The Babysitters

by Faye Levine

Copyright (c) 1990

`Heroes come in many forms. Some are more frightening than others.'
--PHIL FOGLIO

  1. The Questionable Stuff

    6012 Common Empire Year, Loord Empire, Planet Loord, Special Forces Center, 0700 hours.

    "Are you absolutely sure about this man's qualifications, Major Durn?" Third High Commander Noril inquired skeptically as the pair walked toward the barracks. "You know I won't tolerate just any officer leading my troops in the field."

    "I assure you, sir, Lieutenant Mongoe is a remarkable soldier. Some say he's the best to serve in Special Forces so far."

    Noril made a rumbling noise in the back of his throat. "Maybe that's what people say, but I personally question his qualifications as well as your recommendation to put him in MY pet project. It was hard enough drumming up support for it, you know. I don't want any disasters."

    "I'm afraid I fail to see the problem, sir."

    The High Commander rapped the clipboard he held. "Have you seen this man's records? They're absolutely atrocious!"

    "Atrocious?" Durn replied, surprised. "He went from third class private to sergeant major in an unbelievably record time, did well in officer's training, and has had a ninety-five percent success rate in his missions since he came to Special Forces eight years ago. He was a hero in the Qorant War. He's been decorated more times than I can count offhand."

    "His military record isn't what I question."

    "Then what is, sir?"

    Noril curled his lip in distaste. "The man dropped out of higher ed with mediocre grades to enlist in the Ground Forces. How the hell did he get sent to officer's training?"

    "He consistently showed the necessary traits required to be an officer."

    "Did he? Does that include numerous curfew violations, disobeying orders, tardiness, and reckless use of military equipment?"

    "Mongoe is an... energetic young man," Durn explained. "As for disobeying orders, `bending' is the more appropriate term. He likes to do things his way. The reason he gets away with it is because his way is usually better than his superiors' way--including mine."

    "I see," Noril replied bluntly.

    "As for the disappearance and destruction of several of our experimental hand-held particle acceleration beams, well, he's been disciplined, and they didn't work well anyway. A good portion of them melted themselves, which he can't be held accountible for. The project was scrapped a long time ago."

    "Hm. I spent a little time today talking to some of your other lieutenants, and they don't seem to like him much at all. They say he's crude, profane, and tactless."

    Durn laughed. "That's because he is, sir. But that's just him and where he comes from. He's a good man. The enlisted men love him. Usually there's a rift between them and the officers. You know, most of my lieutenants are upper class academy material. They're just not used to someone like Mongoe." The major stopped in front of the shower room. "Here we are, sir."

    Noril narrowed his eyes. "What are we doing here?"

    "You said you wanted to meet him casually, as a person, sir. His squad just got back in from training. They're probably just about ready to go to breakfast."

    "Alright." Noril heaved a sigh. "Let's go in."

    The two officers quietly entered and stood unobtrusively and unnoticed as young men in various states of dress pulled on their boots or fumbled through lockers for uniforms. The sonic "showers" hummed in the background.

    "Well," Noril said, "Where is he?"

    As if in reply there came the sound of rowdy hoots and cheers from the cleaning area. All heads turned in the general direction. A group of soldiers ran out, most of them in towels, laughing their heads off as they looked on at some unseen commotion. Presently two men followed the group, or rather, one man had the other in a headlock and was dragging him along over the tiles.

    Third High Commander Noril scowled in distaste as he looked on. "Enlisted rabble," he muttered.

    "Argh!" yelped the man in the headlock, attempting to twist free, "I give up already!"

    "Too bad, pussy!" his captor roared with delight. He was a huge man, average in height but very large in build, rippling with muscles. "You lose, sucker! And you know what that means... !"

    "FLUSHIE!" chorused all the other soldiers at once, "FLUSHIE FLUSHIE FLUSHIE!!"

    Laughing maniacally, the large man pulled his victim off to the right, out of sight. Soon after came another yell, cut off by the sound of a toilet flushing several times. The soldiers clapped and whistled. Even Major Durn chuckled. Noril seemed disgusted.

    "I can't believe what I just saw," he grumbled. "If this Mongoe person is so good with the men, why doesn't he stop this kind of immature behavior?"

    "Sir," Durn chuckled, "That WAS Lieutenant Mongoe."

    Noril arched his eyebrows. "Getting his head rammed in the toilet by one of his own troops?"

    "No... ramming one of his own troops' head in the toilet... sir."

    The High Commander closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "I'm going to ask you again, Durn: How did this man get into officer's training?"

    "Despite what you just saw, he really is an intelligent man, sir."

    "Considering his educational record--"

    "He claims he dropped out because it bored him, sir."

    "I'll bet."

    Durn grew more serious. "May I remind you, sir, that You sent up one of your own Space Navy personnel less than a week ago to assess the lieutenant? What was his name... that scrawny tactician from the Surefire incident... "

    "Keezor," Noril informed him.

    "Oh, yes," the major muttered, "Nervous, antisocial man... didn't like him... " He cleared his throat. "Anyway, I did speak to him after. He seemed impressed with Mongoe."

    "He wrote `clever for a primate' in his report," Noril countered.

    "Was that all he said?"

    "Hm?"

    "Was that all Keezor said about the lieutenant?"

    "Well, er... " The High Commander exhaled sharply. "I didn't read the whole report, to tell you the truth, Major."

    "Maybe you should," Durn suggested. He did not seem pleased.

    Noril shrugged and scanned through the rest of the papers in his clipboard. "Mmm... I.Q., eighty-seventh percentile... general tactical knowledge, eighty- ninth... specialized tactics, ninety-fourth... problem solving response time... " His voice trailed off as he read the stats, then picked up again in a mumble. "Subject clever for a primate... rather crude but by no means deficient in either mental or physical facilities... reccomend Lieutenant A. Mongoe for proposed position." Noril sighed and looked over at Mongoe, now joking with the others as he pulled on his clothes. "I don't believe I'm saying this, but I'm going to give him a chance." He handed Durn a sealed envelope. "I don't think I want to meet him personally anymore. Just brief him, and if he accepts the assignment, give him the envelope. His orders are in there."

    "Will do, sir."

    "Good. That will be all for now. I'll show myself out." Durn saluted, and Noril returned the gesture. The High Commander turned on his heel and walked away, wondering, `What makes me think I'll regret this?'

    2. S.C.U.M.

    Briefing room, Military Command, Imperial Grounds, Capital District, Loord; one week after Noril's previous decision.

    `Why?'

    `But why, Haezar? Why leave your ship for this? You're not a commando, for God's sake...'

    `Not a commando? Not a soldier. What is our son doing traipsing around in armor like that? You could have gone to the Diplomatic Corps after the Academy... You didn't have to go to Qorant for that stupid war.'

    `Mother...'

    `You worry me, Haezar. Don't do this.'

    `But--'

    `But what? It's dangerous! The last thing your mother and I need is to wonder if your even going to survive your next mission.'

    `It's not like that.'

    `It is! Being in the Navy's Elite Task Force is bad enough. What you're volunteering for is suicide!`

    `I don't want to listen to this anymore. I've already accepted. I can't march in to my commanding officer and say "Sorry, but my parents won't let me!" '

    `But Haezar--'

    `No more "but"s! I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself. Now leave me alone.'

    First Lieutenant Haezar Mozaq, common name Haezar, sighed as he played the previous night's argument over again in his head. He leaned back in his chair, waiting for the others to arrive. He was, as usual, more than punctual; he always made it a point to arrive at least five minutes early, no matter what the occasion. It gave him time to scope out his surroundings and assess his situation. It also gave him time to think.

    `Why? Why am I doing this? For me? For them?'

    `What am I trying to prove?'

    `I don't know.'

    `I'm nervous. I'm afraid.'

    `Of what? Screwing up? Falling short? Or just getting killed?'

    `I don't know.'

    `I'll find out.'

    There came the murmuring of voices in the hall. Shortly after Third High Commander Noril entered the semi-dark room, chatting with another man. Haezar could see by the silhouette of the stranger's shoulder guards that he was a lieutenant commander.

    Noril turned up the lights, then flinched as the unexpected appearance of Haezar sitting slumped in a chair startled him.

    Haezar got to his feet and saluted. "Sir," he said.

    Noril absently returned the salute. "Sit down."

    Haezar sat as the High Commander took his own seat at the head of the table and began to ruffle through his papers. The stranger sat down across from Haezar. The lieutenant looked up at him for the first time.

    The officer was, very bluntly, shockingly ugly, although not by Nature's decree. His face, long, narrow, and a bit sunken, was terribly marred and weathered. Knife scars streaked across his cheeks and neck, some clean, like artificial claw-marks, others crooked and warped. The most pronounced of these were one trench-like deformity which started at the right corner of his mouth and curved upward to the corner of his eye, and another which cut through his left eyebrow and ended on his cheek. The bridge of his nose bulged where it had been broken. The man also wore a narrow moustache, broken up by so many scars it seemed scraggly. But the officer's most astonishing feature, or at least the one which kept Haezar's attention, was his left eye. The iris was very pale, almost white toward the center, and appeared slightly misshapen. The pupil was off center, fixed to a small, hazy opening.

    The lieutenant commander glanced briefly at Haezar and sneered. In actuality, Haezar realized after a moment, he had been sneering all along, and couldn't seem to help it. One of his numerous scars pulled at the upper left side of his mouth, exposing his teeth a bit, and another pulled his left nostril up at an angle. The entire effect, combined with the eye, was disturbing, if not frightening.

    The stranger ran his right hand through his straight, longish hair. There was something not quite right about his fingers, or about the hand in general; the digits seemed crooked, the other bones slightly out of sync. The man looked up at Haezar again, froze for an instant, then lowered his head an stared at the table. He lost some of his posture. Haezar felt a tinge of guilt. Just before the man had lowered his head, the lieutenant's gaze met with his good eye. It had been oddly sad--pained, even.

    Noril cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. "We're waiting for one more," he informed the pair, and muttered something about perpetual tardiness. The room fell silent.

    Several minutes passed. Suddenly there came the sound of heavy, hurried footsteps from the hall, and an instant later Lieutenant Mongoe came into the room. He mumbled an apology and flopped his sizeable bulk into the nearest chair. Haezar made a choking noise. Mongoe looked over in his direction, noticing him for the first time.

    "Rich Boy!" he exclaimed, somewhat sarcastic, smiling but not exactly pleasant.

    "You!" was all Haezar seemed able to reply. His stomach twisted into a knot.

    "Oh, yes," Noril murmured, "I forgot about Qorant. I believe you two have had the pleasure--"

    "--Experience," Mongoe growled, staring intensely at Haezar.

    "--of working together," the High Commander concluded. He collected himself. "Well, then, as long as we're all here, we might as well get started." He motioned to the stranger. "This is Lieutenant Commander Quarq, Space Navy Elite Task Force, Third Division. Quarq, this is Lieutenant Haezar, Task Force, Second Division, and Lieutenant Mongoe from the Ground Forces' Special Forces, Twenty-Second Squadron."

    Mongoe eyed Quarq with a touch of admiration. He had heard of the man--Devil's Eye, they called him--one of the most clever, daring, up-and-coming command officers in the Space Navy fleet. He could not wait to get to know the man, to swap stories, to ask him how he had earned his scars.

    "The reason you are here, gentlemen," Noril went on, "is because you have volunteered for what your orders described as `a specialized task force consisting of personnel from the various branches of the Loord military.' Exactly what this is is my current project, an experiment called Select Commandoes from United Militaries."

    ("SCUM?" Mongoe murmured with a wry smile.)

    "The idea," Noril went on, "is to bring together the finest of our servicemen--the elite of the elite--to tackle the most difficult assignments, both open and covert. The three of you have been chosen to lead the first trial squadron on an actual mission. Since the group has just been formed and there won't be much time to train, I've selected a delicate but not exceptionally difficult situation to use as a proving ground. But then," he added challengingly, "people like you shouldn't need as much time to prepare."

