The Golden Queen

Chapter 12

Gallen stood up to his knees in the warm water of a new world, panting, holding onto Everynne’s hand. He spared the world a quick glance: twin white-hot suns spun on the horizon. In every direction, a shallow sea reflected the yellow sky, and fingers of vapor climbed from the water. The sea was calm, with only tiny lapping waves, and when Gallen looked toward the distant suns, a strange prismatic effect caused the waves to sparkle in a rainbow. Maggie and Orick were searching about, unable to spot land. But to the southeast, Gallen’s mantle showed him distant bluffs of coral, rising from the water.

“Where the hell are we?” Gallen asked angrily. He was shaking-they’d come close to getting butchered on Fale, and Gallen didn’t like that. Even worse, he didn’t appreciate Everynne hiding things from him-like the fact that she carried a weapon that could destroy a world. She put the Terror into a fold of her robe. Veriasse opened his map.

“We’re on Cyannesse, of course,” he said. The map showed them as a fiery dot of red, but showed no gates. Veriasse pushed a corner of the map, and its scale expanded to display a continent-if continent you could call it. Cyannesse was mostly ocean, and the land here looked to be only a rough archipelago. “Ah, here is the gate,” he said, pointing to a blue arch. “Only about a thousand kilometers. We’re not far from a city.” He pointed southeast, toward the cliffs. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t get it,” Orick bawled. “Why don’t we see the gate from this side? Why did we get dumped in the water?”

“You don’t see a gate from this side,” Veriasse explained, “because the gate doesn’t have two sides. Each gate on a planet is like a bow, shooting you toward a single destination, and you are the arrow. You simply land where you are pointed, within reason. An intelligence is built into each gate, and that intelligence continually tracks the destination planet. There is a beacon buried beneath us that tells the gate how deep the soil is, so you don’t land in a bed of rock. When this gate was built, this spot was on land, but now the oceans have risen. Still, I’ve been through this gate before-this spot is only underwater during high tides. We can make it to shore easily enough.” Veriasse made as if to depart.

“Wait!” Gallen said, looking first to Veriasse, then to Everynne. Gallen still had not sheathed his sword; it dripped blood into the clear, warm water. “Neither of you are going anywhere until I get some answers.”

“What?” Veriasse said. “You wear the mantle of a Lord Protector for two days and think you can beat me in combat?”

Gallen stuck his sword into the sand under the water, swiftly pulled his incendiary rifle, aimed it at Veriasse. “I’ve known you less than a week, but I have heard two very different stories about your plans. First, you said you planned to start a war to win back your realm. But a minute ago, you said you plan to destroy nearly a hundred worlds. I may be a Backward, but I’ve learned a few things in the past week. If that Terror breaks, it will destroy this planet. You are jeopardizing every world you set foot on. No one has that right! You’ve been traveling between the Maze of Worlds, and by your own admission you have sabotaged world upon world. Though you may be a Tharrin, Everynne, I have yet to see evidence of the compassion that you claim as your birthright.”

Maggie and Orick kept still, not daring to interrupt. Veriasse held back. Everynne watched Gallen and licked her lips.

“You are right, of course,” she said. “I’m not what I seem. On Fale, they so wanted a new incarnation of their great judge that they were willing to believe I was her without any evidence. But I am not so certain that I am my mother’s daughter.”

“Don’t say that!” Veriasse interrupted. He said to Gallen, “How dare you! How dare you set yourself up to judge her, you miserable little piece of filth!”

“And how dare you create a god to judge me without my consent!” Gallen shouted. “I’ll not aid you further. In fact, I’ll kill you both dead right now, unless I get some answers!”

“Don’t, Gallen-” Orick growled.

“If he must know the truth,” Everynne said to Veriasse, “I prefer to answer his questions.” She held her head high, gazed evenly into Gallen’s eyes. He could detect no fear in her, no deceit.

“You’re right about me. I don’t feel that I deserve to be the Lord Judge of your world or any other. I haven’t earned that right, and I doubt I’m worthy of it. Certainly, I’m not sure that my people would approve of me. The Tharrin do not just insert a Lord Judge as a ruler. They breed and train and test tens of thousands of candidates for every position that is filled-and I fear that if they knew me, they would be horrified by me. Yes, I carry a device in my pocket that could destroy this world! Yes, I’ve let hundreds of people throw their lives away so that I can win back my mother’s place. I–I don’t even want the position! Maggie-” She looked at the girl. “You told me the other day about how you hated working in your little inn, scrubbing dirt from the floors, washing, feeling like a slave. Yet can you imagine being asked to clean the filth from ten thousand worlds? Can you imagine being the sole arbiter in a hundred thousand disputes per day, sentencing thousands to die every hour? I–I cannot imagine any post that would make me feel more corrupt!”

