Address criticisms to [xazqrten@cox.net] ****************************** Beverly Wiseman had visited Robert Bryson at the hospital twice in spite of his being in a coma. Her second visit had been routine until a young nurse's assistant entered the room and began checking Bryson's bandages. The young woman raised the blanket covering Bryson's lower torso and a look of surprise spread over her face. "Is something wrong?" asked Beverly. "No ma'am, but it's a damned shame," replied the woman. "What is?" asked Beverly. "He has some respectable equipment, but because of his injuries, he won't ever be using it again." Her statement puzzled Beverly. "I don't understand." "Are you his girlfriend?" "No. We're only coworkers." "Step over here and take a look at this." Beverly moved to the side of the bed across from the young woman and looked at what she was holding. Her eyes got wide. "Is it proper for you to be handling him like that?" "Probably not, but he won't ever know. You aren't going to tell are you?" "No. And, you're right; it is impressive. Why do you say he won't ever use it again?" "The third bullet that hit him not only severely damaged the arteries in his legs, it destroyed his testes. Without them, he'll never get another erection, unless he goes on hormone treatments to replace the lost testosterone from the missing testes." Beverly was ashamed of herself as she looked across the bed at Bryson's penis. Her hopes of one day having him be a father figure for her twins and maybe even having him father more children for her had been destroyed by that third bullet. She could still hope for a relationship with him, if he ever recovered from his wounds, but it would never be anything other than a brother- sister relationship at best. Still, she reasoned, he could be a male role model for her daughters to learn from. **************************** It had been a week since her last meeting with Helen Acker and Bob Withers. It came as no surprise that they wanted another meeting. This time, she was told it concerned employee training for the people who would be using the newly installed workstations. It was 0900 hours when Beverly arrived at the President's campaign headquarters. As she entered the meeting room, she saw that Helen Acker was already there. It was a change from them making her wait. "Where's Withers?" asked Beverly. "Damned good question, Beverly. He missed a meeting last Friday morning. No one has heard anything from him since. He didn't show up this morning either. Maybe he got lost. Maybe permanently, if we're lucky." "You don't like him, but he is a fellow worker." "He's a first class horse's ass if I ever met one, and I've met more than my share over the last decade. They either become politicians or they gravitate toward them. If they can't have the power, they like to get as close to it as possible. But we're not here to discuss him. I need a rundown on the training your people are in the process of providing for our troops. I'd like to brief the President, but if you want, I'll set up a short meeting and you can fill him in on the whole project." "I don't like him or the men he keeps company with; so, I'll give you the information and you can present it to him as you see fit." Beverly spent the next half hour giving Acker a very detailed description of the training the workstation operators would be receiving and furnished her with data that Acker could use for her presentation to the President. When Beverly departed, she had the feeling that Acker actually appreciated her efforts. A minute later, she chided herself for harboring such a naïve idea. **************************** Later that day, Helen Acker gave President Waters a very detailed briefing about the new computer installations and the security measures being used to safeguard his campaign data. He was especially impressed with the data that had been provided to Acker about the training his campaign staffers were receiving. "Did you know, Mr. President, Mrs. Wiseman doesn't even like you." "Really. Then why has she done such a thorough job of this installation." "It seems that she separates her private feelings from her professional responsibilities. She doesn't like you and she absolutely hates Bob Withers, but she said that she had a contract to fulfill and she would give it her best shot. She's definitely a company woman." "I don't know her, but I respect anyone who can keep their personal feelings from interfering with their professional responsibilities. I wish I had some of them working for me." "Actually, you do, Mr. President. One day, I'll explain that to you." The President looked at his communications officer. He knew what kind of asshole Bob Withers was, and how some of Bob's cronies behaved - especially with his female campaign staff. The problem was that he owed some favors and taking on Withers and his friends had been payment for some of those favors. Hopefully, if he won this next election, he could divest himself of some of that baggage. No one had heard from Withers in several days; he secretly hoped it could be a permanent situation. ***************************** Lyta had given a lot of thought to the Slorian problem. She decided to change how she would handle it, so she made another visit to the Drakh laboratory facility. It took her several hours, but after she finished, the Drakh commenced a concerted effort to make copies of the facility computer databases and programs. They were translating them into several different languages as they made the copies. Lyta knew it would take at least a week, maybe even two, for the job to be finished; so, she took her guests to several other locations on the planet. She was intrigued by the efforts the scientists were making to gather