    ("Hah," Mongoe sneered quietly.)

    "I expect results," Noril informed the threesome sternly. "Excellent results. As far as I'm concerned this project of mine has a lot of potential. I don't want my support yanked. Failure will not be tolerated. Is that understood?"

    "Yes, sir," Quarq and Haezar replied. Mongoe stared at the wall and said nothing.

    "Good. Then I'll brief you on your mission." The High Commander passed a folder to each of the officers. "Your assignment is off-world, which may make things tricky for some of you. In fact, you're going to Planet Neemohne, in the Eastern half of the Empire." Noril paused to note the others' expressions. Mongoe was now staring at him, his eyes bright with adventure and curiosity. Haezar seemed interested, and Quarq simply gazed at his hands, very silent and serious.

    "Our world is... unfortunately unique in all the Empire," Noril went on, "so going to any of our other planets may be a shock to you and your men. And, as you know, our Eastern brothers are very different from us, especially in culture. I expect you all--the whole squadron--to attend all briefing lectures as specified in the documents I've given you so you'll at least have an idea of what to expect. Most of these will we given on board your ship en route to Neemohne, so you won't have much time. I'm expecting you to keep your wits and adapt quickly."

    "What we have here is a political problem in the Qol District of Neemohne. The Qols' leader is a political-religious figure called the Shaheer. The Shaheer isn't royalty; he or she is chosen by the Qol Loords' major religious body, and is then trained to govern."

    "If the Shaheer has to be trained to govern," Haezar interjected, "then what do the religious leaders base their choice on?"

    "That's the interesting part. In reality, the religious leaders--the Dyjins--don't choose. They just select candidates. In the end, the Alat chooses."

    "Who's the Alat?"

    "Not who--what. The Alat's a crystal."

    Mongoe snorted in laughter.

    "The Qols take this very seriously," Noril explained. "They claim the crystal has certain powers and mystical properties. The Shaheer is supposedly the one who can best channel his or her mental energy through the Alat."

    Mongoe chuckled. "Hah. What a load... "

    Noril shot him a look. "Be quiet, Lieutenant. I didn't call you here to laugh. You can be skeptical on your own time." He paused, then went on. "Right now the Shaheer is young--young enough to be vulnerable. The Dyjins believe that the man who ranked second to the current Shaheer in ability to use the Alat, a very rich upperclassman called Zyal, has been plotting the discreet assassination of the Shaheer. If the current Shaheer dies, then he, as second best, comes to power. There have also been numerous attempts to steal the Alat, but no one's been caught alive to question. Zyal is very influential. He has a lot of connections. We're not sure if he's been sending third parties to steal the Alat and plot assassinations, but then, we're not sure if he's involved at all, even though everyone would like to assume so."

    "The Shaheer is important to us politically because for many years the Qol have provided us with certain rare elements found only in the Qol District--and a good portion of those are used in the military. We've always maintained good relations with the Qol government and the Shaheer. Zyal, however, is a radical, and a very strong one. If he becomes the Shaheer chances are he'll cut off or worsen relations with us, and no one will be able to successfully challenge him. That's the last thing the Emperor wants at this time. Our relations with the East are a bit shaky already."

    "Your job is to protect the Shaheer at all costs until the crisis blows over, and to track down and deal with whoever's behind the problems, whether it's Zyal or not. The Shaheer's forces and investigative agents will help you. Specifics are detailed in the documents I gave you. You'll meet the rest of your squadron tomorrow, and leave for Neemohne the day after that. The three of you are to report to my office at 0700 sharp tomorrow. Understood?"

    "Yes, sir," the three officers replied.

    "Good. Dismissed."

    3. Room and Board

    Eastern Loord Empire, Planet Neemohne, Qol District, several weeks later.

    Even with the numerous briefings behind them, Neemohne turned out to be a shock for most of the S.C.U.M. squadron.

    The unfortunate reality was that for many years Loord, the homeworld and head of the Empire, had been decaying, in part from age, but mostly due to a transient sun which had settled itself too close. Fifty years before, the new star--or the "Rouge", as it was popularly known--had appeared, and ten years after that the population which had chosen or had been forced to remain on the planet--a good ninety percent of the people--had moved into underground cities. Since the government did not want to further depress an already unstable populous, talk about what the world had been and about other worlds in general had been kept to a minimum. In the schools, ecology and zoology courses all but vanished. The net result was two generations of people to whom grass and trees and swimming were myths, and to whom "sky" was a vague concept at best.

    The majority of the unit was forced, at least initially, to shade their eyes from the brightness of the sun with sunglasses, a curious and awkward experience for most. As a general rule, the S.C.U.M. personnel from the Space Navy fared a bit better; most of them had been to other planets, even if only briefly to touch down for refueling and supplies. Of them all, Haezar and Quarq had the most experience with other worlds, but even Quarq seemed ill at ease. Only Haezar appeared casual and uninterested as the others gawked after landing at a local Qol military base.

    "Are you that untouched by the beauty?" Quarq asked him quietly. He seemed to be making an attempt to form his twisted lips into a smile. He was failing miserably.

    Haezar hesitated for a moment, not quite sure if the man was being sarcastic or serious. He tried to ignore the lieutenant commander's grimace after guessing the latter. "Well," he replied, "The base here is nothing. Wait 'til you see the city."

    "You've been here before?"

    "Oh, yeah. My father's an ambassador. Senior Ambassador, really. He's on the High Council. He's been everywhere. So have I. He used to take the family with him."

    The city, as Haezar had indicated, proved to be both stunning and fascinating. Like Eastern Loord culture as a whole, it was an unusual mix of modern and arcane. Glass paneled office buildings shared the same streets as ornate stone and wood structures. Many of the roads still retained ancient cobblestones. Marble statues and fountains dotted the area. Just about everything was decorated to the hilt; stone and wood were polished and amazingly carved, glass was etched, and clothing was brocaded. Most of the men, and many women as well, wore swords and knives casually at their sides as they bragged about their hovercars and watched three- dimentional holo-televisions through storefront windows. The S.C.U.M. soldiers gaped and pointed all the way to their lodgings on the Shaheer's Grounds.

    Once they had been settled in, Quarq, Mongoe and Haezar made their way across the Grounds to the palace to meet the Shaheer.

    "Wow," Mongoe mumbled as he craned his head up at the shining spires and stained glass windows of the sprawling structure. "Wow," he quietly exclaimed again when they were escorted inside. He spun in circles as he walked, taking in everything, all the time looking very stupid and muttering "Wow" over and over again, his mouth hanging open. Haezar seemed embarrassed by him, especially when the lieutenant uttered a rather excited "Wo-o-o-o-w!" when a liberally clad woman servant passed them in the hall.

    "Be quiet!" Haezar whispered sharply as they were led into an open, marble-floored hall. Their escort informed them that the Shaheer would arrive shortly and left them to wait.

    After a short time an impressive middle aged man clad in elaborately brocaded clothes and a black, velvety cloak strode into the room. At his side he wore shining scabbard, protruding from which was the jeweled hilt of a sword. He smiled as he approached the threesome. Again, Haezar seemed quite at ease while Quarq and Mongoe's faces registered a bit of nervousness.

    The man was six and a half feet tall--slightly above average for an Eastern Loord--and made Quarq, who at just under six feet had always been considered tall, seem short in comparison. His skin tone was darker, and his eyes were slightly slanted. He was balding up top but the rest of his hair fell to his waist, neatly trimmed and accented by the occasional braid.

    The newcomer held his hands out, open palms up. "Good afternoon, warriors," he said in slightly accented Common. He made a circular motion with his hands. "Welcome to Qol."

    There was an awkward hesitation. Quarq found his voice. "Thank you, Shaheer," he replied with a salute. "I'm Lieutenant Commander Quarq. These are my immediate subordinates, Lieutenants Haezar and Mongoe."

    The older man chuckled. "I'm not the Shaheer, Commander. I am Hu-Jin, his Advisor."

    "Uh--My apologies, sir."

    "No need." Hu-Jin looked off to the side as another Loord came into the room. He was a small boy, perhaps nine or ten, wearing fairly simple clothing. The child came up to Hu-Jin and stood in front of him, looking up at the three soldiers. "This is Dyan, our Shaheer," the Advisor informed them.

    "But--" Mongoe sputtered. Haezar discreetly elbowed him in the ribs.

    Dyan, like Hu-Jin, held out his hands, palms up, and also made a circular motion. Unlike the older man's, however, it was an all-encompassing sweep.

    "Welcome to my home," said the boy. "You are free to go wherever you want and use any services and facilities we have."

    "Th-thank you, Shaheer," Quarq replied, a bit surprised at how articulate the child was, and very surprised that the boy's face registered no revulsion or fright in reaction to his terrible appearance. Until now, the commander had had yet to meet a child who did not.

    "Have you been fully briefed on the situation at hand?" Hu-Jin asked. Quarq nodded. "Good. As you can see, our Shaheer is too young to fully protect himself or the Alat. We've taken full security precautions ever since the first attempt to steal the Alat, but the thieves keep trying." The Advisor smiled in an unusual way which did not seem to fit his kindly features. The grin was wide, very pleased, and rather sadistic. "Which essentially means," he went on, "that they keep dying." His hand fondled the hilt of his sword. "I dispatched two of them myself." The smile vanished and he sighed. "We thought that the Shaheer's rival, Zyal, while angry and jealous, would not attempt to do any harm to our leader. But there were rumors and paranoia. We thought--and still think--that the thieves were sent by him. We believed he thought that if he had the Alat, he would have the power of the Shaheer. Unfortunately, assuming that the attempted thefts were directed by him, he must have grown tired of failure, because last week there was an assassination attempt on the Shaheer. Someone planted a bomb in the Shaheer's limousine, but a mechanic found it while doing some repair work.

    "What we want from your unit for now is extra protection for the Shaheer. I currently have investigative agents out searching for clues and evidence. If we find out anything conclusive, namely that Zyal is responsible, we'll need your forces to move in and take him down." Hu-Jin paused awkwardly. "If it is Zyal, and we can't bring him to justice by normal means, then the Shaheer can't move against him physically, and you'll be on your own."

    "Why?" Quarq asked. "Our commanding officer led us to believe you would help us."

    "We certainly will. But if you have to attack Zyal, the Shaheer's men cannot help. I'm surprised your superior didn't inform you. You see, the people who serve the Shaheer--all the people on the Grounds--are from a very special class. We are the Yuns, an ancient clan dedicated to the Shaheer. For centuries we had a rival clan, the Morin- shans, the renegades, so to speak, of the Qol people. Only a century ago, the Yuns and the Morin-shans made peace, but it's a tentative arrangement at best. Zyal is one of the most influential Morin-shans. If we move against him directly, the peace would be broken and there would be chaos."

    "What about the other clans?" Quarq inquired. "Can't they help?"

    Hu-Jin clenched his jaw. "There are no other clans among the Qol."

    "What about help from other Districts?"

    "We tried that already. They all considered the situation too trite to pay attention to. That's why we looked to the Emperor, toward the West. That's why you're here."

    "I see."

    Again the Advisor sighed. "The Shaheer and I have things to attend to now. The three of you are invited to stay here in the palace. I'll send someone to show you to your quarters. Tomorrow morning have your men assembled here for briefing and orientation. Until then, feel free to explore the palace, the Grounds, and the city, if you like, but please try not to cause any trouble, especially with one of the Morin-shans. You'll know them by the small, red diamond tattooed on their foreheads."

    Quarq frowned in thought. "Were any of the thieves you killed Morin-shan?"

    "No. Zyal is not stupid. If he is behind this, he's imported someone else to do the job for him. I'm sure he'd rather take power without starting a war. Now, if you'll please excuse us... " Hu-Jin led Dyan away.