Tears filled her eyes, and Everynne began coughing, heaving in great sobs. She fell to her knees in the water, folding her arms over her stomach. “Did you see how many died for me today? When I look at the things I’ve done …”

“Shhh …” Veriasse said, sloshing through the water to comfort her. “No matter, no matter. You must only take the post for awhile-long enough for the Tharrin to send a replacement.”

Gallen studied them. It was said that the Tharrin were bred for compassion. He could now see how Everynne suffered. She carried weapons to destroy a world, yet those weapons tore at the very fabric of her sanity, and as he watched her sobbing, saw her self-loathing, part of him realized that if he were to be judged by a god, she was the one he wanted.

Veriasse held Everynne, but he stared up at Gallen with angry, brooding eyes.

“What are your plans?” Gallen asked, “I want every detail.”

“We are going to make war with the dronon,” Veriasse answered. “The Terrors are set on their most heavily occupied worlds. We will only detonate them if we are forced to.”

“Father, don’t!” Everynne said. “No more lies! They’ve earned the right to learn the truth.”

“You can’t-” Veriasse urged, but Everynne said, “Veriasse and I are going to Dronon, to battle the Lords of the Swarm in single, unarmed combat. If Veriasse can defeat them, then by dronon law we will become their lords, and I can order the dronon to retreat from human territory. It’s the only way to save our worlds. It is what my mother wanted. Everything we’ve done-the Terrors, the talk of war, all have been a ruse.”

Gallen considered-his mantle carried a great deal of battle information, and he recalled the dreams it had been sending. Veriasse had made detailed studies of how to fight the dronon in unarmed combat, and Gallen pondered upon the possibility. Nature had gifted the dronon vanquishers with armor. They were larger, stronger, and more mobile than a human, and had an array of weapons that was frightening. A human could hardly hope to win against one in unarmed combat.

“Why not a full-scale war?” Gallen asked. “You could win a war like the one you described on Fale. Destroy Dronon and the occupied worlds. A few fleets could then clean up the mess.”

“We could win a war temporarily,” Veriasse said, “but we would weaken this entire arm of the galaxy. The dronon despise weakness. They try to root it out, destroy it. We would open ourselves to certain attack by other swarms. In time, we would lose. The only way to defeat them with any hope of retaining our territories for an extended period is to beat them decisively while retaining a strong navy. This means that we cannot risk destroying our old guardians, the ones you call “ogres.” Each guardian takes orders through the omni-mind. We have to win Everynne’s omni-mind back and regain control of our navies. We must make the dronon fear our species more than they already do.”

“What do you mean, fear us more than they do? I have seen no evidence that they fear us.”

“The dronon rule by a rigid hierarchy,” Veriasse said. “When a Golden Queen takes over as Lord of the Swarm, then the lords of her defeated enemy do obeisance, accepting her as their rightful leader. But it has been six years now since the dronon conquered us, and few of our lords have subjugated themselves to dronon authority. Instead, our resistance fights the dronon continually, while our lords publicly apologize to the dronon for the ‘madmen’ in our midst who have not yet accepted their queen. But the dronon are not stupid-they see the pattern. Although it goes against their very nature to destroy all members of a defeated hive, they have resorted to xenocide on dozens of our defeated worlds. They fear that, as a species, we are insane.”

“Why do you keep your plan a secret, then?” Gallen said. “If you plan to challenge the Lords of the Swarm in combat, why not be more forthright?”

“Some factions would try to stop me,” Everynne said. “The aberlains, for instance, hope to reap great profits under the Dronon Empire, and they would sabotage our efforts. But there is a more compelling reason to keep this a secret: by dronon law, those who do battle against the Lords of the Swarm must earn ‘Charn’-the right to pass through hive territories-by battling each lesser queen and her escorts.”

“We’ve had to pass through fourteen occupied worlds so far,” Veriasse said. “If we had kept dronon law, I would have had to fight the ruling Lord Escort on each planet. You are wearing my mantle, Gallen. You know how difficult it will be for a mere human to win against dronon vanquishers in unarmed combat. I can’t risk fighting many Lord Escorts. In any given battle, if I lost, then the Lord Escort would try to mar Everynne by wounding her. If Everynne is wounded, she would forfeit her eligibility to succeed the Golden Queen.”