as much data and as many samples of both plant and animal life as they could. She thought that she wouldn't be surprised that when she returned them to Ghor it took at least two weeks for the scientists to offload all the stuff they were collecting and keep it organized. She decided to put off blowing up a large portion of the planet's sentient population for the time being. Instead, she decided to let the Interstellar Alliance (IA) stew over the situation for a while. After all, it was their problem. ***************************** On Glenthor: Jason was watching another of the training videos that Emily had obtained. He was again sitting on the floor and resting his head on Emily's lower belly. She absentmindedly played with Jason's hair as she watched the video with him. This scene had been repeating itself virtually every evening since Lyta had left. Emily had not seen the results of Jason's hearing test. She wondered why Lyta hadn't mentioned it. After the video finished, Jason kept his position, unlike the past when he would change position and lie on the couch with his head resting in Emily's lap. She didn't object to the change in procedures. This time, when Jason relaxed in order to assimilate the information he had gained by watching the video, he did something different. He gently rubbed his cheek against Emily's inner thigh. She felt a pleasant sensation and lowered her mental shields in order to 'listen' to his unguarded thoughts. Emily remembered the last time someone had touched her with sex on his mind; she had all but killed him with a mind blast. She had also injured a dozen people who had been in other apartments as far away as a hundred meters. For her efforts, she had been shot full of tranquilizers and the sleeper drugs. It was the last time Psi Corps had tried to breed her with one of their P-12 studs. After that, they settled for removing some of her eggs and using them in in-vitro fertilization attempts to breed high power telepaths. They never succeeded in producing a telepath rated above a high P-12 rating. Looking at Jason, Emily was a bit concerned. In the last few weeks, she and Jason had attended several meetings, at which there were several women who had obviously been interested in Jason. In spite of their best efforts, Jason had managed to evade them. Emily wondered why Jason had showed no interest in the women and had lowered her mental shields in order to 'listen' to his unguarded thoughts. To her surprise, Jason hadn't seemed to see the women as women. His thoughts about them were the same as if he were dealing with people who were sexless. She couldn't understand this response, but she would, and she wouldn't be happy with that knowledge. Emily waited until Jason had settled down after assimilating the information in the video. "Jason?" "Yes," answered Jason without moving. "What do you know about love?" It was a moment before Jason asked in response, "With relation to what?" "I'm not sure. Do you remember Donna Shultz and Beth Singer?" "Of course. They were at our last staff meeting. Why?" "It appears to me that both of them have a more than passing interest in you." "How many women do we have on the planet who aren't telepaths and how many of them do we ever come into contact with?" His questions caused Emily to hesitate. "I'm going to assume that you mean women who aren't either married or presently involved with someone." "Those parameters will do quite nicely." Emily considered the question, its parameters, and was surprised to find that she couldn't think of any unattached Human females who weren't telepaths. This shouldn't have seemed strange, since all the active recruiting for emigrants had been focused on the telepath community that had recently managed to escape from under Psi Corps' thumb. "At the moment, I can't think of any. It seems to be worth investigating." "You may have noticed that I'm a mundane. I'm sure that you became aware of that fact while you were rummaging around inside my mind, since I arrived on Glenthor." "I have not been rummaging around inside your mind!" "Yeah? For starters, I overheard your conversation with Lyta. You remember the one when the two of you asked to be left alone and I went to my rooms. You should have checked the intercom; you accidentally left it in the send function." "Oh. I didn't know that." "I would ask how I'm doing, but I'm going to take the lack of admonishment as indicating that you're satisfied with my progress." Emily hadn't been expecting anything like this. His tone of voice left no doubts about how he felt about the situation. He was definitely not happy. "I didn't do anything to you." "Really! When we came here, I was attracted to several of the females that I met. For the last month or so, I've been less interested in females than I am in the color of the carpet. Want to venture any thoughts about why that might be?" There was undisguised disgust in Jason's voice; it wasn't lost on Emily. She didn't attempt to answer his question. "Be honest, Emily. All I am to you is another experiment. I heard you beg Lyta to not take me away from you like Psi Corps did the others you experimented on. Since I have no further interest in sex, I'm inclined to say that I'm something of a disappointment. It's rather obvious that I'm not quite right in the head." "I didn't do anything to you," she said evenly. "You made the changes. Everything is intact. You have hearing that is better than a person of your age has any right to expect. Your problem solving skills, your memory, your ability to assimilate new languages and cultures are phenomenal. In every respect, you're what many would consider a superior man. I don't know why you no longer have any interest in females. Maybe it has