    4. A Night Out on the Town

    Sometime after dinner, the same day.

    Mongoe was awed by his "quarters", the bedroom of which was considerably larger than his family's apartment, and whose high ceiling sported a huge skylight which allowed him to look up at the stars. The bathroom included a shower, sauna, and a whirlpool tub, all alien and fascinating to him. The situation on his homeworld had forced his people to carefully ration their use of water; the "showers" he knew were really chambers which misted one with cleanser, then took it, along with any sweat or grime, off via sonic cleaning methods.

    Still, after a couple of hours of examination, dinner, and relaxation, he grew restless. He changed into civilian clothes and went down the hall to Quarq's quarters. He found the officer sitting in the living room area reading a book.

    "Hey," Mongoe greeted, "What's up?"

    "Not much," Quarq replied, "Why?"

    "I was thinkin'... Why don't we go out, have a drink, hunt for babes... ?"

    Quarq shifted uncomfortably. "Oh," he mumbled, "I... I don't go out much... ."

    "Aw, c'mon! Let's have some fun. I wanna see the city."

    "Well... alright." The lieutenant commander set down his book. "Lemme change," he muttered, obviously unthrilled by Mongoe's proposals. "I'll be ready in a minute."

    As they walked out of the palace, Quarq was oddly silent. He stared at the floor as he walked.

    "What's wrong?" Mongoe asked.

    "Nothing," the other muttered, then after a moment said, "You've worked with Haezar before. What's he really like?"

    Mongoe grunted. "Ah, he's okay, y'know, but he's a flake. Goes by the book too much. I dunno... maybe it's 'cause he's from a rich family. He's all proper and shit. I don't get why he's in the military. Hell, maybe his old man made him."

    The pair left the Grounds and made their way into the city. Mongoe immediately headed for a nightclub, where he took a seat at the bar, followed by a reluctant Quarq, who sulkily kept his head hanging. Mongoe ordered drinks and began to chat with several attractive young women. Quarq said nothing. Another woman came up to the bar and sat down next to him.

    "Hello, Westerner," she said, "How do you like it way out here?"

    Quarq lifted his head and looked at her. "It's very nice here," he replied.

    The woman stared at him. Her eyes widened briefly. She swallowed nervously and moved away without another word. Quarq shrank in his seat.

    "What's wrong?" Mongoe asked him, breaking from his own conversation.

    "Ooh... friend of yours?" one of the women he was speaking to asked. She and her companions leaned over to get a better look.

    "Yeah," Mongoe told them. "What's wrong, Quarq?"

    Quarq shook his head and turned to Mongoe. "Nothing," he replied, so quietly Mongoe could barely hear him over the music and conversation, "I'm fine."

    The women sitting on the other side of Mongoe blinked in surprise as they looked on. One quickly averted her eyes; another shuddered. The third simply stared. Quarq's eyes met hers and she looked away. The officer frowned and closed his eyes for a moment, then abruptly got up and left, coldly pushing his way through the crowd.

    "Quarq?" Mongoe inquired he watched him go.

    "--so ugly!" he heard one of the young women mutter.

    "Hideous," another added.

    Mongoe turned back to them. He stared at them hard, then curled his lip in distaste. "Bitches," he growled, "All of you." He got up and left the bar. He found Quarq standing alone outside. "I'm sorry, man," he said. "I didn't know--"

    "Don't worry about it," Quarq told him.

    "Come on," Mongoe went on, "Let's go find a good working-class bar, where guys go to get away from the babes, eh?"

    "Sure," the commander replied with a shrug. The pair set off in silence. After a time Quarq spoke up again. "Mongoe," he said.

    "Yeah?"

    "You're a good man. You don't judge people."

    The lieutenant laughed. "The hell I don't! The difference between me and all those other assholes out there is, I know how to judge correctly."

    Quarq chuckled and attempted a smile which came out much more like a sneer. "Right. Gotcha."

    "Hey!" someone called. Haezar jogged up to the pair from across the street. "Where are you off to?"

    "To a good bar," Mongoe replied.

    "Mind if I come with?"

    The lieutenant smiled. "Isn't it past your bedtime, Rich Boy?"

    "Very funny, smartass."

    "Ooh... " Mongoe backed off in mock fear. "I thought your mommy told you not to drink."

    "I can drink you under the table, you ugly slab of meat."

    "Hah! We'll see about that!"

    The trio made their way into a darker, more sinister section of the city. Haezar's distaste became more obvious with each passing block; he was in fact visibly relieved when Mongoe called a halt, announcing that he had found just the right place.

    His relief turned to reservation as he looked the place over.

    "Uh, Mongoe," he said, "Something tells me this isn't a place of good repute."

    "'S'okay," Mongoe replied, "I'm not a man of good repute." Grinning mischievously, he went in. Quarq and Haezar followed.

    The bar was run down, dark, and smokey. The tables were scarred, the chairs improperly balanced; the same could be said for most of the patrons. A large sign bearing the words "NO DUELING" hung over the bar. Most of the men present wore swords at their sides.

    "Are you sure about this?" Haezar asked Mongoe in a low voice.

    "Sure I'm sure. It's the atmosphere that makes it good."

    "People are staring at us."

    "That's 'cause we're foreigners. Loosen up and stop gawking."

    "Quarq looks like a choir boy next to some of these guys."

    "Watch your mouth," Quarq growled.

    The trio sat down at a table and ordered a pitcher of ale. Mongoe slugged it down with delight. Haezar sniffed at it, wrinkled his nose, then took a mouthful. He grimaced and spat it out.

    "Haw, haw!" one of the patrons cackled, "Pretty foreigner boy can't hold his booze, eh?"

    Haezar frowned. "I can hold it fine, as long as it doesn't taste like it came out of the sewer."

    Mongoe winced. "Shut up!" he hissed. "I'm not gonna save your ass if you get it into trouble."

    "I can take care of myself, thank you. Things have changed since we were in Qorant."

    "Hey!" the bartender called, "You lowlifes insulting the house brew?!"

    Haezar turned. "You have anything more refined?" he called back.

    "Haezar, you stupid shithead!" Mongoe growled.

    One of the nearby patrons got up and swaggered up to Haezar. "You're an insulting little shit, you know that? We don't like to be insulted."

    "I wasn't talking to you," Haezar countered. Beside him, Mongoe sighed, closed his eyes, and shook his head.

    `How'd he ever get into the Elite Task Force?' he wondered.

    "Ass-hole," the patron snarled, and sent his fist at Haezar's face. It never got there. With lightning speed, Quarq snapped his arm out and caught the man's fist inches away from Haezar's nose.

    "Go away," he growled.

    "Piss off, you ugly fucker," replied the patron. He made a fist with his free hand. Quarq altered his grip and squeezed. The patron yelped in pain. Quarq's lips parted fully into a frightening grimace-grin. He squeezed harder. The patron fell to his knees, groaning. "Leggo!" he grunted.

    Quarq let go and kicked him over. "Go away," he repeated. The patron got up and left. Quarq looked around. The other patrons seemed amused. They looked back at him for a moment, then returned to their drinking.

    Haezar cleared his throat. "Uh... thanks."

    A woman came to the table and sat down. Quarq immediately withdrew to an adjacent table. Haezar more or less ignored the new arrival, but Mongoe began to talk to her. After twenty minutes of friendly chatting, another patron, very large and not quite as drunk, stomped up to the table and clapped a hand on Mongoe's shoulder.

    "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked.

    The lieutenant looked up at him. "Talkin' with the lady here. Got a problem with that?"

    "Yeah," the man replied, "'Cause that's my woman you're making the moves on."

    "Really?"

    "Really. I saw you touch her. Nobody touches my woman but me." The patron looked down at the woman. "Come on. Get up."

    "Go to hell," she replied, "I'm just talking to him."

    The man's eyes blazed with fury, not at the girl but at Mongoe. He stepped back. With a roar he shoved several tables out of the way. His hand went to the sword at his side. "You offend me!" he shouted. "Humble yourself and apologize!"

    Mongoe looked him over, smiling sarcastically. "Get lost."

    "Uh, Mongoe--" Haezar began.

    The patron unsheathed his sword.

    "Hey--can't you read?!" the bartender snapped, tapping the "NO DUELING" sign. He was ignored. Everyone's attention was now locked on Mongoe and the irate patron.

    "Isn't the bouncer going to stop this?" Haezar asked a man a nearby table.

    The man laughed. "Kid, that IS the bouncer."

    Haezar swallowed hard. "Mongoe," he went on quietly, "The Eastern Loords take sword play very seriously. Back off. This guy'll kill you!" His companion ignored him.

    The patron began to twirl the sword in elaborate patterns: in front of him, to the side, in figure eights, over his head, and behind his back. His face was strained with anger. Mongoe looked on, amused and unimpressed. He walked over to the door and picked up the brick propping it open. He turned it over in his hands, smiling smugly as the angry patron continued to twirl his blade.

    Haezar's eyes widened. "Mongoe, no! Wait--!"

    Mongoe wound up his arm in a fast underhand pitch and sent the brick into his antagonist's crotch.

    "Glug!" the patron sputtered, his eyes bugging out. The sword dropped from his limp hand. He collapsed on the floor.

    "Yeah," Mongoe chuckled, but the bar fell dead silent.

    "Mongoe," Haezar muttered frantically, "That man was doing his opening--his challenge--with the sword. It's a ritual. It's bad etiquette--VERY bad etiquette to attack before both parties have completed their opening."

    One by one, the patrons unsheathed their swords. All of them were glaring at Mongoe, and they weren't very pleased.

    "Now you've done it," Haezar mumbled. He edged close to Mongoe. Quarq also pulled in toward them from his place off to the side.

    "Back out the door slowly," he whispered to the pair. "I don't want an incident."

    "These jerks don't care what you want," Mongoe replied. He picked up a chair and held it out in front of him.

    There was one final, awkward pause, and then with a collective cry the patrons surged forward, blades whirling. The three commandoes crowded back to back. Haezar and Quarq followed Mongoe's example and each picked up a chair.

    Laughing with delight, Mongoe caught the first of the blades with the chair and drove his free fist into its owner's face. On either side of him, his companions were busy fending off their own attackers.

    "Back out!" Quarq yelled.

    "What, so soon?" Mongoe replied. One of the patrons took advantage of his lapse in concentration and pommeled the large man in the face with the hilt of his sword. Mongoe staggered back, blood gushing from his nose, roaring in anger. He took hold of his chair with both hands and swept it through the space in front of him, taking down several more people.

    Sirens sounded in the distance. Most of the bar customers froze.

    "Police!" someone yelled. An instant later the crowd ran forward in a human tidal wave and shoved Mongoe, Quarq and Haezar aside. They ran out the door and scattered into the night.

    "Wait a minute!" Mongoe exclaimed. He leaned out the door. "Come back, you pussies!" He paused, wiping the blood off his face. "Damn," he muttered, "That's the fourth time I've gotten my nose busted. I don't even remember what it used to look like."

    "Shut the hell up," Quarq rumbled. He brushed past the lieutenant and grabbed his arm, dragging him out the door. Haezar quickly followed. The trio dodged out of sight just as the police pulled up to the bar.

    "That was a stupid, dumbass thing you did back there!" Quarq snapped at Mongoe as they headed back to the palace. "You heard what Hu-Jin said: No incidents!" His cold, pale eye fell on Haezar. "And you too! Learn to behave right, dammit!"

    Quarq's irritation, an unusual enough display for him, lingered on even after they returned to the Shaheer's Grounds. He went to his quarters, slamming the door behind him. Haezar sulkily returned to his own living space, leaving Mongoe alone and bored.

    "Yer no fun," he muttered, "Either of you." He glanced at his watch. As far as he was concerned, the night was still young. He went off to find something to do.

    Several hours later, it was Haezar's turn to be bored. Feeling restless inside, he went to Quarq's quarters and knocked on the door.

