Elektra Dessler for my entire life - and hers. I think I ought to be able to tell by now when she's in love." Devlin reddened a little bit, perhaps not entirely because he had just had a near-spit-take on a hot beverage. "Er," he said. "Anyway," Rina plowed on, "that's why she's gotten you into this mess. She really wants you to meet her family - well, the part of the family that doesn't suck - and the only way to do that was to bring you here. She wants that enough that she didn't think it through, and now you're here at a bad time - the defense pact with the Valgar is up for renegotiation, and their delegation arrives tomorrow. Her father's going to be so busy the next couple of weeks he may not even notice you're here; worse, he's so busy Xenia's getting frisky again. He takes a dim view of his kids trying to kill each other, but he's distracted now... " Rina shook her head. "Things could get very ugly very fast. I tried to get her to stay on Earth, but she wouldn't hear of it. You know how stubborn she is." Devlin sighed. "I do indeed." "Well, like she said, all we can do now is try to make the best of it. C'mon, and let's get you a decent suit." "A decent suit", on Gamilon, seemed to involve light blue gabardine, silver braid, shoulder boards, and jackboots. As Devlin stood looking at himself in the palace's guest-room mirror, adjusting the high, throat-notched collar, Devlin had the uncomfortable feeling that he'd just joined the Luftwaffe. All he was missing was a gunbelt, and perhaps one of those stubby swords the pilots wore. "I look ridiculous," he announced. "You look dashing," Rina contradicted him. "Spectacular. It'll help Amanda's mood just looking at you. Just whatever you do don't smile at her. I don't think she'd be able to stand it. Too much nervous tension, you know. She's probably going to give you quite a workout tonight anyway," she added, punching him in the shoulder. "Danger always makes her horny." Devlin went pink again and stammered, "... Er." "All righty then," Rina went on breezily, shouldering him aside so she could check the alignment of the various accoutrements of her own dress uniform one more time. "Lookin' good, lookin' good." She winked at herself, raked back her scarlet bangs and let them fall back down over one eye, then pivoted and said, "OK, Carter, let's go. Doesn't pay to keep the Imperial Family waiting." Devlin felt curiously naked without his long, battered gray coat, but with a last look he left it behind and followed the trimly uniformed pilot officer down to an anteroom off the Great Hall. Amanda was already there, dressed in the most elaborate uniform Devlin had ever seen her in - even more elaborate than the Gamilon Navy dress uniform she sported for formal occasions at school. She turned, her royal-blue cape brushing the alloy floor slightly, and her face took on a controlled but genuine smile as she saw the two enter. "My goodness, Earthman," she observed. "You clean up rather nicely. This is the first time I've ever seen you in civilized clothing." "So glad you approve," said Devlin dryly. "What's the procedure from here?" "A fanfare will announce me in a few moments," said Amanda, growing serious again. "You will take my arm and accompany me. Kitarina will follow in her traditional place. I will present you to Father, and then we will dine. Father is very busy, which will work to our advantage - this should take only an hour at most." "Well, good," said Devlin. "I should be able to keep from falling asleep about that long. I don't know if you've noticed, Amanda, but it's been a hell of a long day." Amanda smiled again, slightly, at that. "I had noticed, yes." "Listen, though," said Devlin nervously. "Are you sure about that on-your-arm part? Isn't that kind of... I don't know, risky? I mean, maybe you've missed it, but your people don't exactly like Earthmen. It's not going to be very popular - " "I don't care about popularity," Amanda replied flatly. "You are my guest, Earthman or not. You enter on my arm. Let Xenia sneer all she likes; it will be just another thing she one day pays for." From the next room, the fanfare began, muted by the doors. Amanda straightened herself and held out her arm. "Take my arm, Devlin. It's time." Devlin hesitated once more. "Are you really sure - " "Take it!" she hissed intently. "Well... all right, then," he said, and linked his arm through hers. The doors opened as they approached, and, following Amanda's lead, Devlin entered the Great Hall. This was, as its name suggested, a large, high-ceilinged room, rather like the nave of a cathedral, with a long table instead of an aisle and a great chair at the table's head instead of an altar. Trumpeters stood along the walls on either side, blowing the fanfare in the old-fashioned manner; armed guards in ceremonial finery flanked the entrances. Along the table, men and women, some uniformed and some in plain formalwear (given Gamilon formal fashions, it was hard for Devlin to tell the difference) were arranged in two rows of ten. Amanda led Devlin to the two empty places near the head of the table, at the head chair's right, and Devlin Carter had his first good look at a head of state as Amanda's father rose from that chair to greet his daughter. Desslok the First, Emperor of Gamilon, was a tall, ruggedly-built man with a square-jawed, brutally handsome face, dark eyes, and short blond hair going subtly silver at the temples. Devlin couldn't guess at his age; if the Gamilon lifespan were anything like the human one (and Amanda's appearance at fifteen would seem to indicate that it was), he could be anywhere from fifty to a vigorous hundred twenty. He wore a uniform which was rather startling in its simplicity compared to those of many around him: a white, scarlet-collared cavalry-style jacket and trousers, with black boots, a blaster belt, and a blue cape fastened at his left shoulder. It had no braid, no ribbons, no medals, no badges of rank of any kind save the two simple golden pips on each tab of the scarlet collar. "Amanda," said Desslok. "You are well?" "Very well, thank you, Father. And you?" "As well as can be expected," replied Desslok with a trace of irony. "Father," said Amanda, her voice firm and gaze steady, "please permit me to introduce a friend of mine from the Worcester Preparatory Institute, Mr. Devlin Carter of Earth. Devlin, my father, Emperor Desslok the First." Desslok turned to Devlin, his dark eyes boring into Devlin's rather intense winter-blue ones. Devlin forced himself to look straight back and not flinch, hoping he didn't seem disrespectful in his attempt not to seem cowardly instead. Not certain quite what to do, he fell back on a mannerism he'd seen Kaitlyn (whose father taught an old Japanese martial art) use, and bowed with his arms at his sides. "I'm honored to meet you at last, sir," he said. Desslok stiffened to attention, the heels of his boots banging together with a sound like a gunshot in the mostly-empty hall, and bowed in return. "It pleases me to make your acquaintance, Mr. Carter," said Desslok as he straightened back to attention. Then he relaxed slightly and added in a more natural tone of voice, "I understand that we have you to thank for Amanda having reported on time to our little tangle with the Vuldroni last summer." "I, er, did what I could to help, sir," said Devlin, looking faintly embarrassed. "Then the Gamilon Empire is in your debt," said Desslok. "That engagement provided valuable experience for our next Empress, after all." Devlin felt a wave of hysterical laughter threaten to well up inside and engulf him. He fought it down with a tremendous effort of will and replied in an even tone, "I'm afraid I'm not very political, Your Majesty. I'm glad I was able to help a friend - nothing more." As soon as he said it, Devlin cursed himself. What a stupid thing to say! Such an equivocation could be taken as offensive, if the Emperor were of a mind to. Damn! But Desslok smiled slightly in response, his dark eyes twinkling. "Understood," he replied, and then gestured to the slim young girl seated at his left. "Mr. Carter, my younger daughter, Xenia." "We've met, Father," said Xenia in a politely bored tone. "Amanda introduced us this afternoon, when I went to her chambers to make certain she was all right." "Ah," said Desslok. If he was surprised or discomfited by the news that the Earthman had been in his daughter's private chambers that afternoon, he gave no sign of it whatsoever; he merely turned back to Amanda and said, "I regret that tonight's reception must be brief; the Valgar delegation have arrived early and wish to begin negotiations tonight." Amanda gave an understanding nod. "The obligations of the state must come first, of course," she said. Desslok nodded in gracious acknowledgement of his daughter's understanding, then indicated that the three arrivals should take their seats and gestured to the servants to begin serving the first course. Dinner was a rather dreary affair. Devlin was introduced to a number of admirals, generals and whatnot, and promptly forgot all of their names. The only entertainment came from watching Amanda and Xenia snipe subtly at each other across the table while their father pretended (rather wearily, Devlin thought) not to hear them, and listening to Rina Dragonaar's sotto-voce critiques of the flag officers' eating, military, personal and domestic habits. Trying not to laugh at these consumed a good portion of his energy. He noticed one unnerving thing as the dinner went on, and that was that, however much fun Rina was when talking under her breath to him or Amanda, however brightly she answered the conversation of the most boring officers at the table, whenever the table talk brought her into any sort of contact with Xenia, she stiffened palpably, looked somewhere else, and went silent. She -never- spoke to Xenia directly, or even indirectly. It was as though the seat opposite Amanda were empty, as far as Rina was concerned. The contrast between that and her normal behavior was so marked that it unsettled Devlin slightly. An hour later, it was over, and the three of them were alone in a corridor somewhere in the vast bulk of the palace. "That went well, Carter," said Rina encouragingly to Devlin's weary expression. "Desslok likes you. Don't you think, Amanda?" "Mm," Amanda replied, a bit absently. All of them were tired by this point, all of them distracted by their own weariness. As such, it is, perhaps, excusible that they didn't notice the servodroid coming down the corridor toward them. Such droids were an extremely commonplace sight here in the palace, after all. They were little more than motorized carts with arms to load themselves and rudimentary intelligences to guide them around the corridors. You saw them everywhere in the palace, carrying dishes, food, people's mail, linens, and what have you. They traveled at a walking pace, silently, and courteously paused for any person that happened across their path. There was nothing about them that particularly drew attention, when they were acting normally. This one, on the other hand, wasn't. It came around the far corner at its usual sedate pace, swung into the hallway, and began to proceed toward them