“What do you mean?” Maggie asked.

“Among the dronon, the Golden Queens must be unblemished,” Veriasse answered. “And though some humans have been integrated in dronon society for sixty years, we are not even sure that the dronons will accept a human as Lord of the Swarms. But if they will even consider her as a contender, Everynne can have no visible defects, no scars. I hope the dronon will accept Everynne as an example of one of our own Golden Queens-one who is flawless. One born to rule. For her entire life, we have managed to keep Everynne from ever taking an injury that would leave a scar. That is why I work so hard to keep her from jeopardizing herself.”

“I have one question more,” Gallen said. “You carry a Terror. If you plan only single combat, why do you need such a device?”

“In case we lose totally,” Veriasse said. “Everynne and I are going to the planet Dronon itself. If they reject our suit for the right to engage in ritual combat, they may try to kill us outright. Under such conditions, we have no choice but to begin the fruitless war that we have tried so hard to avoid. We hope that the very presence of the Terror will force the queen’s hand, so that she will have to let us challenge. But, if necessary, Everynne’s mantle will detonate the Terror. When dies, the dronon will lose contact with the omni-mind. Their automated defenses will close down, and our freedom fighters will attack.”

Gallen did not need to ask what would happen next. His mantle whispered the answers. If Dronon was destroyed, forty percent of the hives would die with it. Lesser queens might take over their own realms on distant worlds, but a long and bitter civil war would begin as hives battled to determine who would become the new Lords of the Swarm. Other dronon swarms around the galaxy would be tempted to invade during that time. Even if new lords were found, the inexperienced leaders would be weak. Leadership might turn over several times within the first few months. During such turmoil, the humans would be given time to win back lost territories, gain a stronger foothold. But as Veriasse had said before, it would pose a terrible risk in the long term.

“There is one scenario that you have not described,” Gallen said, “and I am afraid it is the most likely. What if the dronon let you battle for succession and you lose?”

“Then we will at least have established a precedent that would give humans the right to battle for succession,” Veriasse answered. “I have provided key people on several worlds with tissue samples from Everynne. Thousands of clones could be made. In time, one of her escorts could win the battle.”

“Would you then detonate the Terror on Dronon?”

Everynne shook her head. “We couldn’t. Our best hope for success in this contest is to fight the dronon within the bounds of their laws. My mother and the Tharrin considered this course of action for many years. This is the best way to win back our worlds. Otherwise, billions of innocent people will die on both sides of the battle. Surely you see that this is how it must be?”

“But if you don’t win,” Maggie said, “you will be subjecting your people to years of domination by the dronon. You can’t let that happen. The aberlains are making such far-reaching changes that in another generation, our children will no longer be human. You can’t let that happen!” Maggie’s eyes went wide. Though she had appeared calm over the past two days, Gallen could see how her experience on Fale had devastated her.

Veriasse sighed, and Everynne tried to comfort her. “It will be a sad day, even if we win,” Everynne admitted. “Under Tharrin law, we also permitted upgrades on humans-but only within the limits agreed upon by their parents. We wanted all people to be decent and free, and earn the right to immortality. Sometimes we allowed upgrades of whole civilizations so that a people might become better adapted to their own world. But these sad creatures the dronon are forming-my heart bleeds for them. I fear that there will be little place for them in our society. We will give them the opportunity to go to Dronon, if they so desire, carve a niche among the hives. Those who choose to remain with us may have their children reverse-engineered. And I promise you, the aberlains will be punished.”

Gallen could see that Everynne was not gambling with the future of her people. She would either win and live, or she would die and give her people new hope in the process. In either case, Gallen suddenly yearned to go to Dronon to see what would happen-even if it meant dying in the nanotech fire of a world-burning Terror.

Gallen thrust his incendiary rifle into its sheath, pulled his sword from the sand, and began to dry the dripping blade by whipping it over his head in complex patterns.

“Veriasse,” Maggie said, “I have been wondering. Even in my short time working for the aberlains, I concluded that your guardians could have been engineered better. They could be more heavily armored, could be virtually invincible. Since they were Lady Semarritte’s only police force, I find it odd that they are this weak. Orick killed one with his teeth.”