something to do with how your brain processes information, now." "What's the point of being a 'superior' man if I can't even function at the most basic level of emotions?" Emily had no answers for him. Something had gone wrong and she had absolutely no idea what it might have been - much less how to go about correcting it, if that was even possible. It certainly answered her own questions about his lack of sexual feelings when he rubbed his cheek against her inner thigh, and why he had pointedly avoided Donna Shultz and Beth Singer. Jason got up, went over to the kitchen area and put on a pot of water. He looked at Emily and said, "When we first met, I was physically attracted to you, but I knew that you were about twenty years younger than I am. Even after I came to the conclusion that there was nothing there, I was still attracted to you if only as an older brother is attracted to a much younger sister. Now, I can't seem to understand what I saw in you to begin with from a sexual point of view. You tell me? What isn't right with my feeling like that? Even though there's never going to be anything between us, it still doesn't explain my complete lack of emotional attachment. I don't like it, Emily, but I don't know what to do about it." Emily had admitted that she didn't know the why of his apparent lack of emotions. "Jason, will you accept that I actually did nothing to your mind?" "Why don't you just tell me about what's transpired to change the way I seem to be thinking and feeling." "How much do you know about how the Human mind works?" "Only what has been presented on the science channels. That's not very much." "Think of your brain as an advanced multi-processor computer." "That's how the science channels started their programs." "I know, but the example they use is woefully inadequate." "Oh?" Emily got off the couch and went to a table on the left side of the apartment. She got a stylus and data pad from a drawer in the table. She quickly went back to the couch and started drawing on the pad's work area. Jason made himself a stiff drink of scotch whiskey and walked over to see what she was drawing. After a few minutes, she handed him the pad. Then she said, "Study the drawing, while I get some tea." Jason studied the drawing. It looked somewhat like the computer examples he had seen on the video channels, except that it was much more complex. "Is this your idea of how the Human brain functions?" "It's as simple as I can make it. The normal world never got its hands on the files that Psi Corps had concerning the experiments and other data that had been developed over the years, as a result of the corps trying to find a way to enhance a telepath's psi abilities." "Is that all?" "It's just the beginning. Look at that drawing and try to imagine a computer with a million circuits similar to or even more complicated than what you see there. Imagine that it has virtually unlimited memory resources, that it can store data in a thousand forms from binary to a level that can store a complete image in one storage unit, and that any or all of those processors can process data as a single unit or as a multi-processor unit that uses as many processors as the operating system decides is necessary. Add to that the ability to determine the importance of various data inputs and tag what feature about that data is most important. It's a fact that for jogging a memory loose, nothing beats a smell. We, the corps doctors and I, came to believe it works that way in normal people, both telepaths and non-telepaths, because it is the primary stimulus that causes a male mammal to seek out a receptive female mammal for procreation. Admittedly, it's stronger in almost all other mammals than Human's because our olfactory organs aren't all that well developed." "What you're describing is much more complicated than anything that was hinted at in the science channel presentations." "Oh, it's much more complex that that. Factor in that the operating system can take in myriad data sets and decide which is the most important and assign the resources to process it. That, for the most part, describes how the average Human's conscious mind functions. Now, imagine a computer system that's a hundred thousand times more complex that's always running in the background to keep the conscious mind from dropping the bubble and you have the subconscious mind, and it never sleeps. Unlike the conscious mind, the subconscious works 24/7." "What does all of that have to do with me?" "I told you that I didn't make any changes to your mind, and I didn't, but I helped your unconscious mind rearrange how it handles things, including what is considered the most important data types. I helped it learn how to use its resources more efficiently. It then made the changes that it felt were necessary for its optimum operation. It has been making changes in itself ever since. Your mind is a living conscious computer. It never stops learning and evolving itself to stay alive. That's why the Shadows used Humans as the central processing unit in their ships. In spite of having existed for maybe billions of years, they couldn't make a processor that is superior to the biological ones already in existence." "I wonder why they didn't simply grow their own?" "I don't know, unless it was more efficient to simply put some type of interface implants into a living being because that being already had a life support system for its nervous system." Jason shuddered at Emily's last statement. "Where does all of this leave me, or us, or whatever?" "I don't know." ***************************** The next day, Jason was sitting in his office looking out through the open doorway. He had another meeting scheduled for that morning. He was deep in