normally, but then, without warning, it accelerated - silently, but violently. By the time they noticed it, it was careening toward them at an alarming speed, like an oncoming car, and with its sturdy duralloy construction and a load of crockery from the kitchens, very nearly as heavy. Rina noticed it first; with a barked cry whose words meant nothing to Devlin but whose tone was as plain as day, she rammed her shoulder against Amanda's, almost knocking the startled princess down. As they fell one way, Devlin jumped the other, but he had nothing to worry about. The robot quite visibly -swerved-, trying to correct its course so that it would still hit either Amanda or Rina. With the redheaded girl shielding Amanda with her body, odds were it would hit them both. With remarkable speed, Rina drew her blaster from her side. It whined twice, and the wheels on the left side of the servodroid parted company with the rest of it in a pair of bright, smoky flashes. It crashed to the floor, grinding sparkily along the alloy flagplates. The robotic cart, though crippled, was still moving fast, its intact wheels shielded from Rina's fire by its own bulk and still driving forward; but the crash bled off enough of its speed for Rina to propel Amanda out of harm's way. With a curse, she drilled one final round through the sensor cluster at the front of the robot, then jumped up, touched lightly on its upper deck, and landed behind it as it smashed into the wall. The bodyguard whirled, her weapon ready, but the servodroid had had enough; it lay, partly crumpled and shorn of two wheels, against the slightly dented wall and smoked, not trying to move any more. "Dammit," she said as she shoved her blaster back into its holster. "I shouldn't have made that last shot. Now we'll never prove it was tampered with. Stupid!" "Don't worry, Kit," said Amanda, dusting herself off. "You did as you saw best. Are you all right?" "Yeah, it never touched me. You?" "A bit bruised, but intact." The princess crossed to Devlin, who was just picking himself up, and helped him to his feet. "And you, Earthman? Are you whole?" "For the moment," Devlin replied. He stood and surveyed the wrecked robot. "Interesting malfunction, what?" "Yeah," said Rina sourly. "-Real- interesting." There came a clatter from the direction they'd come from, and a pair of armored guards jogged into view, looks of alarm on their faces and blaster rifles held at port arms. When they saw Amanda, they stopped and came to attention, looking both worried and confused. "Princess!" one of them, the taller of the two, said in a puzzled tone. "We heard - what's happened here?" "It's nothing, Sergeant Crendil," Amanda replied coolly. "A servodroid malfunction; as you can see, Pilot Officer Dragonaar handled it. We aren't injured. Please have a cleanup crew deal with the mess." Leaving the guards to take charge of the situation, the three continued up the corridor, round the corner, and on. Rina kept her hand hovering near her weapon, eyes wary, but no further dangers appeared. The only thing that did appear, out of a doorway a bit up on the right, was a tall young man in an elaborate uniform (Devlin supposed that part could be taken as read around here). Or rather some of an elaborate uniform; he was barefoot, and his jacket wasn't buttoned over his slim chest. He looked up and down the hallway with a rather befuddled look on his face. At the sight of Amanda, the young man's face brightened, though it still looked a little befuddled. He smiled, turned fully to face them, and said in a rather thin, high voice, "Why, Amanda! No one told me you were back." Amanda broke away from Rina's side and ran - actually RAN - to this fellow, enfolding him in her arms with a delighted cry of, "Garon!" Ah, thought Devlin. This is Garon. He didn't look much like the single likeness of him Devlin had seen before, but that might be attributable to the fact that that likeness had been a rag doll with navy blue yarn for hair and translucent red buttons for eyes. The man himself, now that Devlin drew closer and had a better look at him, was in his late teens or perhaps early twenties, tall and broad- shouldered. Amanda was tall for a girl of nearly sixteen, but Garon was more than a head taller - Devlin would have guessed, in fact, that he was taller than Desslok, but not as burly. His face wasn't as square, either - it more resembled Amanda's than Desslok's, with the same high cheekbones and rather pointed chin, the same softly glowing scarlet eyes, and the same lacquer-black hair (which really did look almost dark blue in strong light), though where Amanda's was long, sleek and straight, Garon's was cut short and parted like his father's. After embracing and kissing his sister, Garon turned the others, still looking faintly confused. Devlin knew the look well - that benevolent blankness peculiar to the Dim-Witted Upper-Class Twit. It was a look he himself cultivated for a variety of occasions, and despite himself, he felt it creeping onto his own face now. "Garon," said Amanda, "I - " "By Kru!" Garon blurted in a tone of cheery, slightly scandalized amazement. "You must be the Earthman I've heard so much about." He took a long stride toward Devlin, then squared himself, snapped his heels together (which did nothing of note, since he wasn't wearing shoes) and bowed. "Commander Sir Garon Tultalian Dessler, of His Imperial Majesty's famed destroyer Vengeance, at your service, sir." Devlin returned the bow, then stuck out his hand with a slightly foolish grin. "Carter Devlin, m'lud - or Devlin Carter, take your pick, it don't matter - of Kaitlyn Hutchins's glorious band The Art of Noise." "Er - of course, of course," said Garon, who didn't quite seem to know what to make of Devlin's "unit assignment". "Well. You'll just be on your way from Dad's reception dinner, then? Hope he didn't give you the Fishy Stare." "No, no, not a bit of it, old man," Devlin insisted with blustery bonhomie. "Terrifically pleasant fellow, eh, what? Weren't for the uniform, I'd have taken him for the welcoming committee." Garon didn't quite seem to know how to take that, either. He cocked an eyebrow quizzically, then said hastily, "Uh - of course. Well!" He clapped his hands together cheerily and plunged onward, "Lovely meeting you, what was your name, Douglas?" Satisfied with his own recollection, he nodded firmly and went on, "Yes. Delightful. Have to do it again sometime. You'll have to excuse me at present though - critical work to do - matter of state security - sure you understand... " Devlin was about to assure the Gamilon officer that he did, indeed, understand, when the door Garon had emerged from opened again and another figure leaned into the hallway. And -what- a figure! Devlin skidded to a mental and verbal halt at the sight of her: tall, slender, scarlet-haired, she was quite lovely, quite well-built, and quite undressed, draped only in what appeared to be a bedsheet of some filmy, translucent material. "Garon?" she inquired, her voice somewhat drowsy. "What's keeping - oh. Hello, Amanda." Amanda inclined her head cordially. "Cora." She smiled slightly. "I was just about to send Garon back to you," she said, "now that he's been introduced." "Introduced?" Cora blinked - the room she'd come from was dark, the corridor bright - and then her aqua eyes settled on Devlin. "Oh! Hello," she said. She didn't seem at all discomfited by the fact that she was standing there almost naked in front of a total stranger (and an alien stranger, at that); she smiled brightly, revealing a lot of even white teeth, and went on, "I'm Corimel." "Uh," said Devlin; the sound, coming out of his own throat, seemed to remind him that he could speak. With that he recovered his senses all at once, made a sweeping bow, and repeated the introduction he'd given Garon, with "m'lud" replaced by "m'lady". "Well, uh... right," said Garon, looking doltishly embarrassed. "G'night, then, Amanda," he said, taking his sister's shoulders in his hands and bending to kiss her. The kiss went on for rather longer than an Earthman would think proper for such a thing, and Amanda, at least, seemed a bit reluctant that it end; but end it did, and Garon went on with awkward briskness, "so I'll, uh, talk to you tomorrow, then? Maybe you could come by after lunch." "Certainly," said Amanda. "Good night, then, all," said Garon. "Oh - sorry, Rina, asinine of me not to notice you that way. Hello, how are you, good to hear it, good night!" he said, and then he and Cora disappeared back into the room and the door closed behind them. "... Interesting fellow," said Devlin as they went on up the corridor, for lack of anything nicer to say. "State security, eh?" he went on, chuckling with faint embarrassment. "I shouldn't wonder, with a state like that to secure." "Actually, she's securing him," said Rina lightly. "That was my sister Cora." Devlin raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" Rina grinned and dug him in the ribs with an elbow. "There's more than one way to interpret our family motto, Carter." "... Oh," said Devlin, blushing. The meeting with her brother seemed to have drained all the remaining energy out of Amanda. Her shoulders drooped a bit, lowering the shoulder boards of her uniform from the horizontal, and her steps seemed to drag a bit as they moved off down the corridor. Devlin wanted to ask her what was wrong (though, on the face of it, it was fairly obvious), but he didn't know where to start, and the look on her face was not one that invited conversation. They'd reached an elevator. Amanda paused before it, then turned and said, "Devlin... " She sighed and took both of his hands, the thoughtful scowl on her face softening into an expression that was almost tender. "Devlin, I am sorry. I want to explain all you see around you, I want to apologize for dragging you into it, I want... well, I want to do a number of things, but I haven't the energy to do anything but go to bed right now. You owe me nothing after all my stupidity has cost you today, but... will you do this one thing more for me? Will you wait until tomorrow?" Devlin gazed back at her tired, serious face, the foolish bonhomie vanishing from his own as though a switch had been thrown. "Of course I will," he replied quietly. Then he smiled weakly and replied, "It's not like I haven't had dumb ideas myself from time to time, what?" Amanda gave a tired smile, then leaned forward, her eyes closing, and kissed him softly. She held his lips with hers for a few seconds, then stepped back; the elevator opened behind her, and she backed onto the threshold, still holding his hands. "Kit," she said to Rina Dragonaar, "see that he's comfortable, won't you?" Rina grinned. "Count on me, boss," she replied, saluting. Amanda bowed her head gratefully to her oldest friend, released Devlin's hands, and backed the rest of the way into the elevator, allowing the doors to close before her. Devlin looked at where she had been, then sighed heavily and turned away from the doors. Rina clapped him companionably on the shoulder. "C'mon, Carter," she said. "It's not as bad as it seems." "I hope not," Devlin replied, touching a fingertip absently to his lower lip. "I hope not." The