“Lady Semarritte did not rule with an iron hand,” Veriasse said. “The Tharrin rule by the will of the people. Yes, the guardians are imperfect. Part of their weakness stems from the fact that they are based upon models that are very old. But we have always known that someday, someone like the dronon could gain control of an omni-mind. Since guardian officers wear Guides and receive orders directly from the omni-mind, any usurper who controls the omni-mind also controls fleets and armies with billions of warriors spread out across ten thousand worlds. Isn’t it a comfort to know that a human has some hope of beating them?”

Gallen thrust the blade into his sheath. “Let’s go,” he said as he turned and began walking toward the distant shore.

They chugged through the warm water for the next three hours with only one brief rest. The sea had little salt in it and remained marvelously clear. By picking a trail through shallows, they spent most of their time in water that didn’t reach their hips, though they could often look out into deeper pools. In places, rock formations thrust up to create submerged islands. Here, fish swarmed in great silver schools that darted out to the depths and then raced back to the shelter of the rocks. Twice they saw great beasts swimming in the depths, chasing fish. Veriasse warned Gallen to watch for the creatures. “Puas, they are called,” he said. “They feed on fish and anything else they can swallow.”

At last they reached dry land-a beach that extended for miles. The beach was home to sand flies and some soft creature that reminded Gallen of a pinecone with eight legs. Small reddish black spiders fearlessly scuttled about carrying small rocks. If anyone got too close to the spider, it would toss a stone, flipping it over its back with its hind legs. They were fearless spiders, lords of the sand. Gallen saw no birds.

A stiff gale blew from the sea; soon it began driving water over the beach. At last they reached a stony ridge-a metallic green expanse of sculpted limestone like a chimney, flat on top. The ground here was rocky, thick with tide pools.

Gallen and Orick climbed one steeple of pale limestone, looked southeast. In the distance they saw a city built on stilts, but just below them a group of four children were hunting in the tide pools. The children had red skin and were so long of leg that they looked like cranes as they waded through the pools. They had tied colorful rags into their hair, and they wore bright tunics.

With them was a beast, striped with gold and brown scales. It had large carnivorous teeth and used its tail to balance on its strong back legs. Its front legs were small and heavily clawed. Gallen recognized the creature as a dinosaur, some type of raptor. On its back was an ornate leather saddle. Gallen watched the children and their dinosaur hunt. The beast would run through tidal pools, splashing, using a bony crest near its nose to push over heavy rocks. The children would then leap in with capture sticks and scoop up large, yellow lobsters. Some of these they put in a sack, others they fed to their pet.

At last a small child noticed Gallen’s shadow on the ground and looked up. She smiled and waved, pointed at Gallen. The other children glanced at him, then returned to hunting lobsters.

Gallen and Orick climbed back down, and the group made their way around the ridge. The children were just fishing their bag of lobsters from the water. An older boy, perhaps ten, greeted them and asked their destination. Veriasse said that they were heading to the city, and the children seemed happy to see visitors.

The two smallest children were eager to announce the strangers. The children mounted the dinosaur and headed toward the city in the distance, letting the dinosaur run in a long, loping gait. Soon they had nearly raced out of sight. The city, six miles distant, rose from the ground like some vast collection of mushrooms.

Gallen and the others walked through a maze of stony tide pools as an afternoon thunderstorm brewed, until they reached the city. They climbed a wide, winding stairway, like the stem of a mushroom.

When they reached the top, the terrain was uneven, like rolling hills. Small clusters of cement domes made up the homes. No glass was in the windows, no doors in the doorways. Apparently the temperatures here remained warm all year, and no annoying insects flew about. Each doorway led out to a wide parapet where people sat and cooked at communal fires and listened to music. Atop the dome houses were lush gardens.

Everynne removed her mask and pulled back the hood that veiled her face, walking into the city undisguised. The people came out on their verandas to cheer her entrance to the city with loud whistles. Gallen looked at Veriasse, wondering why Everynne was so bold here, and Veriasse explained. “Here on Cyannesse, the dronon are but a distant threat. We are over forty thousand light-years from the world of Fale, well behind our battle lines with the Dronon Empire. Their warships will not reach here for many years. Still, the people here have heard of our long war, and they know Everynne for what she is.”

So it was that by early afternoon, Gallen found himself in the ancient city of Dinchee by the Sea of Unperturbed Meditation on Cyannesse, and there tasted the peace that had once been the rule among Everynne’s people.