thought when a voice from the doorway grabbed his attention. "A credit for your thoughts," said Emily. "I've been thinking about our conversation last night. There were some things you said that caused me to lie awake last night. I think I have one answer for my situation, but it seems ludicrous." "Why don't you run it by me?" "You said my mind had developed the ability to change what my priorities are even without my being aware of it. Could it be that my seemingly enhanced senses have caused me to hear or see or smell things that I wouldn't have before you started helping me?" "I don't know for sure. Certainly your hearing is very much better that it ever has been before, except for when you were first born." "Come over here for a moment?" Emily complied with his request. "See those women out there?" "What about them?" "Listen to what they're talking about." Emily concentrated on the women, but could hear nothing. "I can't hear them, Jason." "I can, quite well, too. They're discussing the outfit that Karen wore to work this morning." Emily lowered her mental barriers and concentrated. Jason was correct. "That's not just a small improvement in your hearing." "Last night, I tried to imagine why I'd lost my interest in women. I thought about one of my old girlfriends. I was sexually stimulated by those thoughts. It almost drove me to scream trying to figure out why a memory of a woman I haven't seen in years would arouse me more than either of two physically attractive women who are apparently interested in me. I think I know." Emily looked at him expectantly. "Okay. I'm damned curious." "During a break at the first meeting we had that they were present at, I accidentally overheard them discussing the shortage of men, telepath or otherwise on Glenthor. During the conversation, both expressed a loathing of non-telepaths, regardless if they were or were not the only available unattached or uncommitted males." "They don't know that you're a non-telepath." "True enough, but I know how they feel, which would cause my mind to dismiss them from consideration as a sexual partner. It also explains why I no longer see you as a female." Emily frowned. "I'm not biased against non-telepaths." "True enough, again; however, you have no use for me as a male and you have let me know that. It's been expressed by your body language." "And, body language encompasses as much as eighty percent of our total communications when we're together. My apologies, Jason; I wasn't even aware of it. I don't know how to make you understand how my feelings came to be what they are." "Lyta showed me some things visually in my mind. The images seemed to concern you and some psi cops." Emily looked at him in astonishment. "Oh, crap!" "Tell Donna Shultz and Beth Singer to come in here for a minute, please, Emily." Three minutes later, the two women were standing in front of Jason's desk. "You wanted to see us?" asked Singer. "Yes, I did. When you were given the familiarization briefings about the company, they left out one very important fact." Both women looked at him with puzzled expressions on their faces. "The businesses on Glenthor that are operated by Humans are almost all helmed by telepaths and most of their human employees are also telepaths." "Yes, sir," they responded in unison. "I run this company. When all things are considered, I feel it was a major oversight that you were not informed - I'm a mundane. You may go." Emily had listened to Jason's words and monitored the surface thoughts of the two women. After the two of them had left his office, she said, "It's good that you couldn't hear their thoughts when you dropped that little piece of information." "My reasons for not thinking of them as women have been vindicated." "In spades." Jason smiled then laughed. "My mind works just fine." Emily could feel the relief in Jason's thoughts. She felt much better too. She also appreciated that he held no animosity for Shultz and Singer, but she wasn't comfortable with his statement about what Lyta had showed him. ***************************** It was midmorning and Emily had stopped in the cafeteria for a cup of strong coffee. It was expensive, but she felt that she deserved it after the meeting she had just attended. It seemed that lately all she and Jason did was attend meetings. She was quickly coming to the conclusion that she never wanted to be in a position like Jason's. She was just taking a bite of her bagel when Donna Shultz and Beth Singer appeared in front of her table and asked to join her. She invited them to sit and take a break. Donna Shultz asked, "Exactly what was Mr. Conrad getting at this morning?" "I thought he was pretty obvious," replied Emily. "Everyone assumes that since this is the primary security service, so to speak, for Glenthorian off- world interests, and is majority owned by Lyta Alexander, all the major company positions would naturally be held by telepaths." "That seems to be a fair assumption," said Beth Singer. "Why would you assume that, Ms. Singer?" asked Emily. "I wouldn't think that a telepath would allow a mundane to run his or her business," replied Singer. "Why would you assume that? Do I hear a bit of superiority complex sneaking into the conversation?" asked Emily. "I didn't mean it like that," protested Singer. "Exactly how did you mean it?" pressed Emily. Singer began to realize that she had talked herself into something of a corner, and was looking for some way to backtrack out of it. Donna Shultz saw what Emily was doing and remained silent. Finally, Singer gave up and said, "Everyone knows mundanes are inferior to telepaths." "In what way?" insisted Emily. Her inquiry was greeted by silence from the two women. At last, Emily said, "I think I see the