room where Devlin had changed into his suit, as it turned out, wasn't really a guest chamber at all; it was part of Rina's own private quarters, which occupied the level below Amanda's apartments in the southeast tower of Desslok's palace. It simply looked like a guest room because, as Rina explained, it was the room she never used. Unlike Amanda's quarters, which were reachable only from the short hallway leading to the tower's main elevator, Rina's bedrooms had their own corridor doors - the level her apartment was on was just below the tower's main spire, where the last of the buttresses spread off and joined the main bulk of the palace. "So," she said from the doorway, "I'm next door if you need anything. Chin up! Tomorrow will be better. Who knows, maybe Xenia will get hit by a runaway servodroid." "Life," Devlin observed dryly, "is rarely so convenient." "Isn't -that- the truth. Night, Carter," she said; he raised a hand in parting, and she closed the door. Devlin took off his suit, hung it up, turned off the lights, and climbed into bed. He lay on his back with his hands behind his head, looking up into the dark of the fourposter's canopy, and considered the last twenty-four hours. He blinked at that thought, raised his arm, and pressed the stud that illuminated his watch's face. Back in Worcester, it was one-thirty in the morning. No wonder he was so tired; that space fold had meant they'd arrived on Gamilon in the middle of the morning, after having left Earth in the early afternoon. Well, all right; he could sleep now, and tomorrow he'd find out what the hell was going on. Fair enough. Fine. Tired as he was, it still took him a long time to get to sleep. It seemed, at the time, as if he'd just dropped off to sleep when Devlin was slammed awake again by a surge of adrenaline that propelled his body entirely out of bed before his conscious mind caught up. He stood for a few moments, his hand thrust into the pocket of his coat, breathing hard and feeling sweat cooling on his lean - well, skinny really - body, and stared into the darkness of the bedroom. What had awakened him? Was there someone here with him? He had a feeling of personal danger that was almost overwhelming, but he seemed to be alone. Had he had a dream, already forgotten, that had triggered this sudden, violent awakening? Something above his head went "thump". He looked up, seeing nothing in the dark. What was up there? The ceiling. The floor of the room above. One of Amanda's rooms. "RINA!" Devlin bellowed, grabbing up his coat and running into the common room. He barked his shin painfully on the low table in front of the couch, cursed, and hobble-ran the rest of the way to Rina's door, pounding at the signal button. "RINA, WAKE UP!" A sliver of light appeared under the door, and then it hissed open. Devlin drew back, his dark-adjusted eyes dazzled, and through his fingers he saw Rina Dragonaar, naked except for a pair of utilitarian white underpants, looking out at him with an expression of controlled alarm. "What?" she inquired, her voice tense. "Upstairs," said Devlin, ignoring her toplessness completely and grabbing her arm. "Hurry!" She reached with her free arm and snagged her gunbelt, but made no other demur or delay; something in the Earthman's eyes, or his voice, or both, convinced her that there was to be no hesitation. The two of them ran to the corridor, Devlin shrugging into his coat as Rina belted on her blaster, but no elevator came to their summons. Snarling, Rina smashed open the emergency access panel and tripped the control that opened the doors onto the empty shaft, then jumped across onto the maintenance ladder. Devlin Carter, self-avowed coward, by his own assertion completely useless at any athletic activity, followed her without a sound or a moment's hesitation. She climbed up to the next level, plied the emergency door control there, then swung out into the corridor, rolling almost soundlessly into a battle-ready crouch. Devlin followed her somewhat less gracefully, but no less effectively, and the two of them went to the other door at the end of the short hall. The door didn't open to Rina's touch against the activator. She scowled, flipped open an access panel, and punched in an override code; when that didn't work, her scowl deepened, and she tried another. This one was successful, and the two of them burst into the room beyond. The questions they were going to call out died on their lips as they took it in. The room was in chaos - couches overturned, bookshelves toppled, the glass-and-chrome coffee table destroyed. There were burn marks and scars of melee combat on the walls and floor. In the middle of the room, atop the squashed remnants of the coffee table, lay the body of a man. He had a rather surprised look on his face. Some part of Devlin's mind wondered idly if that had more to do with his missing right arm or the gladius sticking out of his chest. Rina spat out a curse, drew her blaster, and ran across the room. The door of Amanda's bedroom stood open; it couldn't close because there was another body in the doorway, this one lacking a head. Devlin stood in the common room for a moment longer, hesitating, then turned and went the other way, yelling for Rina to come this way instead. As Amanda's bedroom appeared to contain nothing but still another corpse (a woman's, but not Amanda's), Rina did that thing, and they piled into the other bedroom almost together. Amanda's apartments were laid out the same as Rina's, and in both cases, they used the bedroom on the east side of the tower, leaving the south room empty. This, then, was the room directly above Devlin's. It was, in fact, almost identical, except for the lack of a corridor door. Devlin scanned the room, then cursed. Amanda Dessler lay on the floor next to the bed, face down, her head surrounded by a pool of blood. One of her hands was pinned underneath her, the other, still holding a blaster, outstretched before her. Rina went to her side, knelt down, and put two fingers to the side of her throat. "Still alive," she said, "thank Dolshaia." Devlin stood near the doorway, almost quivering. For a second, glancing back at him, Rina thought he was being overcome by the sight of so much carnage, of Amanda sprawled and bloodied - until she noted his face, his eyes. He was staring with fixed and burning intensity at the room's French window, which led out onto a small balcony overlooking the grand plaza and part of the city. Rina was a little puzzled by that - there was no one there - until she realized that he wasn't looking at the window. He was looking at the draperies next to the window. "Still there, you bastard," he murmured suddenly, the anger in his voice making it deeper, thicker than normal. "Boxed you in, didn't we? Can't go out the window, it's a long way down, isn't it? ISN'T IT?" Behind the draperies, something jerked, and there came a muffled grunt like a man being struck. "Come out of there," Devlin snarled. "Come out!" From behind the drapes, a figure emerged, moving jerkily, like a puppet with tangled strings. It was a man, a Gamilon, dressed in the same sort of black jumpsuit as the three corpses. He had a minor blaster burn on one upper arm and seemed to be unarmed, but he was a lot bigger than Devlin. There was no reason Rina could see for the fear in his eyes as he faced the shorter, skinnier Earthman, who would have cut a rather ridiculous figure in only striped boxer shorts and an old gray raincoat, if not for the look in his eyes. "Right," said Devlin furiously, taking a step toward the Gamilon. "Who sent you, as if I didn't know?" The man in the black jumpsuit didn't answer, but Devlin suddenly gave him a cold, rather frightening smile all the same, nodding with satisfaction. Sweating and trembling, the would-be assassin turned and yanked open the French window. Devlin, taken aback, shouted for him to stop, but before he or Rina could move, the man had thrown himself from the balcony with a piteous scream. Devlin went to the rail and looked down, then slumped to his knees, breathing hard. Rina got up and went to the telephone to summon a medic. Within five minutes, Amanda's apartment was swarming with people in uniforms. The medics came, packed up the wounded princess, and vanished almost immediately; the guardsmen, embarrassed and surly, stayed longer, and were almost brutal in their interrogation of the Earthman until Rina Dragonaar (who had borrowed one of Amanda's shirts before the horde arrived) told them that if they didn't back off, she would gut them. Not long after that, Garon Dessler arrived, shirtless, wringing his hands and getting in the way as the investigators tried to figure out what had happened before Rina and Devlin arrived. Rina drew Amanda's brother aside, and for a few moments she seemed to be trying to calm the poor man, who was all a-flutter. Eventually, if she failed to calm him down, she at least got him to leave, and then she crossed back to Devlin, who was being put through it again by one of the grumpy guardsmen. "So. Tell me again how you knew the princess was in trouble?" growled the short, grizzled, balding investigator. "I heard a noise," Devlin replied for the nth time. "Where were you?" the investigator asked. "Not in here." "Downstairs," Devlin replied wearily. "I was sleeping in Pilot Officer Dragonaar's spare room." "That's Pilot Officer -Kitarina- Dragonaar?" Devlin fought down the urge to say, "No, Pilot Officer Winston Churchill bloody Dragonaar," and replied instead, "Yes." "What's your connection with - " the investigator began, but Rina shouldered him out of the way (making her ample chest, crammed into a shirt tailored for Amanda's somewhat more modest proportions, bounce interestingly, had Devlin not been too preoccupied to notice) and snapped, "If you -must- know, he's my boytoy, Rijiger - and he's ten times the man -you- are, if what I hear is accurate. Now if you'll excuse us, Prince Garon wants to have a word with him. Come on, Carter." Investigator Rijiger sputtered ineffectually as Rina led Devlin through the common room, out the door, and into the elevator. "Thought you didn't fish that side of the pond," Devlin observed, weakly but gamely. Rina grinned. "Hadn't met you yet, had I?" she replied, poking him with an elbow. He glanced at her, seemed to realize, finally, how she was dressed (and how she'd been dressed throughout the incident), and blushed bright red. "Anyway," she went on, "Gamilon men generally come in two varieties: ineffectual fop or macho cretin. Is it any -wonder- we girls turn to each other?" "Eh... quite," said Devlin. "That's cool, how you can turn all red like that." "Well," said Devlin, "it's not so much a matter of -can-... " Garon was waiting for them at the doorway to his chambers; with a grateful, nerve-wracked look on his face, he shook Devlin by the hand and thanked him for his help (with what, Devlin wasn't certain). Rina said she was going up to the infirmary wing to make sure nobody -else- tried anything tonight, saluted Garon (which was a bit comical, given that she was wearing a dress shirt too small for her, panties, a gunbelt, and nothing else), and went off down the hallway. "Please, um, Douglas, come