    "Who is it?" came the commander's voice from inside.

    "It's Haezar."

    There was a long pause, then, "Come in." Haezar stepped inside. "I'm in the bath," Quarq informed him. The lieutenant went in and found his superior sitting in the whirlpool tub, his head laid back against the tiles, eyes closed, his hair wet and limp from the steam. Haezar sat down on the floor on the opposite side of the tub.

    "Well?" Quarq said after a time without opening his eyes or looking up.

    Haezar shrugged. "Uh... nothing, sir," he replied. "I was just bored. I thought I'd stop by and chat, if you don't mind."

    Quarq uttered a short, hoarse laugh and grimaced--no, SMILED, Haezar reminded himself. "You brownnosing little shit," the commander said, although not unkindly.

    "I... I really did just come to talk."

    "Mm-hm." There was a long pause. "Well, go on and ask me."

    "Ask you what?"

    Quarq stretched out his arm and plucked a bottle of wine off a tray sitting nearby. He took a swig. "Ask me why I look like I've been through a food processor. You've been dying to ever since you first saw me."

    "Eh--Excuse me?"

    The commander chuckled. "Bet your father taught you manners, being an ambassador and all. Only added to the natural morbid curiosity we all have. But Mongoe, he's an honest one. Probably the most straightforward guy I ever met. He doesn't have any manners, and no shame, either. He came right out and asked me one day. Handed me a brew and said, `Tell me how you earned those scars, Ugly.' "

    "Uh, I... "

    "Go on, ask me. You want to."

    Haezar looked quite sheepish, then replied, "Alright... what happened to you?"

    "Qorant."

    "You were there for the war?"

    "Yup. Same as you. Sent to help the Ground Forces. A bunch of unfriendlies jumped my squadron while we were on patrol. We fought back, but it didn't do any good. I was the only officer, so they kept me alive. I watched them kill whoever was left.

    "Back at their base, they asked me questions, but I'd be damned if I'd tell 'em anything. So they beat me up, burned me, ripped up my face, and took a hammer to my fingers one by one." Quarq wiggled the fingers of his crooked right hand in front of him. "Good thing I'm a lefty. Assholes... ." He paused, sighed. "So, when torture didn't work they got bored. They knocked me out, tied me up, and left me in the middle of nowhere to rot."

    "I take it you were rescued."

    Quarq took another swig of the wine. "Mm-mm," he said as he gulped it down. "No. I got loose and crawled to the nearest base. Got all sick and infected and shit. Lost the sight in my left eye. I spent months in the hospital. You know what I got for my trouble?"

    "I suppose you're going to tell me."

    "I got a medal, a promotion, and a lifetime guarantee of utter rejection from society." The commander paused. He covered his eyes with his free hand. "Little kids, man... my niece... for a long time she wouldn't come near me... But women--grown, intelligent women--they think I'm some kind of rapist monster. They call me repulsive, right to my face sometimes. People... just steer clear of me. All they see is the mask I wear." He looked up and stared at the wall, narrowing his eyes in anger. "I've learned to live with it," he growled. "Why can't they?" The room fell silent, save for the hum of the whirlpool. "Go away," he said after a time. "Leave me alone." Haezar nodded, got up, and left.

    The lieutenant headed back down the hall. Hearing giggling emitting from Mongoe's quarters, he knocked on the door.

    "Yeah?" came the gruff reply after a moment.

    "It's me. Got a minute?"

    "Maybe. Come in."

    Haezar entered to find the large man lying on his stomach on a couch, naked and being massaged by a luscious, scantily-clad young woman. "What--?!" Haezar sputtered, "What are you doing?"

    "Gettin' massaged... and revved up, if ya know what I mean."

    "But... where... what are you doing with that girl?!"

    The young woman giggled and kept massaging. Mongoe shot Haezar a twisted smirk. "Well, see," he explained as if speaking to a curious adolescent, "first there's this stuff called `foreplay', and then, when the guy gets nice and h--"

    "Shut up! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

    "Hey, you heard the Shaheer. He said we could make use of any of the services the palace offered." Mongoe smiled broadly. "I guess this is why they call 'em `servants'."

    Haezar scowled. "You're sick. Don't you have any morals?"

    "Do you have a sex life?"

    Haezar growled.

    Mongoe chuckled. He raised his arm and snapped his fingers twice. A second young woman emerged from the bedroom. "Dorna, babe, do me a favor and give my friend here a nice blow job. He could use it."

    "Mongoe!" Haezar snapped. Dorna sauntered up behind him and ran her hands over his shoulders and down past his waist. "Uh... miss... no. Please stop." He tried to push her away.

    "Stop means go," she cooed, and nibbled on his ear.

    "Dorna," Mongoe yawned, "Not here, doll. His room's across the hall."

    "Miss, I mean it," Haezar told her, albeit a bit weakly.

    "So do I," she murmured, reaching into his pants.

    "Have fun, Rich Boy," Mongoe said. "All these babes-- they're not just meat, y'know. That Hu-Jin guy assured me that every one was smart and good conversation. And each one has at least one special talent."

    Dorna thrust her hand farther into Haezar's pants. "Mine's finding that little spot that makes you squirm," she breathed, and proceeded to prove it. Haezar yelped as his back reflexively arched. Mongoe's massive shoulders shook with laughter.

    "Huh--h-how nice," Haezar squeaked, pulling Dorna's hand away. "Better show that one to Mongoe. Goodnight." He hastily backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him, then ran to his own quarters, shutting AND locking the door, for a very long, very cold shower.

    5. Bedtime Stories and a Nightmare

    The following evening.

    The following morning Mongoe did not get up for breakfast. When Haezar went to wake him he found the lieutenant in bed, half a dozen curvaceous young women curled up against his body.

    "I'm in heaven," Mongoe later remarked as he got dressed, "Pure heaven." At breakfast he livened up and stuffed himself, however at Hu-Jin's briefing he nearly fell asleep.

    "Rough night?" Quarq whispered wryly. Mongoe chuckled.

    During the briefing Hu-Jin informed the squadron that two S.C.U.M. personnel were to remain with Shaheer Dyan at all times, in addition to the normal number of bodyguards. Mongoe and Haezar wound up on the same shift that evening as the young Shaheer prepared for bed.

    "I feel like I'm babysittin', y'know?" Mongoe grumbled as they sat in Dyan's quarters. Haezar did not answer him. "Aw, whatsa matter, Rich Boy? Was it somethin' I said?" The lieutenant glared at him, and seemed about to say something rather unpleasant when the Shaheer came in, dressed in his sleeping clothes. Haezar's irritated expression quickly melted into a smile.

    "Hello," he greeted.

    "Hello," the boy returned. He hopped up onto his bed. "Are you here to guard me?"

    Haezar nodded. "Are you afraid?"

    Dyan glanced at Mongoe. "Not with a guy as big as him to watch over me." The boy smiled. Mongoe smiled back, then shot a smug grin at Haezar. "Anyway," the Shaheer went on with a yawn, "Nobody can break in here. And if they do, Hu- Jin will take care of them."

    Time passed. Dyan fidgeted in bed, then sat up. He got up and went over to Haezar, who was sitting on a couch nearby.

    "Can't sleep?" the lieutenant asked.

    The Shaheer shook his head. "No." He paused. "Have you been all over with the Space Navy?"

    "Yeah, I've been a lot of places. I've been a lot of places with my father, too."

    "Have you fought in wars?"

    "One."

    "What was it like?"

    "Unpleasant."

    "Did you ever do anything really neat, like blow something up?"

    "Well, I--"

    "Did you spy on people?"

    Haezar thought for a moment. "Well, once I--hey!" The lieutenant scowled as Mongoe climbed over the back of his couch and shoved him aside.

    "Kid wants a story, eh?" he said. "How 'bout it, your Shaheership? Wanna real good, true story?"

    Haezar rolled his eyes at the ceiling, but Dyan nodded his head. "I'd like to hear about something you've done," he replied.

    "Good. Okay. Once upon a time in the Qorantian War, there was this dickhead lieutenant named Haezar who was sent in with his squad by the Space Navy to help out a certain Sergeant-Major Mongoe and his troops. The Sarge and his men had been there for a real long time and knew the territory real well. They knew a lot about the enemy, too. But this jerk Haezar, he fucked things up real good. See, he wasn't a bad guy or nothin' but he was one of them know-it-all academy wussies. Or maybe his jock strap was too tight. I dunno.

    "Anyway, since Haezar outranked Mongoe, he wouldn't listen to any of Mongoe's advice, even though Mongoe had been in the military twice as long and had been in Qorant since the war started. This got everyone into trouble.

    "See, one day, dickhead Haezar gets this dumbass scheme: He's gonna take out one of the enemy's major defensive trenches, right? Well, Sarge says no, the conditions aren't right, but the stupid jerk goes on with it anyway. Half a squadron of Space Navy and Ground Forces troops later, he realizes his mistake. But does he retreat with the rest? No! He keeps chargin' the fuckin' trench! But Mongoe, bein' the nice guy he is, goes back out and covers the dickhead's ass just long enough to take a piece of shrapnel in his side. So Haezar drags him back to the others, cleans him up, patches the wound, then like the dumbass he is asks the Sarge, `Are you okay?' "

    "What did you say?" Dyan asked.

    "Nothin'. I planted my fist in his jaw and laid him out cold in the dirt. But all's well that ends well, y'know. The squad managed to pull out, and everybody lived more or less happily ever after--except the ones who got wiped before their tour was up--and good ol' Sarge wound up with a huge, ugly scar runnin' from hip to ribcage. The end."

    Haezar refused to even look at Mongoe, even after their shift was over and they went to bed.

    Their grievance did not last long, however, because several hours later they were awakened by Hu-Jin's frantic cries:

    "The Shaheer is gone! The Shaheer is gone!"

    A minute later and all of them were assembled in Dyan's room: Mongoe, Haezar, Quarq, and Hu-Jin. The place was crawling with investigative agents. On the floor were the two S.C.U.M. personnel who had taken over for Haezar and Mongoe, both neatly beheaded. Their hands still held their guns. Their severed heads, lying several feet away, were frozen almost amusing, shocked expressions. There were laser burns on the walls from their weapons but no indication of anything else wrong, let alone any other weapon.

    "It's spooky, Advisor," one of the agents told Hu-Jin, "Not one thing's out of place. No sign of a struggle, no tracks, no fingerprints--nothing. The window is still locked from the inside. None of the outside guards heard anything, and there's no indication of anyone unauthorized having been on the Grounds."

    Hu-Jin narrowed his eyes. "You know what this has to mean," he replied gravely. "It was a Nightmare."

    "A what?" Quarq asked.

    "A Nightmare. They are Neemohne's most questionable legends."

    "I don't understand."

    "The Nightmares, or Nightmare--no one is sure; we assume there are more than one--are believed to be a group of professional assassins, spies, and killers, and possibly thieves. They might be good or bad, or perhaps neither. They may work for people or act on their own. Maybe both. They mostly strike at night, hence the name. Whatever the case, only a Nightmare can do what has been done here."

    "Wait a minute," Mongoe interjected, "You keep saying `maybe' and `believed to be.' And then you said something about `questionable legends.' Do you know what we're up against or not?"

    "No," Hu-Jin replied. "No one knows if the Nightmares actually exist."

    "And why's that?" Quarq inquired.

    "Because no one who sees one lives to tell about it."

    "Aw, come on!" Mongoe snapped. "What kinda crap are you feeding us? Tell your stories to yer kids, man. I don't believe in ghosts, and I don't believe in blaming 'em just 'cause someone turns up neatly dead."

    "This sort of thing has happened throughout the centuries. It's always the same: the deaths are clean--by poison or by blade--and there are no clues."

    "You think the Shaheer is dead, then," Haezar said solemnly.

    "Actually, no," Hu-Jin replied. "It's obvious the child was kidnapped. Whoever is receiving the boy, however, may very well intend to kill him."