That evening there was music and feasting in the city of Dinchee, on the city’s uppermost tier. The suns went down in a blaze of gold, and a cool wind blew thunderheads across the wide ocean. Children roasted whole lobsters over cooking stones and brought them to the guests on great heaping trays, along with melons and roasted nuts and tubers. Gallen could not identify all that he ate, but he ate to his fill, then lay back on the grass with his mouth open, letting the wind play over his face.

Out over the gardens, three youths played mandolins and guitars while a young woman sang. Everynne sat beside them listening, while Veriasse sat beside an old Tharrin woman who insisted on being called only Grandmother, a silver-haired matriarch with small bones and a beauty undiminished by age. She sat on the stones, her long legs folded out to the sides. She wore an ancient mantle that was made of brass-colored plates with ornate symbols of knowledge. The young people of her city served her with great deference.

As Gallen sat under the oncoming night, he saw that these people were not rich. They did not have great stores of food, but instead harvested from the sea and from their gardens. Their entertainment was simple. Shops did not crowd the plazas, as they had on Fale. Everyone wore tunics in bright colors. But if they were not rich in worldly goods, they had enough, and they seemed rich in peace. Their children were strong and smart and happy.

Veriasse talked softly with Grandmother, asking for a couple of airbikes and provisions. The old woman smiled and nodded, saying that they had few airbikes. Yet she granted all of his requests.

Veriasse stopped talking for a moment, looked at Gallen, Maggie, and Orick. “Our three friends,” he told Grandmother, “would like to rest here, taking refuge with your people until they can return home.”

“They will be welcome,” Grandmother said. “As friends of the Grand Lady, we will be glad to attend to them.”

“Pay no attention to that old rooster,” Gallen said quickly. He nodded at Veriasse. “I’ll be going with Everynne when she leaves.”

Veriasse shook his head. “I have given it some thought, and I’ve decided that you shall not come. The dronon control the next two planets we shall visit, and frankly, Everynne and I will be less conspicuous without you.”

“Have you asked Everynne about this?” Gallen asked.

“No,” Veriasse said softly. “I don’t think I need to.”

“Then I will,” Gallen said. He glanced over at the singers. Everynne had been listening to them, but now she had gone. He spotted a flash of blue in the twilight, saw her walking over a small hill among the trees. He got up, made his way through the crowd until he found the trail she had taken. It led down a small gully and off into a miniature woodland where crickets sang in the evening. Of all the things on this planet so far, only the crickets reminded him of home. The path was broad and well-maintained.

He couldn’t see Everynne, so he let his mantle tweak his hearing and vision. He moved as silently as a mist down the trail, passed a pair of naked lovers rolling in a deep bed of ferns.

After a hundred yards, he reached a railed balcony at the edge of the city. There he found Everynne on a parapet at the forest’s edge, watching the suns set. The tide was rushing in over beaches they had negotiated a few hours earlier. The sea had turned coppery orange, and huge white breakers smashed against the limestone rock formations. Beneath the wild, tormented waves, he could see a vast line of green lights.

Everynne stood very quietly. Though she held herself erect, proud, she was so petite that he could have lifted her with one hand. Though her back was to him, he saw tears on her cheek. She shook softly, as if she tried to hold back a wracking sob. “Have you come to watch the torchbearers?” she said, jutting her chin toward the waves and the green lights beneath. “They’re beautiful fish. Each bears its own light to hunt by.”

Gallen walked up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders. She started a bit, as if she had not expected his touch. Beneath his hands, her muscles were tense, strung tight, so he began kneading them softly.

He wanted to ask permission to follow her, but she seemed so troubled, he could not bear to do so. “I don’t want to talk about fish. They aren’t important. What are you crying about?” Gallen waited a long moment for an answer.

Everynne shook her head. “Nothing. I just-” She fell silent.

“You are sad,” Gallen whispered. “Why?”

Everynne looked off, staring at the sea. “Do you know how old my mother was?” Her voice was so soft, Gallen could hardly hear it over the crashing of breakers.

“A few thousand years,” Gallen guessed. She had, after all, been immortal, and Veriasse claimed to have served her for six thousand years.

“And do you know how old I am?”

“Eighteen, twenty?” Gallen asked.

“Three, almost,” Everynne answered. Gallen did a double take. “Veriasse cloned me after my mother died. He raised me in a force vat on Shintol, to speed my growth. He couldn’t risk that I might have a normal childhood-couldn’t take a chance that I might cut myself or break a bone. While I grew in the force vat, he used mantles to teach me-history, ethics, psychology. I feel as if I have learned everything about life, but experienced none of it.”