in. I - er - need to - we should discuss - come inside," Garon babbled, tugging Devlin across the threshold by the hand. Devlin allowed himself to be pulled inside, and was witness, as the door closed behind him, to a startling transformation. The instant the door was shut, Garon... -changed-. The vacant, frightened look in his eyes vanished; the slightly flabby, ineffectual lines of his face hardened; the faint stoop in his shoulders was erased. In an instant he was transformed from an affable but rather stupid, dissipated aristocrat to a military officer, cool, composed and in control of the situation. "Right," he said briskly, his tone similarly shorn of the rather-plodding-but-well-meaning inflection it had held before, his formerly-thin voice suddenly deeper and richer. "Listen, Mr. Carter. I'm not an idiot, and you're not either. As far as the rest of the palace, except for the Dragonaar sisters, know, we're a couple of ineffectual fools who are so shaken by what's happened that we've come in here to get roaring drunk and try to forget." He went to the sideboard, put ice into a tumbler, and poured it about half full of a bright orange liquid, then handed it to Devlin, who took it dumbly and stared at it. "One drink, on the other hand," Garon went on with a sardonic grin, "will serve to steady us." Then he poured his own and tossed it back. "Go on," he said, gesturing with his drained glass and making the ice clink. "Drink up. That way you'll smell right to the guards when you leave. You -can- hold one drink, can't you?" "Er... right," said Devlin. He drank, with some trepidation, but it really wasn't that bad - slightly piquant, rather tart, but the alcohol aftertaste wasn't overpowering. He wouldn't characterize it as -delicious-, but it didn't make him cough or gag, anyway. "Saurian brandy," Garon explained as he took the glass back and put them both away. "Nothing but the best for my trick liver. Got it on New Chiba," he explained, "and it's the best 50,000 credits I ever spent. It enables me to project the public image of a hopeless drunk without becoming a hopeless drunk." Devlin nodded, enlightened. "Ah. So the one medicinal drink... " "More of a psychological thing," said Garon dryly. "Take a seat," he added, vaulting casually over the back of an armchair to land in it. Devlin walked around it to another one that faced it across a low table and sat carefully down, feeling vaguely surreal. "Now then," Garon went on, steepling his fingers. "Let's you and I, Mr. Carter, think about how we can keep the girl we love alive." "Er, yeah, listen," said Devlin. "I've, uh, been wondering about that." "I imagine you have," said Garon, his dry smile widening a trifle. "It's rather complex, but you needn't worry. I know she feels very strongly about you; her communications with me have made that abundantly clear. And, frankly, now that I've seen how you handle yourself in a real crisis I haven't a problem with that. It doesn't matter to me that you're an Earthman - you're true to your friends and you've got fiber where it counts." His smile became slightly warmer as he went on, "I wish you continued luck. Amanda is a very worthwhile young woman, but she can be a trying companion." He paused, chuckling to himself, and added slyly, "And I think you're just starting to learn that if you take her into your life, you take Rina Dragonaar, too." Devlin went a little pink. "Um," he said, but Garon raised a hand. "But I digress," he said. "We're not here to talk about the sociosexual peculiarities of the Gamilon royal family. There are a few things you need to know before you can understand what's been going on around here." "I know a little," Devlin replied. "Amanda told me once that she and her younger sister... don't like each other very much." Garon chuckled bitterly. "That's an understatement," he said. "Xenia and Amanda loathe each other. Xenia is greedy, grasping, vengeful, and cruel. She wants the throne, not for any particular purpose, certainly not for the glory of Gamilon, but simply so that Amanda won't have it. I thought she would hesitate to take any truly overt action if I arranged to be back in the palace during Amanda's vacation... but it seems I was wrong. She's become bolder, or more desperate. She must have heard the rumor that Father is thinking of retiring when Amanda graduates from WPI." "Is he?" "No. Kru knows how these rumors get started. As far as I know, Desslok the First will sit on the throne for just as long Grenlo Dragonaar can keep him there. But apparently Xenia believes otherwise. She can see her window of opportunity closing." "Hang on, you're the eldest," Devlin said. "Why aren't -you- in line?" "Because I'm a hopeless drunk," Garon replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Also a brainless dilettante. A nice guy, but not one you'd want to trust with anything more important than a fairly small warship, and only then if he has a very competent understudy to make all the important decisions for him." He smiled. "As far as the Admiralty knows, Corimel really runs the Vengeance." At that moment, as though summoned, Cora Dragonaar entered through one of the side doors. This time she was dressed, wearing a Gamilon Navy duty uniform with sidearm and sword, but Devlin, remembering how she had looked before (and how her sister had looked some time after), reddened a little anyway. "In truth," said Corimel with a smile as she sat down next to Garon, "it's more of a committee rule." Becoming more serious, she said, "I've just heard from the Infirmary. Doctor Trij says Amanda will be on her feet by week's end... but she's lost her right eye." Devlin's fists clenched, but Garon actually smiled at that. At Devlin's incredulous look he said, "Eyes can be replaced with relative ease. Not so brains." Devlin supposed he had a point. "And speaking of brains," said Garon conversationally, "how long have you known you're a telepath?" Devlin stared at him for a long, long moment, then got up and replied, "I think I'll have another drink." "Be my guest," said Garon. "Corimel, would you be a dear and... ? Thank you." Devlin sat back down, accepted the drink the elder Dragonaar brought him, and tossed it back without looking at it. Then he put the glass down on the side table and said, "I manifested when I was twelve." Garon raised an eyebrow. "And you've learned to control it well enough to function on your own in three years?" "There are ways," Devlin replied. "You'll forgive me if I don't share the details." The Gamilon prince nodded. "Of course. The fact that you're not a member of your world's Psi Corps indicates a certain level of illegality - but the laws of the Earth Alliance are not my laws, and I feel no obligation to enforce them," he added with a sardonic smile. "Still, you must have found recent political developments alarming. Have you told Amanda what you are?" Devlin glanced down at the floor, then said slowly, "I... no. No... I haven't. I've been too afraid of how she might react." "Mm." Garon looked thoughtful, then went on, "I can understand that. I've read about the telepath problem on Earth; it interests me. You see, the Gamilon genome has produced no telepaths - we have no cultural history of them, no social framework in place for dealing with them. If anything, the average Gamilon in the street probably fears telepaths more than the normals among your own people. That's why the man you scanned destroyed himself. The shock of encountering an actual mindtoucher drove him momentarily mad." Devlin looked miserable. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't want him to die. I... " He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I always knew I might have to kill someone someday, on the run, but I always hoped it wouldn't come to that. I never expected it to happen -here-, of all places... " He shook his head. "But then I never expected to be here." "You must have known you would come here sooner or later," said Corimel, "when you chose to pursue Princess Dessler... " Devlin shook his head, a wan grin stealing over his face. "Well, that's just it, you see - I didn't. Amanda chose -me-... and I've never really understood why. I don't think she does either. Last summer, when I helped her get back here in time for the Vuldroni War, she asked me to explain it, as though I ever could." He looked sheepish. "Truth to tell, for the first six months or so I knew her, I didn't really know who she -was-. I'm not very good with off-Earth politics." Garon grinned. "That's probably what drew her to you initially," he said. "You didn't react the way most offworlders do when they hear her name. That made you special enough to investigate further... and the rest... " He shrugged. "I'm just a brainless dilettante. The complexities of love are quite beyond me." Devlin furrowed his brow. "Why -are- you posing as an upper-class twit?" he inquired. "I do it because it makes people - like Psi Corps field investigators - write me off and pay me no mind, but you... " "Well, that's kind of a long story," said Garon, "but perhaps you've earned the short version. Many years ago, Amanda and I swore a pact: she would be Empress when Father retired, and she would make me Admiral of the Fleet. Amanda was very small then, and I just beginning military school. All I ever wanted was to command the fleet in battle. I never wanted to be Emperor, with all that that entailed, and anyway, I really -don't- have the head for it. I have no patience for politics or the demands of rule." Devlin looked skeptical. "And Amanda does?" "She has hidden reserves of patience and cunning," said Garon mildly. "She's much better suited to the intrigues of the throne than I. But we knew that Father would never pass me over for the succession if we simply asked. It would look too strange to the nobility and the public. So, with Corimel's help, I cultivated the image of a bad seed - dissipated, drunken, affable but stupid. By the time I got out of the Academy, I had nearly failed out twice and been disciplined for slovenly behavior and absenteeism more times than I can count. They only graduated me because of who I am, and because drunken, foolish Garon is so damned likeable. Before long, the Council of Nobles was dropping broad hints to Father that, much as they liked me and thought I was a fine, hearty fellow and all, perhaps it would be best if he skipped me and went on to Amanda. "Our plan had an unfortunate side effect, though; Xenia believed my act as well, and began to think that I would make a good Emperor - easily malleable by my lovely and talented youngest sister's charm and will, you understand. When I was passed over in favor of Amanda, who has never had the slightest patience for her chicanery, well... she became furious, though she hides it from Father. "At any rate, the attempts started then - two years ago," said Garon. "To keep the peace in his house, Father decided he'd send one of them away, hoping that the rift would cool with absence. Amanda volunteered - she was interested in other worlds and wanted to see more of the universe, experience she believed would stand her in good stead when she took the throne. So Xenia remained here and Amanda went to Earth... where