    "What about the Alat crystal?" Quarq broke in. "Is it still there?"

    "Yes, I checked. The Alat is kept in a very secure area to begin with, and it's recently been moved to an even safer place. But even if someone does get it, it will be very hard for them to use it. The Alat knows its master. As long as he or she lives, it won't give in to a new one so easily."

    "You're talkin' like it's a person," Mongoe grumbled. "And whadduya mean, `give in'?"

    "The Alat's a powerful object."

    "Yeah, right. Sure. I don't go in for all this magic crap."

    "Mongoe!" Quarq snapped in warning.

    "It's alright," Hu-Jin told him. He looked over at the agents. "Keep searching," he told them, then turned back to the threesome. "Come," he told them, "I'll show you."

    The Advisor led them through the palace to a restricted- access elevator. He used a palm-scan to unlock the door guarding the elevator, then a special code-card to open the doors. Once inside, he punched out another code on a series of buttons to turn the elevator on, then used a tiny key to actually get it moving. The car descended several floors. The four men emerged at the beginning of a long, plain hall. Hu-Jin locked up the elevator, then slid another code-card into a slot on the wall.

    "What are you doing now?" Haezar asked him.

    "Deactivating the security," the Advisor replied. "Quiet, now." He looked down the hall and spoke up. "Deactivation password: Vulnerable." There was a momentary pause. A tone sounded. "It's safe to pass now."

    The small group walked to the end of the hall, where Hu- Jin performed yet another variety of tasks to gain access into a vault. At the center of the vault, standing silently on within a glass case on a pedestal, was a dull, grayish lump of crystal.

    "Don't go any closer," Hu-Jin warned. "The case's security system is still on."

    "That's it?" Mongoe burst out. "That's what all the fuss is over? That rock?" Quarq shot him a warning look uglier than his face, but Hu-Jin smiled.

    "Watch--and listen," he said. He closed his eyes and, still smiling faintly, his breathing slowed and his body became relaxed.

    The Alat seemed to light up, only faintly at first, then suddenly burst into life, a dazzling array of iridescent blue-green light glowing in its core. The faint sound of wind chimes could be heard in the still room.

    "It knows its master's servant," Hu-Jin murmured.

    "Hmph," Mongoe grumped. "Watcha usin'? A hundred watt bulb?"

    For the second time Hu-Jin's sadistically pleased grin surfaced. A wide ray of light shot out from the crystal, catching Mongoe in the chest and throwing him into the wall.

    "What the--?!" Quarq started. Hu-Jin opened his eyes, and the crystal went dark again.

    "Woof," Mongoe gasped as he picked himself up. "What hit me?"

    "My mind, focused and amplified through the Alat," Hu- Jin explained, still smiling. "I am capable of some control with the crystal due to natural ability and my closeness to Dyan. What I did was a simple defense. Are you convinced now, my friend?"

    Mongoe grumbled something under his breath. He seemed a bit humbled.

    "Advisor," Quarq said, looking rather distressed, "We failed to protect the Shaheer. I'm sorry. I take full responsibility."

    "It wasn't your fault," Hu-Jin replied, almost gently. "In any case, I have a feeling this isn't over yet."

    "I promise to do my best to get the Shaheer back, sir," Quarq told him.

    The Advisor looked down at him. "I'm sure you will," he replied, although now his words and eyes were flat and cold, almost threatening.

    6. "And if you don't... "

    Shaheer's Palace, early morning.

    "Advisor Hu-Jin," greeted one of the servants as the group returned to the main palace, "There's a woman on the video communications channel. She claims she has the Shaheer, and she's making demands."

    "Where's the signal coming from?" the Advisor asked.

    "We don't know, sir. It's being routed through one of the public channels."

    Hu-Jin led the others to a commons room. A large video screen adorned one wall, and on it was a poorly broadcasted picture. The person on the screen was a woman, but one could only discern this from her voice and curves; she was shrouded in shadow.

    "I am Hu-Jin, Advisor to the Shaheer," Hu-Jin addressed the screen. "I demand--"

    "You are in no position to demand anything," the woman snapped, then went on in a more silky, amused tone. "I am known as Shadow. I have your Shaheer." Someone out of camera range thrust Dyan into view. The boy seemed unhurt, but there were tear stains on his face.

    "Hu-Jin! Help me! Please come get me!" he cried, and was abruptly pulled away.

    "I have no desire to hurt the child," Shadow went on. "All I want is the Alat. Unfortunately, your security was simply too good. You see, I ran out of thieves to steal the crystal for me, so I made special arrangements to steal the boy instead. My demands are simple. You will exchange the Alat for the Shaheer. I will require proof that the crystal is genuine."

    "I will give you any sum of money for the Shaheer," Hu- Jin replied. "The Alat is of no use to anyone but the Qol. It has been proven. No one will buy it from you."

    "No deals!" Shadow insisted. "What I want and plan to do with the Alat is not your concern!"

    "I do know. I'm no fool. You're in this with Zyal. You're a third party hired to do his dirty work."

    "Stop jerking me around, Advisor. You will agree to the arrangement."

    "And if I don't?"

    "And if you don't," Shadow cooed, "I'll have no choice but to kill the child."

    Quarq pulled Hu-Jin aside. "The Shaheer's life is more important than the Alat," he said quietly. "Agree to the trade. Hopefully my troops can stop it before it goes through. If they can't, keep in mind that we can always go after the Alat, but the Shaheer is irreplaceable."

    The Advisor nodded. "You're right. Since the woman is Zyal's hireling, my own men can take action against her. We can help you."

    At this point Mongoe leaned close. "I don't think she's working for Zyal," he said.

    "What makes you think so?"

    "When you accused her of working for him, she made a quick comeback. No hesitation, no change of expression. She didn't flinch or shift or move at all. I know people, sir, and I could tell she didn't know what you were talking about. Trust me on this one."

    "Hmm... whatever the case, I agree with Quarq." Hu-Jin turned back to Shadow. "I'll make the trade," he said.

    "Good," she replied. "You will bring the Alat to Quarry Ten. Come alone."

    The Advisor frowned. "I told you, I'm no fool."

    Shadow gave a somewhat exasperated sigh. Although her face remained unseen, he gaze could be felt shifting to the commandoes. "Alright," she said, waving the argument off with her hand, "You can bring these three Westerners with you, but that's all. If I see or hear anyone else, the boy dies."

    "Agreed," Hu-Jin replied with a nod. "When will we do this?"

    "Now," Shadow told him.

    "Now?!"

    "Well, I can't give you time to prepare, can I?" the woman laughed, toying with a lock of her hair. "I estimate that it will take you five minutes to get the Alat out of the place where you keep it, and I know it takes ten minutes to get from the palace to Quarry Ten. I will expect you in fifteen minutes. Don't be late." The screen went dark.

    "I'll get the troops organized while you get the Alat," Haezar told Hu-Jin.

    "Our troops don't know the area, and neither do you," Quarq replied. "We'll have to use Hu-Jin's men."

    "No," Hu-Jin replied, "I won't risk the Shaheer's life. We don't have time to think up an offensive."

    "Maybe a sniper?" Haezar suggested.

    "No," the Advisor repeated. "Quarry Ten is on high ground. It's dug out of a mountain side. Whoever's there can see anyone coming, and there are plenty of places to hide lookouts and troops. We'll do what the woman says. But," he added, lovingly caressing the hilt of his sword, "should the opportunity present itself, I'm sure four fine warriors like us will do just fine." He smiled his eerie smile again. "Go prepare yourselves while I get the Alat."

    "Varkeshna," Zyal of the Moran-shan clan said to the huge bodyguard at his side as he spun lazily in his office chair, "Make a note in my log, will you?" Varkeshna stationed himself before a desk-top computer and rested his fingers lightly on the keyboard, prepared to type. "Tenth day of Sixth Month," Zyal began. "While experimenting with my video broadcast equipment, I came upon a pirate transmission on a public channel to the Shaheer's Palace. Apparently--to my horror, of course--Shaheer Dyan has been kidnapped and is being held for ransom by a mercenary woman calling herself Shadow. The ransom is the Alat, to be brought by Advisor Hu-Jin and three visiting Western Loords to the old Quarry Ten. Since I fear for the Shaheer's life, I have decided to send a very small force in after Hu-Jin arrives there. When the mercenary is convinced of her safety and is focusing her attention on Hu-Jin, my people will move in and hopefully rescue the Shaheer. End of entry."

    Zyal leaned back in his seat as Varkeshna finished typing. "Varkeshna," he said, "take our best sniper and go to Quarry Ten. It is our duty to save our dear Shaheer, as well as the Alat. When he and the mercenary and any of her people are out in the open, have the sniper open fire." Zyal gave a tight, unpleasant smile. "Unfortunately, poor Dyan will take a stray shot. What a... tragic end to my heroic attempt to save him." He chuckled. "But we will manage to save the Alat. You understand, Varkeshna?"

    "Yes, sir," the bodyguard rumbled.

    "Good. Go." The huge man turned to leave. "Oh, and Varkeshna--"

    "Yes, sir?"

    "If one of those stray shots should also happen to hit Hu-Jin... ."

    Varkeshna replied with a wicked grin. "I'm sure we'll enjoy his grand warrior's funeral feast, despite our grief." 

                 7. Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, but Particle
               Acceleration Beams Really Do a Nasty Job

    A short time later.

    "Ready to go?" Haezar asked as he came into Mongoe's quarters. Both of them were in battle armor, however Mongoe's was older and much heavier, and made him look twice as large than he actually was. His gear was in fact the same as he had used in Qorant. There was a thick welded and bolted on metal patch on the torso piece's side where it had been pierced. Haezar mentally winced from the reminder.

    "Yeah, just about," the large lieutenant replied. He pulled a case out from the closet, laid it on a table, and opened it. Inside was a large, outdated bazooka, meant to be braced against the side, and not placed on the shoulder. Despite its battered and worn casing, it was obvious that new parts had been added and that the back and front of the barrel had been modified. Mongoe checked the weapon over, fastened a strap to it, and slung it over his shoulder. "Now I'm ready," he informed Haezar.

    "You still have that thing?" Haezar returned in disbelief. "Haven't they caught you yet?"

    "Nope."

    "You can't use that! Quarq could report you!"

    "So let him."

    "Oh, you seem real concerned," Haezar sneered. "We'll see how smug you are when someone in the right place finds out what really happened to their experimental weapons!"

    Mongoe frowned. "Look, shit-fer-brains," he rumbled, "You could've reported me a hundred times between Qorant and now, but you didn't. You know why? `Cause my baby here saved your ass. Maybe today it'll save it again. Maybe the Shaheer's, and maybe even Quarq's, too. People tend to overlook little details when you save their life, right, Rich Boy?"

    "Um... right."

    "So shuddup and mind your own business." Mongoe made his way to the door. "I'd rather be demoted than dead, anyway," he mumbled. "Come on."

    Ten minutes later Hu-Jin pulled an unmarked hovercar off the main road and up a narrower, winding trail. Before the foursome lay a grouping of barren, rocky hills, quietly baking in the living desert of Qol. Even from a distance the old, abandoned quarry, which had been scooped out of the side of the largest hill, seemed large and foreboding.

    "Mongoe," Quarq said as he eyed the lieutenant's "baby", "what is that thing?"

    "Just an old bazooka, sir," Mongoe replied.

    "I've never seen one like that before."

    Mongoe shot Haezar a discreet look through his sunglasses. "Oh, hell," Haezar put in after a slight hesitation, "my uncle used to use one of those things. That piece of crap's so ancient, I'm surprised the Ground Forces haven't retired it."

    "They're just stingy, that's all," Mongoe laughed. "Had to be modified just to, ah, pack a noticeable whollop against today's equipment."