“And in a few days, you fear that your life may end?”

“No-I know it will end,” Everynne said. “My mother was far older and wiser than I. The dronon had been lurking on her borders for thousands of years. She had millennia to prepare for her battle with them, and still she died. I think my chances of winning are nil. But even if I win, I will be changed. You know what it is to fuse with a personal intelligence, the wonder and pain that all burst in on you in a moment. But an omni-mind is the size of a planet and stores more information than a trillion personal intelligences combined. I am … less than an insect compared to it. My mother and it grew to become one, and when her body died, it would download her personality into her clones. It stores everything that was my mother-all her thoughts, her dreams, her memories. And if I fuse with it, I will no longer be me in any way that matters. Her experiences will overwhelm me, and it will be as if I never existed.”

“You would still be you,” Gallen said, hoping to comfort her. “You wouldn’t lose that.” But he knew he was wrong. As far as the omni-mind was concerned, Everynne was just a shell, a template of the Great Judge Semarritte, waiting to be filled. In the space of a moment, Everynne would grow, learn more than he or billions of other people could ever hope to know. Yet her personality, her essence, would be swept away as something of no importance.

She turned and looked into his eyes, smiled sadly. “You’re right, of course,” she said, as if to ease his mind. The wind blew her hair; Gallen looked into her dark blue eyes.

“Maybe,” Gallen offered, “someone else could take your place. There are other Tharrin. Perhaps Grandmother would reign in your behalf.”

Everynne shook her head. “She is a grand lady, but she would not take my place. A Lord Judge must earn that position, but Grandmother could not earn that title. All of the Tharrin knew of Semarritte’s plan to return as a clone. I sometimes wonder if I am worthy to become a Servant of All, but the Tharrin treat me as if I am but an extension of Semarritte. They say that once I join with the omni-mind, my own short life will have meant nothing. I will be Semarritte.” She paused, took a deep breath. “I want to thank you for what you did today.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you pulled the incendiary rifle on us. I’m glad that you’re not the kind of person who would follow me blindly. Too few people question my motives.”

“Do you feel that your motives need questioning?”

“Of course!” Everynne fell silent for a moment; Gallen heard someone laugh in the distance. It was growing dark, and Gallen felt he should go, but Everynne was standing close to him, only a hand’s breadth away. She gazed into his face, leaned forward and kissed him, wrapped her arms around him.

“Question my motives,” she whispered fiercely. Her lips were warm, inviting.

Gallen took her request literally. “You’re afraid that you will die soon,” Gallen whispered, and he kissed her back. She leaned into him, her firm breasts crushing into his chest.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” she whispered. “I want to know what it’s like for me to be in love.”

Gallen considered the way that she had said it, pulled back. “Veriasse was your mother’s escort. Was he also her lover?”

Everynne nodded, and suddenly Gallen understood. Once the omni-mind downloaded its memories, Everynne would become Semarritte in every way. Veriasse was not just trying to restore the Great Lord Judge to his people. He was rebuilding his wife. “He has never touched me, never made love to me,” Everynne said. “But I can see how I torment him. I’m but a child to him, a shadow of the woman he loves. Sometimes he watches me, and I can see how his desire tears at him.”

Everynne leaned close for a long moment. Gallen could feel her heart hammering against his chest. “Give me this night,” she said. “Whatever comes later, let me stay with you tonight.”

Gallen looked into her wide eyes, felt the heat of her body next to his.

“I know you want me,” she said. “I’ve felt the intensity of your gaze from the moment we first met. I want you, too.”

Gallen found himself shaking, stricken. She was indeed the most beautiful, most perfect woman he had ever seen, and it hurt to know that they could never be together. He could not deny what he felt. If she asked him to become her Lord Escort, fight the dronon in her behalf, he would gladly do so, lay his life on the line day after day, hour after hour.

Yet she could only promise him one night of love. Everynne pulled off her own robe and undergarments, stood in the dusk and let him hold her. Her breasts were small but pert. Her hips were shapely, strong. She began breathing deeply, pulled off Gallen’s robe, then pulled him down to the deep sweet grass there on the parapet, and together they made love long and slow.

Afterward, they lay together naked. Down in the sea below, the waves covered the limestone and the torchbearer fish lit the ocean in pale green. Above them, the clouds passed and stars sprinkled the sky, until everything was light. The warm winds blew through the trees, and Gallen felt peace inside.