she met you, and you know the rest." Devlin nodded. "She's stepped up her attempts because of the rumors about your father retiring, year after next - taking advantage of the summit with the Valgar to keep him busy." He sighed. "And she's damned near succeeded." "The best thing would be for the both of you to leave Gamilon as soon as Amanda's well enough to travel," said Cora, "but Amanda won't stand for it, I expect. This is the first attack that's come close to succeeding. She'll want to strike back." "Which she mustn't do, no matter how tempting it is," said Garon heavily. "Father will be angry enough as it is. If one or the other actually manages to succeed in sororicide, he'll -explode-. Amanda is his favorite, but he still won't accept an open vendetta." "And we can't -prove- Xenia was behind the attack tonight," said Devlin glumly, "because I killed the man I learnt it from - " "He killed himself, Devlin," said Cora gently. "However it happened," Devlin said, "he's dead and I can't testify to what I pulled out of his head." "Not in a court of law, but perhaps Desslok - " said Cora. "No," said Garon, "he's right, Corimel. We can't involve Devlin in this mess, any more than he already is. It isn't fair to him. If we use his... talents... to straighten out a dispute within the royal family, it'll get out, it'll get back to Earth, and he would never be able to go home." "I think he ought to seriously consider not going home -anyway-," said Cora. She turned to Devlin and said, "You did know the Extension to the Psi Act is on the very doorstep of passage? By the time you return to Earth, it will very probably be law." Devlin nodded. "I know. But I've got away with it this long, I might as well stick it a little while longer. Besides... Earth's my home, what? Be it ever so rotten... and I can't run out on my friends." Garon gave him a long, searching look, then smiled. "I'll enjoy having you for a brother-in-law," he said. The three of them talked through the night, finally getting to sleep just before the gray of dawn, Devlin stretched out under his coat on Garon's couch. They had come to no resolution, merely run out of energy, but all three were still thinking about it as they slept, turning the problem over and over in their minds. Devlin woke at noon, blurry-headed but unable to sleep any more. He got up from the couch, put his coat back on, looked around, and then realized that he was still dressed, aside from his coat, in nothing but undershorts. Feeling rather like a flasher with his coat buttoned over his boxers, he found his way back to Rina Dragonaar's quarters. They were empty, but he was able to get showered, brush his teeth, and put on his clothes, anyway. Then he went to try and find the palace infirmary. That task occupied half an hour, after which he found that the medical staff didn't want to let him in. He wasn't related to the injured party - he wasn't even a Gamilon - and they'd heard from the palace investigators that he'd been somehow -involved- in the unfortunate events which had befallen the princess. What could motivate them to permit him entry to her sickroom? The surprisingly imperious voice of Kitarina Dragonaar, that was what. "Her Highness commands that Mr. Carter come to her side at once," she snapped, and that was enough for the orderly who had been barring Devlin's path. With a crisp salute (but, Devlin noticed, no apology), he got out of the way. As soon as they were alone in the corridor, on their way down to the private room that held Amanda, Rina's bluster vanished and she slumped, looking dispirited. "Morning, Carter," she said glumly. "You don't look as hung over as you should." "Sorry," said Devlin, trying to look as though he were in more pain. "I take it you're in on the game, then." "Mm-hmm," she replied. "Isn't much Amanda knows that I don't. Matter of fact, right now there's at least one thing she -doesn't- know that I do." "I, ah, see someone found you a uniform," said Devlin, hoping. As he'd hoped, that drew a smile from her gloomy face, albeit a small one. "Yeah... Doctor Trij said I was too distracting dressed the way I was. Shame, really. I thought that shirt suited me, didn't you?" "Oh, ah, absolutely. Right down to the ground," Devlin agreed. She gave him a quizzical look. "Figure of speech," he added. "Oh," she said, and then sighed sadly again. "Hell of a bodyguard I am, Carter," she said. Devlin wanted to make some reply to that, try to buck her up, but they'd arrived at the door of Amanda's room. An armored Imperial Guardsman stood on either side; they nodded to Rina, and she passed through with Devlin at her heels. Amanda was propped up in an articulated recovery bed, swathed in covers to her waist and smocked above. The right side of her face was bandaged almost completely from hairline to jaw; the left side looked more or less normal, discounting the glorious black eye. There was a duraseal dressing around her upper left arm, and another around her right hand. When she saw Devlin, she smiled, though the effort obviously cost her some pain from her bruised and stiffened face. He hesitated in the doorway, uncertain what to do, but she raised her unbandaged hand and held it out to him, so he came to her side and took it in both of his. "You're a fright, m'dear," he said with false cheer. "I'm sure," Amanda replied. Her voice was raspy, dry from oxygen. "I'm afraid I may not be much to look at from the right. My naval rank entitles me to a replacement, but not a particularly elegant one." She looked at Devlin with her one good eye and went on, "Do you understand?" Devlin gave her a blank look, then caught on and smiled quietly. "Of course," he said. He bowed his head. "Though it may be rather a moot point, when you hear what I've to tell you. You may not want me around to see it in the first place when you know the full truth about me." Amanda looked faintly puzzled, but only faintly - she was conscious, but obviously chemically altered. "I'm afraid," she said dryly, "I don't follow you, Earthman." "Amanda, I... " Devlin looked up again, looking her in the face, his own countenance stricken with the fear of what might happen next. "I've not told you one important thing about myself - a thing you had a right to know last summer, when we said goodbye in Boston, and I almost told you then, but at the last minute I didn't dare. I thought... if I told you, I'd... " He hung his head, ashamed, and finished in a small voice, "I'd lose my chance... and since then I've been too afraid of what you'd think of me... " She regarded him with an expression of interest, but nothing more. "Well, spit it out, then... suspense and my present condition don't go together well," she said calmly. Devlin gazed silently at her for a few moments, then said quietly, "I'm a blip, Amanda. An unregistered telepath." Amanda looked back at him for a few moments, her face unreadable; then she asked simply, "How long have you known?" "Three years... no, almost four," Devlin told her. "Before you met me." "Long before." "And you didn't tell me, not because you feared I would turn you in to your planet's ridiculous 'Psi Corps'... but because... " Her face adopted an intensely thoughtful look. "Forgive me," she said, "the medication slows my thought processes. You didn't tell me because... you thought I would be less willing to have you as a lover if I knew?" Devlin looked absolutely miserable. "Well... yes," he said. Amanda blinked once, slowly. The corner of her mouth quirked slightly. It could have been a smile or a grimace; in his agony of self-loathing, Devlin couldn't really tell. Then it quirked a little more. Her eye twinkled a little, and then she leaned her head back against the pillow and laughed, a long, high, slightly cackling laugh. It was not a bitter sound, but a laugh of pure amusement. "Oh, Devlin," she said as she came down. She extracted her hand from his to wipe a tear from her eye, then seized his right hand again as he tried to withdraw it, pulled it to her lips and kissed his knuckles. "Oh, Devlin," she repeated. "That is the most precious thing... here I am, Crown Princess of the Gamilon Empire, willing to commit the -enormously- politically-unsound act of welcoming an Earthman to my bed, and you feared that I would hesitate simply because he's a particular -sort- of Earthman? Your naivete charms me anew." Devlin blinked. "Garon... Garon said that Gamilons are more afraid of people like me than the normals back home. Not that you're afraid of -anything-," he added hastily, "but... " He shrugged. "I'm sorry. I should have trusted you." Amanda composed herself and eyed him coolly. "Indeed you should," she said sternly. "In future, I trust you will remember this." 'In future.' She was letting him off the hook. Devlin sagged with relief, pressing his bowed forehead to the back of her hand. "I will," he promised. "Always, I will." "That's enough, Earthman," she said, gently pulling her hand free and then running her fingers through his shock of yellow hair before reaching lower and tilting his chin up to look him in the face. "Don't go to pieces. You've earned this indulgence; I understand it's you I owe my life." "That's right," said Rina. "I was no damn use at -all-. My best friend gets jumped by four killers right under my nose. Two attempts in the same day, one of them involving a whole -flight- of stolen starfighters... I should have realized Xenia would try something else. I should have damned well -insisted- on staying there, not gone back to my own damn room like an idiot. Kru's AXE, Amanda, I'm a -Dragonaar-. I should have been sleeping right there -with- you, not one floor down." Amanda chuckled, giving her a fond, ironic smile. "You stupid girl," she said mildly. "You know I can't sleep with you in my bed. You snore too loudly. And your elbows! You're as free with those things in your sleep as you are when you're awake. No doubt," she went on, watching Devlin's face go crimson, "you've blackened poor Devlin's ribs for him by now." "Nah," said Rina, her flagging spirits bolstered by Amanda's mock rebuke. "I've been sure to be gentle with him. He's such a -fragile- creature, you know." "Oh, indeed," Amanda agreed. "He is quite a pathetic specimen, isn't he, Kit? Cowardly, spineless, weak and stupid, just as he claims." The air of light mocking vanished from her voice and face as she looked Devlin in the eye again and added, "Clearly such a creature wouldn't hesitate to fling himself headlong into unknown danger wearing nothing but undershorts and an old coat." Devlin blushed again, but it was a blush of self-consciousness rather than embarrassment this time. "Yeah, you've got that right," Rina chimed in. "He's as bad as that worthless brother of yours. It's enough to make me swear off men for life." "You never had any use for them anyway," Amanda pointed out, the vein of sarcasm interrupted. "I know," Rina replied, "but I'm rethinking my position," she added, giving weight to the pun by pressing herself vampishly against Devlin's right side. Devlin's blush changed back to embarrassment. "That's -so- cute, the way he does that," said Rina. "Mm," Amanda agreed. "You should see him when he's - " "A-MAN-da!" Devlin blurted. "PLEASE!" Amanda