    "Mm," Quarq replied, and returned his attention to the quarry ahead. "Remember," he said, "first sign of a slip-up on the enemy's part and we move for the kill. Otherwise, don't do anything stupid or without my or Hu-Jin's orders." The commander reached into his pocket and pulled out a curious device which he proceeded to place over his sighted eye. It fitted like an eye patch, and looked like half a pair of goggles.

    "What's that?" Mongoe asked him.

    "Just some insurance," Quarq replied. "I've only got one eye left; I don't plan on losing it."

    When Hu-Jin pulled into Quarry Ten, no one could be seen. The only thing stirring was the dust cloud the hovercar's engines kicked up.

    "Turn the engine off!" a woman's voice, presumably Shadow's, demanded through a speaker or megaphone. The Advisor obliged her. "Get out of the car." Hu-Jin and the commandoes stepped out. "Good. Now walk to the center of the quarry." The foursome obeyed without hesitation. "Put down your weapons."

    "I ain't stupid, lady!" Mongoe shouted back.

    "Funny, you look stupid to me," Shadow returned.

    "Where is the Shaheer?!" Hu-Jin yelled, his hand on the grip of his sword as he scanned the high walls of the quarry.

    Shadow's chuckling echoed across the quarry. "You men are such morons," she mused. "Patience, oh Balding One, and don't get carried away. You're past your prime."

    Hu-Jin snorted. "Come down here, bitch," he said, his horrible grin adorning his features, "and I'll show you how quickly I can flay a person without killing them."

    The mercenary laughed. "Alright," she said, "keep your little toys. But keep them sheathed or in their holsters. Now, where is the Alat?"

    Hu-Jin reached into his jacket and produced a pouch. "It's in here."

    "Show me." Reluctantly, the Advisor took the crystal out and held it up. As if sensing the proximity of the Shaheer, it lit up with a warm glow. The sound of chimes echoed off the rocks. "Excellent. Put it down and back away."

    "So your people can kill us?" Quarq spoke up.

    "My people," Shadow replied with distaste, "have all been slaughtered while attempting to steal the Alat. And they called themselves thieves." She sighed. "Well, no small loss, especially now that I am currently employing more reliable help. I have no desire to start a fight. I only want the Alat."

    "Show yourself," Hu-Jin demanded, "and the Shaheer. Otherwise there's no deal."

    There was a long pause, and then the sound of footsteps on gravel. Two figures appeared on the opposite end of the quarry. One was a tall, slender offworlder woman with long raven-hued hair. The other was much smaller, quite obviously the Shaheer.

    "Hu-Jin! Hu-Jin!" Dyan cried.

    "It's alright, little master," the Advisor returned, for the first time looking worried, "You'll be fine." He looked around, and his eyes fell upon a double set of rails leading across the quarry. On each pair of tracks was an old cart, probably used at one time for transporting rubble or ore. He went over to one, disengaged the brake, and with a grunt gave it a good shove. To his surprise it was in fair condition after so much disuse; it glided easily across the quarry. "Woman," he called with a sneer, "Put the Shaheer in the cart and push him back--if you can. I'll put the Alat in this cart here, and push it to you. Agreed?"

    "Agreed," Shadow replied.

    "No, Hu-Jin!" the Shaheer yelled, "Don't!"

    "Don't worry, master," Hu-Jin replied. "Do as I tell you."

    "And no tricks!" Shadow snapped. "I know what the boy can do with the stone." She drew a pistol with an aiming scope. "If anything funny starts happening when the boy passes the Alat, I'll kill him."

    "And what assurance do we have that your `reliable help' won't fire down on him anyway?"

    "You don't. But then, you're in no place to argue." Shadow dragged Dyan over to the cart and set him inside. "Put the Alat in your cart." Hu-Jin did as told. He and Shadow locked stared at each other from across the quarry, then almost simultaneously set their carts in motion. The mercenary, contrary to Hu-Jin's assumption, had little difficulty with the task. For a moment the Advisor seemed impressed.

    When the two carts drew near, a large man suddenly appeared from the rocks, running at breakneck speed toward the cart holding the Alat.

    "What the--?!" Quarq started. He and the others instinctively raised their weapons, but by that time the man had already grabbed the Alat and jumped off. Quarq and Haezar--and Shadow, to their surprise--squeezed off several shots which hit the vacated cart as the man fled across the quarry and up into the rocks.

    "Get him!" Haezar yelled, and ran after the man.

    "Wait!" Mongoe called, and was ignored. He started after the lieutenant, then halted. A shot from somewhere above and to the left scorched a piece of abandoned equipment he had been leaning against. "SNIPER!" he bellowed, and dove for cover behind the machine. Hu-Jin and Quarq joined him. A shot hit the front right wheel of the cart the Shaheer rode in, and it ground to a halt. Dyan crowded his small body into a corner, pulling rubble and old tools around him.

    "The Shaheer!" the Advisor exclaimed, horrified. He got up and ran toward the second cart, dodging behind rocks and equipment as he went.

    "Come back, sir!" Quarq shouted. He growled and turned to Mongoe. "Go after Haezar!" he snapped, his face a hideous mask of rage. The lieutenant took off as Quarq fired in the general direction the sniper's shots were coming from in an attempt to cover Hu-Jin.

    Haezar, meanwhile, stopped abruptly in his tracks as he heard a sharp cry of pain. He clutched his rifle tightly as he cautiously advanced. His prey had vanished through a narrow pass in the rocks and had turned to the right before he had lost sight of him. Moving as quietly as possible, Haezar quickly sidestepped through the pass and spun out, his weapon at the ready. No one was there.

    No one living, that is.

    The large man's body lay crumpled on the rocks. His head was nowhere in sight. Nervously, the lieutenant advanced and turned the body over. Underneath, still in his hand, was the Alat. Haezar gingerly picked it up.

    Something hit him in the back. With a cry of alarm, he spun around, firing his rifle. He hit only the rocks. No one was in sight. He looked down at his feet to see what had struck him, and saw the dead man's head staring up at him, wearing an expression of pure terror.

    A leather-gloved hand closed tightly around the back of Haezar's neck. The lieutenant immediately moved to counter, but the new intruder's fingers dug into his spine and held on with an iron grip. Haezar's knees buckled. The unseen attacker shifted his hold ever so slightly and squeezed a bit harder. Haezar cried out in pain. The rifle dropped from his right hand, but his left refused to part with the Alat.

    "Stupid boy," the man behind him growled. "Shall I snap your neck now? Perhaps. But first, give me the crystal."

    Haezar grit his teeth. "No," he managed. "You can... take it... off my dead... body."

    His attacker laughed. "Stupid, stupid, boy!" With almost inhuman strength, he threw Haezar against the rock wall. "That is exactly how I intended it in the first place!"

    The lieutenant looked up. Standing over him was a man clad entirely in the blackest of black clothing imaginable, his head covered by a black hood, his face hidden by a visor attached to a lightweight helm. At his side was a long, slender, black-handled sword with a black, skull-shaped pommel, nestled in a black scabbard. There were other bladed items fastened to his belt as well, ones which Haezar could not recognize.

    "Who--?" Haezar gagged, almost in a whimper. There was something utterly terrifying about this strange man.

    In each hand, the man took a curious weapon from his belt. They consisted of a handle with the skull pommel (black, of course) and a short length of chain which ended in a foot-long, very sharp-looking blade. The man began to twirl the blades in patterns at dizzying speeds. "You are fortunate to have seen me," he murmured, "Few do." He paused, then proclaimed, "I am your death! Know me, boy--I am Sorasta, Champion of the Dancing Blades!"

    Haezar cringed. He heard something off to the side as Sorasta bore down on him; quite like the sound of a very muffled cannon blast. Suddenly Sorasta seemed to glow. His expression of astonishment could be felt through his visor as he looked down at his midsection, only to find it was rapidly disintegrating. An instant later he was gone.

    Mongoe plodded up to his companion, hawked and spit on the rocks, and affectionately patted his strange bazooka. "An' I'm Mongoe, Bearer of the Unauthorized Custom Particle Acceleration Beam," he snorted.

    "You--you saved my life!" Haezar squawked, wide-eyed.

    Mongoe rolled his eyes. "Brilliant observation. Man, you're flakier than an unwashed jock strap!" He hauled the lieutenant to his feet. "Come on," he grunted. He disappeared back through the pass. Haezar paused briefly. He picked up one of the strange twirling weapons, which Sorasta had dropped just before his atoms had scattered, and followed Mongoe.

    Down in the main area of the quarry, Shadow ducked behind a pile of gravel and fired off several shots at Hu- Jin.

    "You lousy bastards!" she screamed. She tore a grenade from her belt and pitched it at the Advisor. The explosive went wide, however, and he managed to escape unharmed. She unslung a high-powered rifle from her back, switched it into rapid fire mode, and fired across the quarry at Quarq.

    "You stupid crazy bitch!" he bellowed after the first volley narrowly missed him.

    "We did what you said!" Hu-Jin shouted. "Have you no honor?!"

    Shadow let loose a burst of fire which came dangerously close to the cart the Shaheer lay in. "Call off your sniper or I'll blow the boy to hell!"

    "Our sniper?! That's not my sniper! He's been shooting at me, or haven't you noticed?"

    Shadow's face flushed in anger and humiliation as she realized her mistake. `But,' she thought, `if the sniper isn't theirs, and it's definitely not mine--not unless Sorasta's gone trigger-happy, which he shouldn't have, for what I'm paying him--then who's firing at us?' She moved along through the rubble, scanning the rocks above for the gunman. "What the hell is going on here?" she muttered. Several shots from somewhere above came dangerously close to hitting her. "Alright," she snarled, "now I'm pissed!" She ducked behind a rock and fired blindly up in the direction the shots had come from.

    Hu-Jin, realizing the sniper was now occupied with the mercenary, made a dash for the cart. He plucked the Shaheer from his hiding place and ran back toward Quarq. The sniper realized what had happened and fired at the Advisor. The man was moving astonishingly well for his age, however, and somehow managed to get back to Quarq only singed and slightly bloody from a shot which had grazed his back instead of cutting him in half at the waist.

    "Are you alright?" the commander asked him.

    "Never better," Hu-Jin replied, setting Dyan down. "Nothing like an annoying flesh wound to get you really pissed and ready to lop off a few limbs!" He drew his sword, a wide and powerful blade, etched with designs and brightly polished. "I'm going to try to sneak around and up," he said. "Maybe I can find the bastard and jump him from behind. Cover me." Without waiting for Quarq's approval, he scampered off.

    No sooner had he gone than Mongoe and Haezar came out of the rocks behind the commander.

    "That guy's toast, and Haezar's got the crystal," Mongoe informed him.

    "Where's Hu-Jin?" Haezar asked.

    Dyan smiled a wicked little grin, a perfect copy of the Advisor's. "He went to kick ass," he replied.

    The sniper's firing, however, continued to pour down. Mongoe, deciding that it was not worth the risk to Hu-Jin, set his particle acceleration beam aside, pulled a laser pistol, and fired back at the unseen foe along with Haezar and Quarq.

    At length Hu-Jin returned. "I know where he is," he huffed.

    "So why didn't you ace him?" Mongoe asked.

    "I couldn't. He didn't see me, but I saw his face. He had the diamond tattoo--the mark of the Morin-shans. I cannot kill him."

    "He doesn't seem to give a shit about killing you!"

    "It does not matter. The situation is such that I cannot risk violating our treaty."

    "Morin-shan?" Quarq muttered, "Maybe Zyal sent him."

    "Maybe," Mongoe grunted. "Who cares?" He picked up his bazooka--or rather, the weapon which appeared to be a bazooka. "Where is he?"

    Hu-Jin pointed. "Up there."

    "Hey," Quarq remarked, shooting a glance back at Mongoe, "That thing's not loaded!"

    Mongoe quickly jumped into the open and fired. A large portion of the top of the quarry disintegrated.

    Quarq's mouth fell open. "What the--?"