Everynne cuddled closer, and they slept awhile. When he woke, the winds were beginning to cool. The great school of torchbearer fish had departed, and the night draped over them like a tent. Gallen kept his arms wrapped around her protectively. He could not help but think that this was the beginning and the end of their love. They had sealed it with one, small, nearly insignificant act. Now, the future lay before them, and no matter what happened, tomorrow the winds of change would blast them apart like two leaves scattered in a storm. The sky above them was so vast, so nearly infinite in size, and it seemed to Gallen that they were lying naked while the infinite, appalling darkness prepared to descend.

Thus it was that at last Gallen looked up to see Veriasse standing in the shadows at the head of the trail. Gallen startled, tried to sit up and throw his clothes on in one move, but Veriasse raised a finger to his lips.

“Careful, don’t wake her,” he said, his voice ragged. “Throw her robe over her, keep her warm.”

Gallen did so, slid into his undergarments, then his own robes. He watched Veriasse from the corner of his eye, half afraid that the older man would attack him, but Veriasse seemed more hurt than angry. He kept his arms protectively folded over his stomach and turned away, began walking slowly up the path.

Gallen finished dressing and followed Veriasse. The old man walked with his back straight, tense. Gallen needed to break the silence, so he said softly, “I’m sorry, I-”

Veriasse whirled, stared hard at Gallen. “No apologies are necessary,” he said at last, with hurt in his voice. “Everynne obviously has chosen you over me. I suppose it is only natural. She is a young woman, and you’re an attractive man. I, ah, ah …” He raised his hands, let them drop in consternation.

“I’m sorry,” Gallen said, unable to think of anything more.

Veriasse advanced on him, pointed his finger. “You shut your mouth! You know nothing of sorrow! I’ve loved her for six thousand years. I love her as you could only hope to love her!”

“No!” Gallen shouted, and suddenly a rage burned in him. “You loved her mother, you miserable bastard! Everynne is not Semarritte! Everynne may be willing to do your will, she may be willing to wear the omni-mind for the good of her people, but if she puts it on, you will have destroyed her. You will have murdered your own daughter in order to regain the woman you love!”

Veriasse’s eyes blazed and his nostrils flared. Gallen realized that his mantle was heightening his vision. Gallen’s own muscles tightened and when Veriasse swung, Gallen ducked under the attack, sought to remain calm, emotionally detached. He punched at Veriasse’s belly, but the old man dodged, kicked at Gallen’s chest.

Suddenly they were both moving, spinning in a blur of fists and feet in the darkness. Veriasse was like a ghost, impossible to touch. Guided by his mantle, Gallen swung and kicked in a steady barrage of attacks that would have overwhelmed any dozen ruffians back on Tihrglas, yet never did a blow land with any force. Sometimes Veriasse would turn a blow, and in one brief portion of a second, Gallen’s hopes soared. But after three minutes, he had not landed a blow, and he was beginning to tire. He knew that Veriasse would soon attack.

Gallen stepped back from the fight, took a defensive stance. Veriasse was not winded. “I wore that mantle for six thousand years, and would be wearing it now if I didn’t fear that it would jeopardize my right to fight in ritual combat,” he said. “I taught it most of what it knows.”

Then he leapt for the attack. Gallen dodged the first few swings and kicks, but Veriasse threw a head punch that Gallen tried to deflect with his wrist. The old man was far stronger than Gallen had ever imagined, and the blow felt as if it would snap Gallen’s arm. The punch grazed his chin, sent him sprawling.

Gallen leapt back to his feet, let the mantle guide his actions. Veriasse began a deadly dance, throwing kicks and punches in combinations that were designed to leave a victim defenseless. Gallen’s mantle began whispering to him-this is a fourteen-kick combination-flashing images of what would happen in his mind quickly so that Gallen could escape the final consequences.

After forty seconds, Veriasse leapt back, apparently winded, studied Gallen appreciatively for a second, then leapt into combat once more. He swung and kicked in varying combinations so fast that Gallen’s mantle was overwhelmed; Gallen had to fend blindly, retreating through the woods. Veriasse was swinging and leaping, his fists and hands in Gallen’s face so much that Gallen was sure he would go for a low kick. But suddenly Veriasse vaulted into the air and kicked for his chest. Gallen reached up to turn the kick with his arm, but the old man shifted in midair, aiming the kick at the blocking arm.