gave him a speculative look. "Well... if you insist, Earthman. I -do- owe you my life. We'll have to be careful, though. I should hate for you to have to explain to Dr. Trij exactly how you caused the internal bleeding to resume... " Amanda stopped there, because she knew that if she pushed him any farther, his ears would catch fire; and anyway, her automated medication system had just hit her with another shot of Deverox and she suddenly wasn't feeling up to stringing all that many words together in a foreign language. She wanted to get serious again for a moment, tell Devlin how much his actions had meant to her all -aside- from saving her life, tell him that they joked because they were Skyblade and Sniper, and Skyblade loved him and Sniper was starting to, tell him how special that was, tell him that she was a Dessler and Kit was a Dragonaar and everything would be perfectly all right... ... but she fell asleep before she could get any of it out. "... don't understand that girl at all," Devlin muttered as he left the hospital wing a few minutes later. "She's not as complicated as you seem to think," said a voice, and he jumped, not having realized until that moment that Corimel Dragonaar had fallen into step beside him. "Sorry," she said, then continued, "She and Garon are of a type. For all that they pretend and bluster, they wear their hearts on their sleeves. They're like their mother, Dolshaia grant her peace. Elektra loved not wisely but too well." "Mm," Devlin grunted, too preoccupied with the problem of Amanda's predicament to show the interest he normally would have felt in the late matriarch of the Dessler line. "Who's Xenia take after then?" he asked. "I don't think she's like Desslok, unless I've completely misjudged him." "Xenia is an aberration," said Cora coldly, and Devlin scratched that topic off his "to be explored further" list. "Maybe so," he replied, "but she's an aberration who's come damn close to killing someone I'm very, very attached to - and she almost got Amanda, too," he added with a wry grin. It had its desired effect, cracking the ice that had formed over Corimel's face at the question about Xenia; she smiled and said, "You're of a type too, Carter. You're right, Xenia is dangerous, but Amanda's as safe as she can be on this planet right now. The medical staff are untouchable by Xenia's methods. They cannot be bought or plied with charm - they answer to Desslok himself." "Speaking of," said Devlin, "does Desslok know what's happened yet?" Cora nodded. "Dad told him this morning," she said. "He's livid, of course, but with no substantial evidence that Xenia was behind it... " She shrugged. "Desslok has something of a mental block about his offspring. He chooses to believe Garon's charade, and he chooses to believe that Xenia will grow out of her assassination phase if she's given a chance. At any rate, there's little he can do; the negotiations with the Valgar are critical and delicate. Until Friday, he can do little but keep in touch with me and my sister through our father and ensure that we're keeping watch over Amanda and Garon. Speaking of whom," she said, as they drew near to the entrance to Amanda's brother's chambers, "Garon would like to see you again. He's been thinking some more about the problem, and wants to compare notes with you." Taking Devlin's preoccupied silence as assent, Cora conducted him to Garon's apartment, then excused herself and disappeared through the side door. "Good afternoon, Mr. Carter," said Garon, welcoming Devlin to his rooms again with a firm handshake as soon as the door was closed. "I trust you slept well?" "Fairly well, thank you - er... Your Highness? Commander?" "Garon," said Garon, smiling. "Well, then, I suppose you'd best call me Devlin, then," said Devlin. "Or Carter. Take your pick... " "The Dragonaar sisters seem to have laid claim to 'Carter'," said Garon with a grin. "At any rate, Devlin, what news?" "Bloody little," said Devlin, plopping down on the end of the couch. "Amanda's forgiven me for not telling her about my little legal problem, and the doctors are working on her eye now, but... " He shrugged, frustrated. "We're still where we were last night as far as Xenia goes." Garon frowned. "Mm. I've been thinking about it for most of the morning, but I don't know what we can do either. We could investigate the attackers, but I'm fairly confident that wouldn't lead anywhere. Xenia is too careful to leave a material trail. It -was- surprisingly sloppy of her to have direct contact with the one you scanned; normally, such killers would be hired through an intermediary, or even a chain of intermediaries. She must have been in a terrible hurry. Still, none of them will have had anything traceable, and their personal histories will inevitably lead nowhere. Gamilor is full of their type, ex-soldiers looking for a quick credit or two, plying the only skills they have." "Mm," Devlin replied. "Tell me something," he said after a moment's thought. "Yes?" "Why do Cora and Rina get all stonefaced whenever Xenia's mentioned or around? I mean, I realize Rina can't be too fond of the girl, she keeps trying to kill her best friend, but... their reactions seem awfully... I dunno, -extreme-, even for that. I almost get the feeling Rina hates Xenia more than Amanda does." "I wouldn't be surprised if she does," Garon replied sadly. "You've heard Rina's family's motto?" "'For every Dessler a Dragonaar'?" Devlin inquired. Garon nodded. "Did you notice that Xenia came alone to Amanda's rooms yesterday, that she was unaccompanied at the dinner last night?" Devlin thought about it. Yes, now that Garon mentioned it, he had. He hadn't noticed it consciously, but some part of him had noted it and filed it away. "Corimel and Kitarina had a brother named Dalin," said Garon. "He was two years younger than Rina, the same age as Xenia. Dalin was devoted to Xenia - not that unusual, for a Dragonaar, but he carried it to an unhealthy degree. He would do anything, absolutely anything, for that girl; and she recognized his devotion at an early age, and abused it. In primary school, Dalin would fight boys twice his size - whole groups of them - because Xenia said they had insulted her. He was a scrappy little fellow, I have to say that for him, even if he wasn't - Cora would kill me if she heard me say this - the smartest fruit that ever fell from that particular tree." "What... " Devlin's voice caught; he coughed and tried again. "What happened to him?" "When they were seven," said Garon, "Xenia told Dalin she wanted a Dorjak egg. Do you know what a Dorjak is?" Devlin shook his head. "It's a kind of bird that lives in the Vron Mountains, northeast of Gamilor. Rugged country, still wild and quite beautiful, but harsh. Dorjaks are great scarlet and green creatures, quite beautiful, and they grow to have wingspans as great as thirty feet. Their eggs are scarlet and green too, as big as your head, and highly prized as items of beauty in some circles. Cadets at the Military Academy commonly trek into the Vrons to bring back Dorjak eggs for their sweethearts. Sometimes they don't come back." "... And Dalin... " "Was seven years old," Garon said, nodding, "and knew not the meaning of fear. They found what was left of him at the foot of Mount Krais. Grenlo's verdict was that Dalin's own foolishness had led him to his fatal misadventure, but as far as Cora and Rina are concerned, Xenia murdered their brother, the same as if she had put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. But they are Dragonaars, and Xenia is a Dessler... so they cannot satisfy their thirst for revenge. Yes... I could easily believe that Kitarina hates Xenia more than Amanda does." Devlin sat in silence, absorbing what he had just heard. "You'll be a target now, too," said Garon, suddenly changing the subject. "It will have gotten back to Xenia from the palace investigators by now that you and Rina cornered the last of her hirelings because you 'heard a noise' and came to investigate," he explained. "That will be enough." "I'm not afraid of Xenia," Devlin growled, as some part of his mind took a half-step back and said, Oh -aren't- we now, boyo? "Even so," said Garon, "your best bet is to keep your head down until Friday. Amanda's safe where she is, with Rina hovering over her in a manner she normally wouldn't put up with. As for you, well... you can stay here. You and I can spend the week enhancing our reputations as drunken idiots." "Sterling," said Devlin glumly. "I don't suppose you've any books in a language I can -read-... " "Well, no," said Garon apologetically. "However... " He went to the far end of the room and whipped back a tapestry, revealing an alcove where Devlin had thought there would be a wall. In that alcove was what looked remarkably like the usual stage setup for the Art of Noise, less the stack of keyboards and things in the center that Kaitlyn always stood behind. Garon picked up a guitar from a stand, slung it over his shoulder, and fiddled with the controls a bit before turning to Devlin with a smile on his lean, aristocratic face. "I understand you're a drummer," he said. Amanda was permitted no visitors for the next four days; the medical staff were putting her through a rigid regimen of... well, of -something-, Devlin really didn't understand what, but whatever it was, he couldn't go and see her again. Rina remained in the infirmary wing for the entire time, never going farther from Amanda's side than the absolute minimum distance the medicos would permit, watching hawklike over their every move and procedure. She called on her wristcom to Garon or Cora with periodic updates; after the first day, Garon found one for Devlin, too, so he could communicate with her directly. What time wasn't spent fretting over Xenia's next move, Amanda's condition, or Rina's increasing level of sleep deprivation, Garon, Cora and Devlin spent noodling about as a trio combo. Garon was quite a good guitarist, perhaps not as talented as Azalynn, but somewhat more experienced; Cora was a passable bassist, though she lacked Moose MacEchearn's thunderous intensity. Here, then, was where Amanda had honed her skills as a razor-sharp rhythm guitarist - playing the backing line behind her beloved brother's axe, while Cora and Rina provided the rest of the rhythm line. It struck Devlin as somehow fitting that Rina Dragonaar should be a fellow drummer. Garon and Devlin spent the evenings talking about this and that, getting to know each other better, putting away a bit more of the Saurian brandy. On Wednesday night, Devlin actually lost track of his intake enough to get rather pleasantly pissed; Garon, knowing that Corimel was on duty and that he could clear himself out in a few seconds if he needed to, modulated his trick liver to achieve a similar state for parity's sake, at which point their conversation swerved into strange, uncharted territories. Devlin earnestly strove to impress upon Garon that, back on Earth, Amanda's attitude toward her brother (and vice versa) would be considered more than just a skosche odd - that it was in fact a -crime- in most places on Earth, including the one he came from and the one he lived in now - but that he, Devlin