    "Yeah!" Mongoe laughed. "End of problem."

    The commander looked over at him, astonished. "What is that thing?"

    The lieutenant kissed the barrel of his weapon. "My baby," he replied.

    Hu-Jin got to his feet. "Well, that's more or less settled," he remarked, "except for that blasted woman. At least we have the Shaheer and the Alat back. Good work, Lieutenant." He turned to Haezar.

    The man was facedown in the gravel, quite unconscious.

    The Alat was nowhere in sight.

    In his office, Zyal closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. He could feel the Alat moving away from the quarry. He frowned. It was not moving toward him. His expression darkened.

    `Varkeshna and the sniper must have failed', he thought angrily. `Either that or they've betrayed me.' He sought out the crystal a second time. To his surprise, the Alat was not moving toward the Shaheer's Grounds. It was moving quite rapidly and very definitely in the direction of the aerospaceport.

    He left his office and called for his chauffeur.

    Shadow smiled as she pulled into Qol's aerospaceport. Her ship was there, and in minutes she and the Alat would be safely in it. With a little luck, air traffic control would give her priority takeoff for some reason she'd make up, and she'd be off the planet before anyone caught on to what was happening.

    Briefly she wondered about Sorasta. She had not seen him leave the quarry, but then, the only time she actually had seen him was when he had brought her Dyan, and even then he had been a dark form lurking in the shadows. She did not dwell on his whereabouts for long. He had already been well paid for his services, and his kind could very easily take care of themselves, from what she had heard.

    She smuggled the Alat easily through what she considered to be the Qols' rather primitive customs system, then drove on to her ship. It was docked with numerous other small, private ships in a hangar out beyond the main take-off sites.

    As she opened the cargo bay hatch so she could get her hovercar in, a man in expensive attire strode up to her.

    "What do you want?" she asked him as she worked.

    "I have come for something," the man replied in cultured tones.

    "Yeah?" There was something about him Shadow did not care for.

    "You have in your possession something which belongs to my people."

    Shadow froze for an instant, then casually put her hands on her hips. Her fingers carefully made their way toward the gun tucked under her jacket. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

    "You do," the visitor replied. "It's in the satchel you're wearing. Kindly hand it over, and I will allow you to leave Neemohne."

    Shadow sneered and drew her gun.

    Her arm froze.

    The man smiled faintly. "What's wrong, my dear? Have your joints locked? Having a little trouble pulling that trigger, hm? Take a look at your satchel."

    The mercenary briefly glanced down at the bag. She could make out a faint glow from under the front flap.

    "You have the Alat," Zyal smiled, "and I know that for a fact because I'm using it against you."

    Shadow growled and tried to will her finger to pull the trigger. She failed. Her antagonist narrowed his eyes and breathed in sharply. Her whole body froze. "Let me go!" she demanded.

    Zyal looked into her eyes. "Relax," he commanded in a deep, quiet voice. "Look into me. Deep into me." Shadow's face became calm. Bewilderment showed through in her eyes. "Board your ship and prepare for takeoff. I will arrange for your immediate departure."

    "Buh... bastard... "

    "Your will is mine until you leave here!" Zyal hissed. Inside the satchel, the Alat began to glow more brightly. "Now, you may move your arm--the one without gun. Give me the Alat."

    "Nnnnnoooo... ." Shadow moaned, but the limb did as told. Zyal took the crystal.

    "Put away the gun." Again, his command was obeyed, although now the woman was scowling terribly. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead as she tried to resist. Zyal stared hard into her eyes and concentrated. "Relax... ," he commanded. The Alat throbbed with light. "Load your ship, get in, and leave when you are cleared! Is that clear?"

    "Yes," Shadow replied.

    Zyal backed off. "My, you're a spunky one," he smiled. "When you leave this world, you will not remember our encounter or what business you had here. You will not return. Now go."

    Shadow eventually did remember the Alat--Zyal did not tell her to forget that, only her business in Qol--however, by the time she did and managed to put the pieces together, she was much to far away to do anything about it.

    8. Temper Tantrum

    Shaheer's palace, shortly after the incident at the quarry; Zyal's mansion, shortly after that

    "Tell me again what happened," Hu-Jin prompted Haezar as they sat in the Advisor's office.

    The lieutenant put a fresh cold pack to the lump at the base of this skull. "I chased the guy with the Alat through a passage in the rocks. When I came through he was dead. I picked up the Alat. Someone through his head at me, but when I turned around no one was there. Then someone else dressed in black tried to kill me, but Mongoe got to him first."

    "Shouldn't've stopped to recite his damn poetry," Mongoe put in. "Fuckin' looney."

    "Poetry?" Hu-Jin inquired.

    "Yeah. He said somethin' about bein' So-and-so of the Dancing Blades. `Know your death, boy,' and all that."

    The Advisor's eyes narrowed in concentration. "How did he try to kill you, Lieutenant?"

    Haezar reached into his fatigue pocket and produced the strange, bladed weapon he had picked up at the quarry. "With a couple of these," he said, handing it over to Hu-Jin.

    "Did he carry a firearm?"

    "Not that I could see."

    "How interesting," Hu-Jin remarked as he looked the weapon over. "I do believe the two of you encountered a Nightmare." He paused. "Imagine that. You saw and killed a Nightmare. Extraordinary. I'll have to go look at the remains."

    "Uh... ," Mongoe mumbled, "There aren't any."

    "None? Not even parts?"

    "No."

    "No blood?"

    "No. Sorry."

    Hu-Jin snorted. "What a dull kill."

    Quarq came into the room. "We contacted the authorities, then called the aerospaceport," he informed the Advisor, "but we were too late. A woman answering to Shadow's description was cleared for priority takeoff before we got a chance to do anything."

    "Damn," Hu-Jin growled, raking his fingernails across his desk. With each passing second, he was looking less like the kindly, aging man the commandoes had originally met.

    "The people at air traffic control told me Zyal gave the order for her clearance."

    With a roar, Hu-Jin leapt to his feet, drew his sword, and buried it in the desk. Haezar involuntarily jerked away while Quarq remained unmoved. Mongoe looked on, amused and impressed.

    "I'll throttle him with his entrails!" the Advisor declared. It was far from an idle threat. "I'll feed him his privates! I'll--!"

    He was cut short as Dyan entered the office. Immediately his furor melted, or at least became masked by a placid expression. "What are you doing out of bed, master?" he inquired. "You should be resting."

    The boy approached and ran his hand along the flat of Hu-Jin's sword. "I went to sleep and had a dream," he said. He seemed somehow upset or disturbed. "The Alat was pulling me. It was crying and telling me to come and asking me to help."

    Hu-Jin leaned forward. "Do you still feel the pulling now?"

    "Yes," Dyan replied, and began to cry. "I can feel it and I can see it and I can hear it in my head!"

    The Advisor picked the boy up. "Then the woman does not have it," he said. "If you feel this strongly, it's somewhere nearby. He affectionately tousled the child's hair. "Reach out," he told the Shaheer. "Who has it? Where is it?"

    Dyan sniffled, closed his eyes, and remained quiet for a time. "Someone's trying to make it do things it doesn't want to," he said at length. "There's a lot of power. There's... a mansion... ."

    "Zyal?" Quarq inquired.

    Hu-Jin nodded. "He must have taken the Alat from the mercenary." He set Dyan down. "Go back to your room now," he told the boy. "We'll get the Alat."

    "But--"

    "Go."

    The Shaheer turned to leave, then paused briefly to consider the massive sword stuck in the Advisor's desk. "You really shouldn't do that to your sword," he offered thoughtfully. "It dulls the blade." He managed a slight smile and left the office.

    Hu-Jin sighed as he removed the weapon from his desk. "We have no proof that Zyal hired the woman," he informed the others as he sheathed it, "but he did send the sniper and the other man. Still, I want to go to him as civilly as possible and request that he return the Alat. I want the three of you to come with me, and I want you to bring your troops. If things are anything less than civil," he added, smiling evilly, "I want to be able wash my hands in the Morin-shans' blood without causing a war."

    The Alat was fascinating, invigorating--Zyal could not put it down. He sat in his office, so absorbed with his newfound power he did not respond to the person pounding on for some time. Finally, he tore his attention away from the Alat, hid it in his desk, and answered the door. His security chief greeted him, looking somewhat ill at ease.

    "Sir," he said, "Advisor Hu-Jin has been spotted heading this way. He's leading a small squadron of foreign troops."

    Zyal considered. "Fine. Let them in."

    "Sir?"

    "Do as I say. I'll grant them audience."

    "Yes, sir," the security chief replied, and exited the office.

    Zyal went to his desk and removed the Alat. `And then I'll destroy them.'

    "And what can I do for you, Advisor?" Zyal smiled as both his and the S.C.U.M. troops stood in his meeting hall.

    "It has come to my attention," Hu-Jin replied stiffly, "that you have the Alat."

    Zyal simply looked at him, his hands behind his back.

    "I thank you for recovering it. All of Qol will thank you." The Advisor was outwardly calm, yet it was obvious from his stance that he was fighting to control his temper.

    "Why have you brought all these soldiers here?" Zyal asked. He briefly glanced at his own troops, lined up on either side of the hall.

    "Simply to ensure the Alat's safe return to the palace," Hu-Jin replied.

    "Why are they foreign troops?"

    "They were sent here to assist me in certain matters. Right now my own forces are fully occupied with making sure no further harm will come to our Shaheer."

    "I see."

    Hu-Jin held out his hand. "Now, if you please, the Alat."

    Zyal brought out the crystal from behind his back. It pulsed with energy. He could feel the power oozing through his veins as he stared deep into the brilliant color emanating from its center. He concentrated.

    "No," he replied, "I DON'T please."

    The hall became hushed as confused murmurings broke out amongst Zyal's security troops.

    "So," Hu-Jin said in a low voice, "you did hire the woman."

    "I did not," Zyal replied. "Her coincidental appearance here only provided the necessary vehicle for my ascension to Shaheership."

    "Dyan is the Shaheer."

    "Dyan is a child!" Zyal snapped, still absorbed in the Alat. "I am a man. I am fit to rule."

    "If enough of your people side with you, you will restart the ancient blood feud."

    "No matter. With the Alat, I am more powerful than any army. Now, old man, arrange for Dyan to relinquish his position."

    "No," Hu-Jin replied firmly. "Give me the Ala--" His words were cut off as a burst of light shot from the crystal, caught him in the chest, and bowled him across the hall. The S.C.U.M. troops raised their weapons. Zyal's troops readied theirs.

    "That was a warning," Zyal announced as Hu-Jin picked himself up with a groan. The Advisor's face darkened. He pulled his sword from its scabbard.

    "Come face me like a man!" he shouted.

    Zyal laughed at him.

    With an enraged cry, Hu-Jin sent the large blade soaring through the air at Zyal. A bubble of light appeared around the younger man, and the sword bounced off, skimming across the marble floor until it came to rest some distance away.

    "Do as I've told you!" Zyal shouted. "This is your last warning! Now go!"

    "Give me the Alat!" Hu-Jin seethed.

    Zyal eyed his troops. "Remove these people!" he ordered.

    "G'wan and try!" Mongoe replied. He fired his "baby" at the grouping of guards to the left. They vanished, and so did a large portion of the wall behind them, a good deal of furniture in the next room, the wall after that, and the wall after that...

    Zyal smiled wickedly as he watched the two factions collide. He wanted this. He wanted another excuse to use the Alat. He wanted to blast them all into eternity with a thought, to watch them die at his fancy. He concentrated harder as the crystal in his hands throbbed. The pleasant, chime-like noises it usually emitted turned to squeals and shrieks. He channeled his anger into the Alat, sending rays of pure hatred out at the battling troops. One of the S.C.U.M. soldiers quite literally exploded, causing him to roar with laughter. Another caught on fire. His aim was off the third time; he managed to disintegrate one of his own men. `No matter,' he thought. `I don't need him--or any of them. I am more powerful than them all.'