The blow landed with a snapping sound on the ganglia in Gallen’s elbow, numbing the entire arm. A second kick landed as Veriasse dropped, hitting Gallen’s ribs hard enough to knock the wind from him. Veriasse twisted as he fell through the air, and a third kick grazed Gallen’s head, knocking off his mantle.

Gallen hit the ground, gasping for breath, and glared up at Veriasse. He would be no match for the old man without a mantle. Even with a mantle, he’d been no match for the old man.

Veriasse stood over him, gasping. Sweat poured down Gallen’s face; without the mantle, he could see little in the darkness, but he could make out Veriasse’s blazing eyes. Gallen held his aching arm, found that he could only move his numb fingers with difficulty.

“I don’t need you,” Veriasse said. “You are not coming with us.”

“I’m sure Everynne will have something to say about that,” Gallen said.

“And I’m equally sure that I will not listen to her.”

“Just as you’ve never listened to her?” Gallen asked. “You send her to her death and think you can ignore her cries?”

“You find that appalling?” Veriasse said roughly, his voice suddenly choked.

“Yes,” Gallen said. “I find you appalling.”

The old man nodded his head weakly, stood by a tree and suddenly grabbed it for support, looking about absently as if he had lost something. “Well, well, so be it. I find myself appalling. There is an apt saying among my people, ‘Of all men, old politicians are the most damned, for they must live out their days in a world of their own creation.’ “

Gallen was surprised that Veriasse did not argue, did not defend his actions. “Is it so easy for you to be appalling?”

“What I’m doing,” Veriasse said, straightening his shoulder, “appalls even me … But, I can think of nothing else to do. Gallen, an omni-mind takes thousands of years to construct. Once it is built, it is meant to be used by only one person throughout the ages. If another person tries to wield it, the intelligence cannot function to full capacity. We must win back that omni-mind! And though I wish it were not so, whoever deigns to use it will be consumed in the process. I knew this when I first cloned Everynne. I knew she would be destroyed. Somehow, the sacrifice seemed more … bearable at the time.” Veriasse turned away, his breath coming deep and ragged. “Gallen, Gallen-how did I get into this mess?”

Veriasse needed a way out of his predicament. He stood for a moment, his back turned to Gallen. “What if you get killed in your match with the dronon?” Gallen asked. “What will happen to Everynne?”

“She may be killed also.”

“But, if I remember your words correctly, that is not what the dronon do to their own Golden Queens who lose the combat. Instead, the losing queen is only marred and may never compete in the contest again.”

“True,” Veriasse agreed, “sometimes. But the decision whether to mar or destroy the queen comes at the whim of the victor. I fear that the dronon would not spare Everynne. They murdered all of the Tharrin they could catch in this sector after the invasion, then obliterated their genetic matter.”

“I am coming with you to Dronon,” Gallen said. “If you lose, perhaps I can convince the dronon to only mar Everynne. Of all possible outcomes, this one alone gives her some hope. She would be free to live her own life.”

Veriasse looked down at Gallen, raised an eyebrow. “You would risk everything on this one chance to save her? It sounds like a noble gamble,” he admitted. Veriasse paused, drew a breath, and he suddenly straightened, as if a load had been lifted from his shoulders. “I will welcome your company, then. And if I die in the contest, I can only hope that you will succeed in bringing Everynne away safely. She is a great treasure, the last of her kind in this part of the galaxy.”

Veriasse helped Gallen to his feet. Gallen’s arm and ribs ached. Veriasse said heavily, “I would like to ask you an important favor. When I gave you my mantle, I did so with ulterior motives. Gallen, I have seen tapes of the Lord Escort’s battles. His name is Xim, and among the Lord Escorts, he is the most capable warrior in many generations. I do not think I have a great chance to survive this fight. If I die, I want you to be my successor. Would you become the next Lord Escort?”

“Me?” Gallen asked, suddenly aware that Veriasse had made a complete turnabout. “But I’m no one. Certainly you have better warriors than me.”

“We created the guardians to fight for us,” Veriasse said, “and so we have not needed human warriors. You wear my mantle, and in time, given a few years, it will teach you. You could become as great a warrior as any I might hope to find.”

Gallen considered the request. He was tempted to say yes. If Everynne died, another like her would be created, and her need would be just as great. Yet if he promised to do as Veriasse asked, he would be bound to labor for many years with perhaps nothing but an ignominious death as a reward. He recalled his oath, that when his heart was hot to aid another, he would always do so.

“As you wish,” Gallen said.