Edison Carter, was a high-minded enough, nay, galactically cosmopolitan enough, individual that, if it didn't bother either of the Desslers, it flaming well wouldn't bother him either, by God! Devlin Carter, he declared, was a big enough fellow to share the woman he loved with her own brother, if that was what she wanted. Garon accepted this magnanimous declaration with the grave gratitude it deserved, and replied that he held precisely the same opinion regarding his sister's liaisons with a certain outlaw Earthman, which, though not actually illegal on Gamilon, would certainly be considered every bit as weird there as would Garon and Amanda's relationship be on Earth. Furthermore, and to wit, Garon announced that he, Garon Tultalian Dessler, felt that Devlin Carter was a damned fine individual, even if he -was- a somewhat peculiar color, and if he ever felt adventurous enough to try that sharing in real time, as it were, Garon would be pleased to broaden his horizons. We can only speculate as to how Devlin would have reacted to this remarkable offer, for at that particular moment, he lost what little remained of his consciousness. On Thursday, he remembered very little of the aforementioned conversation, which was just as well, and spent much of the afternoon regretting having ever decided to become a drummer. On Friday, the negotiations with the Valgar came to a successful close. There was a ticker-tape parade for Desslok and the Valgar ambassador (a bristly, rather porcine lady named Glur - but then, all Valgar are bristly and rather porcine, so perhaps the description does Madame Ambassador Glur an injustice). It was announced that there would be a formal reception in the Great Hall of the Imperial Palace - receiving line, dinner, dancing, the works - very high-class. Even Garon, in the official doghouse though he was, would be expected to attend. "Grand," Devlin observed glumly. "Well, I suppose I can catch up on my television watching." "Not a bit of it, dear fellow," said Garon in his Stupid Mode voice. "You'll be attending as well! You're my dear sister's guest, after all." Devlin gave him a look. "Come off it, Garon. Amanda's not going to be at a flamin' -reception dance- in her condition." "Come off it yourself, Devlin," Garon replied. "She'll be there. Bloodied-but-unbowed and all that, eh, what?" said Garon in a decent impression of Devlin's -own- camouflage accent. "It'll be an opportunity to show Xenia that she can't keep Amanda down. Mark my words, she'll be there - and she'll be most upset if you're not in attendance. So get up to Kitarina's apartment and get your suit, old man, and Corimel will make sure your boots are shined." For the second time in a week, Devlin Carter stood in the Great Hall of Desslok's palace, but this time, the place was -packed- with people, and he didn't have the comforting presences of Amanda and Rina at his sides to make him feel less obvious and unwelcome. The vastness of the Hall was a sea of uniforms, gowns and finery. Devlin stood near one of the pillars along the middle of one side of the room, trying not to be visible. Emperor Desslok stood before the head table, which was on a raised dais like a stage at the head of the room. He still wore his starkly simple uniform, with the equally burly, scarlet-haired figure of Grenlo Dragonaar a bit behind him. Xenia was there, standing at her father's left. Devlin noticed her staring at him a few times with a very strong, uneasy-making gaze. Garon stood three empty places down to his father's right, with Corimel beside him. Every now and then he caught Devlin's eye and gave him a broad, drunken wink; Devlin noted the -real- expression behind the boozy mask and felt a little better. As the orchestra finished tuning and prepared to start the first dance number, they were suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a chamberlain's messenger; hurriedly, they rearranged themselves and launched into a fanfare instead, and the chamberlain, standing near the grand entrance, boomed, "Her Imperial Highness, the Princess Amanda Elektra Dessler." The doors slammed open with a deep crash like distant thunder, and there stood Amanda. Devlin caught his breath, for he had never in his life seen her like this before. She was wearing a costume that seemed half uniform and half ballgown; it had a voluminous skirt that reached to the floor, but the upper half of it bore more than a family resemblance to the tunic and jacket of her naval uniform, complete with the rank pips glittering on either side of her collar's throat notch and the gleaming silver braid at her left shoulder; and, ballgown or not, she yet wore her blaster and gladius at her belt. The assemblage ought to have looked ridiculous, and yet somehow, the way she wore it, it did not. Even the silver tiara surmounting her brow didn't seem out of place. She strode into the hall, her shoes, invisible under the skirts of her gown, clicking against the alloy floor, holding herself perfectly erect, head high. Only a very slight stiffness in her gait betrayed the fact that her wounds were not fully healed. The bruises were gone from her face, and the bandages, too. She looked almost normal - except for the mirror-windowed metal plate the size of the palm of Devlin's hand which covered her right eye socket, and the black-edged, laser-sealed scar the width of a handspan that crossed underneath it, from the middle of her cheek to the bridge of her nose. The disfigurement, still fresh, served somehow to accentuate the loveliness of the unmarked side of her face. It was as though Devlin had never really noticed before how beautiful she was. Faced with it now, he gasped, not in horror but in awe. Rather than being a jumble of contradictory images - the softness of the white ballgown, the martial harshness of the uniform-cut jacket; the serene beauty of a princess, the battle-scarred pride of a warrior - she was a complete and coherent picture: Amanda Elektra Dessler, the Crown Princess of Imperial Gamilon. She took his breath away. One step behind her, slightly to her right, Kitarina Dragonaar matched her stride for stride, dressed in her immaculate dress uniform, which somehow failed utterly to mute the luscious curves of her miniature-Venus body with its hard-edged military formality. Even with her face set in a scowl of concentration, her aqua eyes scanning the vast crowd, the muscles of her blaster arm tense, she radiated an air of sensuality. The contrast was almost -alarming- in its intensity. Devlin smiled and stepped away from the pillar, straightening himself into something like attention as Amanda and Rina drew even with his position. Amanda's eye flickered toward him, taking notice. She smiled and stopped even with him, looked from one side of the assembly to the other, and dropped a very competently done curtsey as Rina, at her side, bowed without taking her eyes off the room. The orchestra, finished with their fanfare, began the first waltz. Desslok took a step forward from the receiving line, no doubt intending to have the first dance with his daughter himself, but she only nodded to him, then left-faced and marched, head held high, to Devlin Carter. "Dance with me, Earthman," she said. "Here in front of everyone?" he murmured. she thought, and he cocked an eyebrow in surprise that she'd have thought of communicating with him that way - thinking "loudly" enough, near enough to him, that he couldn't help but pick it up even with his unconscious shields in place. Devlin mustered his courtliest bow, then stepped forward, took her outstretched hand, put his free hand on her waist near the hilt of her gladius, and swept her into the waltz. He was a competent dancer, and handled her gently, conscious of her still-hurting wounds. She smiled at him as they whirled round the room. she remarked. he replied, smiling. Then the smile faltered a bit as, in a turn, he caught sight of Xenia, staring hard at them from the head table, the hatred burning so intensely in her eyes that he didn't need to be a telepath to pick it up. he asked. Amanda smiled again, a private smile, just for the two of them. Devlin blinked at her, astounded by the thought; but his own answering thought was automatic: she told him, and they danced. When the waltz was finished, they went to the head table and presented themselves to the Emperor. He seemed faintly amused by them, greeting Devlin with the same highly respectful formality as last time and Amanda with a slightly more regimented version of the same paternal fondness. Garon and Devlin exchanged idiotic bonhomie underlain by conspiratorial glee. Xenia somehow forced herself to be civil to her sister and Devlin, though the sight of her hated sister in the arms - IN THE ARMS! - of an EARTHMAN, in PUBLIC, obviously revolted her to the point where she had a hard time speaking. If nothing else, since he could -feel- her revulsion and loathing, Devlin had to give her credit for the grit it took to maintain her outward air of cool cordiality. Diplomats and officers moved along the line, greeting the assembled royalty and their guests, then going off to dance; as the evening wore on, things slipped into a pleasant monotony. Dinner was pleasant, even with the continued arctic undercurrents between Xenia, her sister, and the Dragonaar girls. Rina abstained from intoxicants, being on duty, but still managed to be quite a bit of fun. Devlin was getting used to her flirtatious style of play, which made him able to play -back-, something she found at first confounding and then, apparently, highly stimulating. Garon got "drunker" and "happier", finally throwing an arm around Devlin's neck and declaring him "a damned fine son of an Earthman," which gave Devlin the oddest feeling of deja vu for some reason. Then, abruptly, as yet another man in a uniform approached the head table, Devlin's heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, without warning, the Garon-like air of partially-intoxicated, partially-stupid goodwill vanished from his face, and he stood up as though his chair had been electrified. Rina was on her feet a half-second after him, her blaster already drawn, but Devlin's hand had plunged into and whipped out of his trouser pocket already. He flung his free arm out, leaning to shield as much of Amanda as possible with his own body, as his gun hand thrust forward with a glint of chrome in it. The sizzling whine of a charging phased plasma gun mounted and gave way to the weapon's characteristic spitting-crash discharge, and the man who had been approaching the head table pitched backward, an ugly burn marring the center of his white-clad chest like a lethal corsage. In an instant, the room erupted into chaos. Alarms howled and armored shutters slammed as the palace security systems registered the weapon discharge. Armored Guardsmen flooded into the Great Hall, their weapons at the ready. Garon Dessler blared a drunken challenge and hurled himself past Rina and Amanda to crash into Devlin and bear him down to the floor. This seemingly aggressive move was actually calculated to prevent Devlin from being spitted by the bayonets of antsy Guardsmen, since, as far as they could tell, he had just assassinated Palace