    Across the hall, Quarq found himself pinned facedown on the floor by a man easily twice his size. He fought, kicked, and struggled, but his attacker managed to plant a knee in the back of his neck, pinning him to the floor. The soldier then drew a rifle across his neck and pulled back, throttling him as worked on breaking the lieutenant commander's neck. Quarq got his hands on the rifle and pushed forward as hard as he could in a desperate attempt to stay alive. He looked up and saw Hu-Jin not far away, retrieving his sword.

    "Advisor!" he croaked.

    Hu-Jin drew near. "I'm sorry," he said, looking rather awkward through his anger, "I cannot kill him! He is Morin- shan!"

    "I think Zyal's already broken the treaty," Quarq gasped. "Help me, damn you!"

    Hu-Jin disappeared.

    Quarq's attacker laughed. "Relax and I'll snap your neck quickly," he sneered. Quarq merely growled and fought on.

    He did not have to struggle much longer, as Hu-Jin's sword planted itself firmly between the guard's shoulder blades.

    "Oh, my!" Hu-Jin said, terribly overacting, "I seem to have tripped over this poor man, fumbling my weapon with terrible, unfortunate results. What a dreadful accident."

    Quarq hauled himself out from under the dead man's body. "Thanks."

    Zyal, meanwhile, found that his attacks were becoming increasingly difficult. Every time he used the Alat offensively, there seemed to be a wall blocking the channel through the crystal, a wall which, if he did not concentrate hard enough, would bounce his anger back at him and made his head spin. It was tiring him, but it also made him more determined and more furious. He tried again and again, though each time it became harder to use the Alat. His attacks became weaker and more sporadic.

    Sensing Zyal's difficulties, Hu-Jin broke free of the melee and charged him. Zyal saw him coming. A burst of energy tripped the Advisor up, and then a tendril of light wrapped around his legs and arms and dragged him in. Grinning with insane pleasure, Zyal bent over him.

    "You, old man," he growled, "you I'll kill slowly." He put his hand to the Advisor's chest and bore down with his mind. His fingertips began to glow. Still held by the cords of light, Hu-Jin could do no more than stiffen and groan in pain.

    "Hey!" Mongoe shouted, bringing his particle acceleration beam to bear on Zyal, "Let him go!"

    "Are you crazy?!" Haezar cried as he threw off one of Zyal's men, "If you fire you'll take out the Advisor and the Alat!"

    With a sneer, Mongoe fired to the right of Zyal and Hu- Jin. The wide beam melted the wall behind them, then continued on its way through the mansion. "Next time I'll narrow the beam, and the same'll happen to you!"

    "You can't narrow the beam!" Haezar snapped, cutting down several oncoming guards with a burst of gunfire.

    "He doesn't know that," Mongoe replied.

    Zyal, however, did not seem to care. He removed his free hand from Hu-Jin and lashed it out in the lieutenants' general direction. Haezar knocked Mongoe to the floor as a deadly burst of energy scorched the air above them. Satisfied that this would do, Zyal returned his attention to torturing Hu-Jin. Mongoe, Haezar, and Quarq gathered together several troops and rushed the man. Again the defensive bubble rose up around him. Nothing got through, not even lasers. Zyal ignored them all as he worked on killing the Advisor.

    "This is crazy," Quarq growled. "There's got to be something we can--" He broke off as his attention fell on the Alat. The crystal was glowing more brightly than any of them had ever seen, no longer throbbing, but with a steady, blinding light.

    Even Zyal seemed startled. "What the--?" he began.

    "STOP!!" someone called in a shrill voice, and everyone did exactly that. Literally.

    Both commandoes and security guards froze in their tracks, and stayed that way, unable to move or speak. Confusion played over their features.

    There came the padding of small feet on marble, and Dyan appeared in the hall, looking very fearsome for someone not quite a decade old.

    "You leave Hu-Jin alone!" the boy shrieked. Inside his glowing bubble, Zyal, the only one apparently uneffected by Dyan's command, took his hand off the Advisor. The light bonds vanished as well. Hu-Jin went limp and crumpled to the floor.

    "You're MEAN!" Dyan declared. "You're mean and you take things that don't belong to you!"

    Zyal stood up to his full height. He smiled, then laughed. "Oh, my," he chuckled.

    "Dyan," Hu-Jin groaned, his chest heaving, "get away from here."

    "I HATE YOU!" the Shaheer shrieked at Zyal. The Alat began to glow red deep within the blinding light. "GIVE THE ALAT BACK!"

    Zyal glanced down at Hu-Jin. "I detest insolent children," he said. "Haven't you taught the boy any manners?" He paused, chuckled. "I suppose I'll have to punish him."

    "No!" the Advisor protested.

    "Shut up," Zyal sneered, and lay his hand on the older man's chest again. Hu-Jin cried out in agony.

    "I SAID LEAVE HU-JIN ALONE!" Dyan bellowed at the top of his lungs. The Alat's light throbbed once. Zyal was blown back against the wall, the crystal still in his hand. He picked himself up.

    "DIE!" he shouted, and focused every ounce of hate and jealousy in him on the Alat.

    With Dyan present, the wall he had encountered before now became impenetrable. Some of the energy was absorbed, but not channeled through. The rest bounced back in his face. He screamed as his own mental violence burned his face, chest and arms. He fell to his knees and dropped the Alat.

    The crystal rose into the air. The frozen soldiers watched in amazement as it floated into the Shaheer's waiting arms. The chime noises were no longer shrieking, but were becoming louder now as the light within the brightness turned from red to rays of yellow and blue.

    "You'll never be mean to me or Hu-Jin or the Alat again!" Dyan declared. The blue and yellow lights enveloped Zyal. He cried out once. When the light receded, he was pressed to the wall, curled up and whimpering. The soldiers present suddenly found they could move, but they did not resume their fight. The hall was quiet.

    Haezar helped Hu-Jin up. "Are you alright?"

    The Advisor nodded. "I think so." He went over to Zyal, who shied away as he came.

    "Get away from me!" he cried as he cowered, "Please stay away!"

    "It's okay now, Hu-Jin," Dyan said. "I took care of him."

    "What did you do?" the older man asked.

    "He's scared now," the boy explained. "Of you, me, and the Alat."

    "You did that?"

    "Mm-hm."

    "Good. Very good. And since you didn't kill him, the Yun/Morin-shan treaty is unbroken. Excellent." He went over to the Shaheer and put his arm around the boy's shoulder. "But you still shouldn't have come here, especially alone."

    "But I told you," Dyan protested, "the Alat was calling me. I had to come."

    "Alright, alright," Hu-Jin murmured.

    "Are you angry?"

    "No. Come on, let's go home." The Advisor lead Dyan out. Quarq called his troops together and followed.

    Mongoe paused on his way out to consider his handiwork, and to attempt to soak in what had just happened. He found it difficult.

    "In-fucking-credible," he muttered, and, shaking his head, followed the others out of the hall.

    9. The Beginning

    Third High Commander Noril's office, several weeks later.

    "I must compliment you all on the success of your first mission," Third High Commander Noril told Quarq, Haezar, and Mongoe. "The War Council is impressed, and the High Council has decided to give me the funding to expand the S.C.U.M. project further. However,"--he shot an angry look at Mongoe- -"there is one more matter to be dealt with." Noril paused, looking rather grave. "I received a very long, very angry complaint by several wealthy families, including Zyal's, among the Qol. According to the complaint, on the day of your hostile encounter with Zyal, a large section of the outer wall surrounding his mansion melted. Melted. Melted and vanished with almost no residue. A pale blue-violet light emerged from the wall, went through the neighbor's wall and every room in their house, continued out through the opposite wall, and halfway through the next neighbor's home before dispersing completely. The same light with the same effects came out of the back of the mansion and went through a couple more homes. Half of Zyal's family mansion, where the light came from, has been gutted." Again Noril paused, staring intensely at Mongoe. "I'd say that sounds like the effects of a particle acceleration beam, wouldn't you, Lieutenant?"

    "Yes, sir," Mongoe replied.

    "Now, I wonder how one of those got into the hands of a S.C.U.M. commando? By my records, the only hand-held particle acceleration weapons were issued to Special Forces for a brief period of time, during which the soldiers using them experienced power failures and self-destruction of the weapons. I believe you're familiar with this, Lieutenant."

    "Yes, sir."

    "You should be--your platoon was issued them. And coincidentally enough, according to records, you were disciplined over the disappearance of some of the weapons which turned up unaccounted for."

    "Some were lost in battle, sir."

    "I'm sure they were. You have one, don't you?"

    No reply.

    "Someone who worked on the project told me that after the hand-held pieces, they tried making shoulder cannons, but they were too heavy and clumsy for the average soldier. He told me these things were about the size of... oh, I believe he said bazookas. You did bring your bazooka like I asked you to, didn't you?"

    Mongoe held up his carrying case. "Yes, sir."

    "Take it out and put it on my desk." Mongoe did as told. Noril looked it over. "What is this thing?"

    "It's a bazooka, sir."

    The High Commander toyed with the weapon, looking at it more closely. "Yes, it is. An old one, too." He looked up at the lieutenant, his eyes cold. "With an almost plugged barrel and that odd addition on the front end." He took several tools from his desk, pried open the back of the weapon, and began tearing parts, insulation, and padding out of it. "What is this?" he demanded, gesturing to the array of parts on the desk.

    "It's... it's the modified remains of several particle acceleration guns," Mongoe muttered.

    "I see." Noril looked at Quarq. "And you didn't notice anything peculiar?"

    "I... I didn't realize what it was, sir."

    "Why is it that in your report you write that several mansions, including Zyal's, were damaged, but you don't say by what?"

    "I wasn't sure what it was, sir."

    Noril scowled. "Mongoe, Quarq--I could fry both your asses over this--especially you, Lieutenant! But I'm not going to. Not now, anyway."

    "Sir?" Quarq replied.

    "If I dismiss and discipline you now, it'll make me look bad. I thought I was dealing with three--well, at least two--highly disciplined officers, and so did the War Council. They're under the impression that everything went smoothly. I want to keep it that way. If I dismiss any of you now for improper conduct, my whole project could be scrapped." Noril turned to Quarq. "You--I'll overlook your error. Your record's clean. Between you and me, we'll say Mongoe here kept the damn thing on your blind side the whole time. As for you," he went on to Mongoe, "you watch yourself. Durn just barely managed to convince me to let you in. One more foul-up, in any way, and I'll see you court-martialled. Understood?"

    "Yes, sir," Quarq and Mongoe replied.

    "You and Haezar keep an eye on this shithead, Quarq." Noril picked up the bazooka casing and shoved it into Mongoe's arms. "Get rid of this," he snarled. "Dismissed."

    Late that night, Mongoe sat in his quarters, the remains of his "baby" on his lap. He didn't have the heart to dispose of it. He stroked the barrel affectionately and sighed, then set the weapon down on the bed.

    He got onto the floor and reached underneath his bed, digging through the assorted junk, gear, and boxes. At last he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a box, taped shut and addressed as if it were to be mailed, and cut it open. After digging through the styrofoam bits and tissue paper, he reached in and smiled.

    He pulled out two large, awkward-looking, hand-held particle acceleration guns.

    `Yeah,' he thought as he sat down next to the old bazooka casing and went to work, `I think I'm gonna like this job.'

    Faye Levine is a Freshman in Carnegie Mellon University's Art/Design core program. After spending her high school years writing a novella and a 500+ page novel (Single spaced! Wow!), she's having a little trouble writing SHORT stories. Her recent endeavors include becoming addicted to "GrimJack", blowing up a borrowed amplifier, fending off mushy attacks from a suitor, and teaching innocent bunnies to stalk and kill Elvis impersonators. In her friends' opinions, "She's gone funny."

    fl0m+@andrew.cmu.edu


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