Chief Investigator Rijiger for no reason whatsoever. By the time everything got sorted out, Devlin was sitting very uncomfortably in a very comfortable chair while Emperor Desslok played idly with his PPG on the top of the imperial desk. "So," said Desslok evenly. "You brought this into the palace without asking permission, without telling -anyone- you had it. Not even my daughter." "Yes, sir. That is to say, no, sir, not even her," said Devlin, who couldn't shake the uncanny feeling that he was in the Dean of Students' office being called to account for an infraction. "Why?" Desslok asked calmly. "I'm an unregistered telepath," Devlin told him flatly. "I carry it to protect myself from the Psi Corps conscription forces." "There are no Psi Corps conscription forces on Gamilon," Desslok informed him, still calm. "I know that, sir," said Devlin. "But when one has been on the run as long as I have... well, habits die hard." Desslok considered this, then carefully restored the clip to the weapon, made certain the safety interlock was set, and slid it back across the top of his massive marble desk toward its owner. Devlin blinked at it. "I... I can have it back?" Desslok nodded. "You'll be returning to Earth soon," he said, "and I'm not sure if you've heard, but the Extension to the Psionics Regulation and Protection Act passed this morning." Devlin looked slightly ashen and replied in a subdued tone, "No. I hadn't heard." "Well, it passed," said Desslok. "So your need for your weapon will be greater than ever, if you return." He nodded toward the PPG. "I won't send a man who has saved my daughter's life twice into a situation like that unarmed. I'm loath to send him into it at all," he added with the faintest hint of a wry smile, "but I have the feeling he's as stubborn as Amanda." Devlin smiled, reclaiming his weapon and tucking it away. "You'd be right about that," he said. Then, his smile vanishing, he said, "Sir, about - " Desslok held up a hand, palm outward. "Don't say it," he said. "I've taken my own measures already." He pressed a key on the commpanel built into his desk. "Xenia, come here, please." The office door opened and Xenia, still in her ballgown, entered, looking a trifle frightened. Devlin had to hand it to her again - she was, in fact, cold-shit scared. That was obvious even without any probing. "Yes, Father?" she said, outwardly calm. "Xenia, there have been a rash of assassination attempts in my house over the past week," Desslok informed her, as if it were news to her. "This is clearly an intolerable state of affairs." "Father, I - " she began, but Desslok interrupted her: "Until I know for certain who is behind these attacks, I think it best that all three of my children leave Gamilon. Garon will cut his leave short and return to the Vengeance this afternoon. Amanda will return to Earth and finish out her vacation there. And you, Xenia - " "Me?" Xenia squeaked. "But Father, what could - " "No, Xenia, hear me out," said Desslok. "That last attacker disturbs me greatly. Investigator Rijiger was an old and trusted member of this household, and yet he had a poisoned dart in his sleeve and was preparing to use it, knowing that the act would almost certainly cost him his life. That speaks of a deeply entrenched, highly involved conspiracy to murder at least one, possibly all, of my heirs. You may just as easily have been the target of this last attempt. It's entirely possible you owe Mr. Carter here your life." Xenia's eyes flashed at Devlin, promising terrible retribution for this outrage, but she was all composure as she said to her father, "Do you really think so? I thought - " Again Desslok cut her off. "Until I find out what enemy of my house is determined enough, cunning enough, ruthless enough, and -foolish- enough to infiltrate this palace and make an agent of a retainer as established as Rijiger, I must know that all three of my children are safe. You, Xenia, are especially vulnerable, as you have no Dragonaar to protect you. You will go to the Academy, where the faculty and the Military Police can shelter you." "The Academy?!" Xenia blurted. "But Father! We agreed that I was to be -excused- from military service. My delicate constitution - I could never - " "It's only for a short time," Desslok told her firmly. "Until the threat is uncovered and exterminated. Then you can come home." "But I - I - " Devlin struggled not to smile. Xenia knew damn well -she- was in no danger from the mysterious malevolence that had been orchestrating events against Amanda all week, but she couldn't possibly tell -Desslok- that. All she could do was stammer a bit, then acquiesce as gracefully as possible and go to assemble her things. The look she gave Devlin as she turned to go, thinking Desslok couldn't see her, would have curdled concrete. "So," said Desslok, rising to his feet. Devlin got up with him, and Desslok put out a hand. "You and Amanda had best leave as soon as you can," he said as they shook hands. "I'll provide you with a ship; you may need one of those in the coming days as well." "Thank you, sir," said Devlin. "You have saved my heir twice in the last week, Mr. Carter," said Desslok gravely. "Desslok Kuraino Dessler does not forget such things." What more needed to be said after that? "Well, goodbye, old sport," said Garon cheerily, pumping Devlin's arm up and down. "Awfully good meeting you. Have to do it again sometime." He leaned closer and added, sotto voce, "(Preferably -without- the assassination plot next time.)" "(You've -that- right,)" Devlin murmured. "Cheerio, old man!" he replied in a louder tone. "Watch out for those Void Ghosts on the Rim, eh, what?" "Goodbye, Carter," said Corimel with faint, indulgent amusement. "It has been an interesting week." "Indeed it has, m'lady, indeed it has," said Devlin. Amanda, back in her flightsuit (as Devlin was back in his Earth clothes and his old coat), bade a friendly goodbye to Cora. Then she kissed her brother goodbye (with rather more fire than your average younger sister demonstrates under such circumstances). Finally she turned to Rina and took her by the hands. "I still think I should come back with you," said Rina. "You'd have nothing to do," Amanda told her. "Besides, you've your career to think of. Who would lead Icewing in my place? Drelvon? I shudder at the mere thought. At any rate, I need you to keep me posted on what Xenia gets up to in her exile. This won't be the end of it. I have to know what I'm coming back to this summer." Rina grinned and snapped a salute. "Count on me, boss," she said. "I always do," Amanda replied. She embraced her oldest friend, kissed her goodbye, and then went to prep the small scoutship her father had commanded be made available for her to take them back to Earth. "Well, Carter, I guess this's goodbye," said Rina, turning to face Devlin. "It's been fun, bumps in the road aside." She gave him a grin. "You've given me a couple of things to think about." Devlin went a little pink and replied, "And you, me. Take care of yourself, Rina." "You two take care of each other," she replied, then grabbed him by the lapels and planted a positively toe-curling kiss on him. "-Definitely- something to think about," she told him upon releasing him, then spun him around and propelled him on his way with a hand in the middle of his back. "Now get going before I decide to keep you for myself!" "Right-o," said Devlin, trotting toward the stubby little scoutship, which was now whining and whirring in a preflight power-up sequence. He glanced back over his shoulder and caught Rina's farewell wink. he thought to her with a mental grin. Rina replied, and Garon wondered why the Earthman suddenly blushed scarlet right before he vanished into the scoutship's open hatch. /* Tommy Shaw "Girls With Guns" */ Eyrie Productions, Unlimited I'll tell you now presented And I won't tell you twice UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES Where when and how FUTURE IMPERFECT I got some bad advice - Symphony of the Sword- The Courtship of Princess Dessler I never thought I could handle a girl with guns The Cast And let me tell you, you can bet (in order of appearance) That I'm not the only one, oh no Devlin Carter Stand tall Obnoxious Warrant Officer Don't think small Kitarina Telaia Dragonaar Don't get your back against the wall Amanda Elektra Dessler Shoot straight Xenia Laila Dessler I can't wait Emperor Desslok I Aim for the heart and fire away Sergeant Crendil Garon Tultalian Dessler I've come around Corimel Jandhia Dragonaar I understand today Assassin No. 4 She's the target now Chief Investigator Droz Rijiger I'm gonna have my way Constructor Everybody said don't go messing Benjamin D. Hutchins with a girl with guns They don't need you Consultants They couldn't love you John Trussell They couldn't be any fun, no Anne Cross Janice Barlow Stand tall Don't think small Usual Suspects Don't get your back against the wall The Usual Suspects Shoot straight Don't wait to fire away Desslok and the Gamilons rather loosely adapted from An innocent bystander creations of Leiji Matsumoto Who forgets to look both ways Who never tries to understand her (Sounds a bit like a band name, Won't feel the heat 'til it's too late "Desslok and the Gamilons".) So I tell you The Psi Corps created by Stand tall J. Michael Straczynski Don't think small Don't get your back against the wall This song is too long for Shoot straight this story's credits. Don't wait to fire away Much too long, in fact. Stand tall Ironic, given how many of the others Don't think small have fallen a bit short. Don't get your back against the wall Shoot straight Next up, entr'acte 4 (but who's I can't wait counting), "On the Road, Part I: Aim for the heart and fire away Hogtown Rhapsody" Stand tall One or two more entr'actes after Don't think small that one (plus an Interlude) Don't get your back against the wall and we'll be set for Shoot straight "Hunted Rose"... Don't wait to fire away The Symphony Will Return Xenia Dessler sat at the desk in her stateroom aboard the Destiny's Fist, seething. Her, the Princess Xenia, being ferried to the Imperial Academy on Gamilus IX like so much baggage. Uniforms, discipline, hardship, abuse, bad food... for her -safety-? Amanda and her pet Earthman would pay for this, oh yes. She reviewed the security video of the shooting of Investigator Rijiger one more time. Her initial impression had been right; the video proved it beyond doubt. Devlin Carter had acted, had sprung up from his seat and drawn his weapon, before Rijiger had had a chance to act even -remotely- suspicious. When struck down, the Chief Investigator was still walking calmly toward the table, his arms at his sides, the dart completely concealed in his right sleeve. There was no way the Earthman could have known he was coming with murder in his mind... ... unless he could read minds. That fit with what Rijiger had told Xenia about the Earthman's involvement in her hit squad's failure Saturday night, too. Heard a noise? Loud enough to wake him? Unlikely... but the high emotions of Amanda's fight for her life, the deaths of three of her four attackers... Yes. Perfect. Xenia smiled, picked up the telephone built into the desk, and dialed.