problem. You were thoroughly indoctrinated by the corps. I think there are a few facts that you should know. The first Director of Psi Corps was a mundane. All of the great writers, military leaders, musicians, songwriters, politicians, doctors and the best from dozens of other walks of life have all been mundanes. The only thing telepaths can do that mundanes can't is read another person's thoughts. The reason a mundane is running this company is that the most powerful telepath in the galaxy thinks he is the best person for the job - not a telepath. Before she became a telepath, the presently acknowledged best tactical combat leader in the Earthforce Interstellar Service was a mundane. Of course, that has changed recently. She's now the highest profile telepath in the Interstellar Alliance." Even after this revelation, her fellow workers were silent. "Jason heard your comments the other day about mundanes. He has phenomenal hearing. If you think you're superior to him, I'll be quite happy to set up some tests, both mental and physical that will allow you to demonstrate your superiority. I also promise that you'll lose very badly. Jason will not brook any bias directed against any other employee in the company by any fellow employee. Break that rule and you'll be history around here. You'll also find it very difficult to find gainful employment at any other reputable company on the planet. Do I make myself clear?" Both women nodded in the affirmative. "You don't have to like your fellow employees, but you do have to work with them without letting your personal feelings get in the way. If there is someone you absolutely can't get along with, inform your supervisor. We'll do our best to make the situation better for all concerned. We're the very small minority on this planet. It's in all of our best interests to keep interpersonal frictions to a minimum. We all have biases - some justified, some not - it's something we all have to live with. Any questions." Looking relieved, both women said no. ***************************** On Ghor: Lyta had watched the scientists unload several tons of samples that they had collected on Slor. It was barely a dent in the total amount of material that was stored in the cargo hold and every other available space onboard her shuttle. She had been correct in thinking that it might take several weeks for all of the material they had collected to be unloaded and accounted for. She had been impressed by how particularly careful the workmen had been when they unloaded the eight live specimens of Slorian sentients, although four of them weren't really sentient. The scientists wanted samples of both for DNA comparison. Lyta had inserted blocks into the Slorians' minds that would keep them completely incapacitated until she removed the blocks. The Ghorians had nevertheless used prepared cages to transport their specimens. ****************************** Onboard Whitestar 89: "Alyt Nelan, the weather anomaly we've been monitoring has disappeared," noted Ranger Paul Jenkins. "Disappeared?" queried the alyt. "Yes, sir. It started moving in a northwesterly direction and it just vanished from the sensors. It didn't dissipate, sir. It was there and then it wasn't." "Weather phenomena don't just disappear, Ranger Jenkins. They usually breakup and dissipate. Copy the sensor logs for the last month to headquarters. Maybe they can make something out of them." ****************************** It had been almost two weeks since she had returned to Ghor and Lyta watched as the last of the materials that had been brought from Slor were unloaded from her shuttle. She noticed that a Ghorian male, Meltin Flou was approaching. "What might I do for you Professor Flou?" inquired Lyta. Flou wasn't smiling. "I see you that made the trip to Slor in spite of my colleagues' and my objections." "I made the trip, but your objections are your problem. You and your colleagues don't tell me what I can and can't do." "The whitestar in orbit around Slor was notified of when you left for the planet. They have just been notified of your return and what was in your cargo." Lyta laughed in Flou's face. "You continue to amuse me professor, but I'm afraid you're what the Humans call a one trick pony. I look forward to seeing what the whitestar can do to stop me." Later, Lyta would remember this sentence and wonder when she had begun to think of her species as 'they'. Her phraseology wasn't lost on Flou. It told him more than he wanted to know, even if he didn't understand how or why. ****************************** Onboard Whitestar 89: "Alyt Nelan, there is another message from Ghor for you," said the communications watch. "What kind of message?" "It's from the same minister that sent the last one, sir. It says that the shuttle that was going to Slor has returned and is unloading its cargo." "How would they know that it has been to the planet below?" "It lists part of the cargo as being eight Slorians." Alyt Nelan looked at his communicator. "Ask the originator if he or she can identify the shuttle. Its registration number would be of much assistance." It was an hour before the communications watch received a response to his query. They were almost on the opposite side of the local sun from Ghor and the one-way transmission time in normal space was just over eighteen minutes. An hour later, the communications watch said, "Alyt, we are receiving an answer to your inquiry about the registration of the suspect shuttle. Our database confirms that it is owned by Lyta Alexander, a Glenthorian diplomat." "She's a long way from home," noted the alyt. "Maybe we should find out exactly what she's doing way out here. Especially, if she's visiting a quarantined planet." Alyt Nelan spent the next hour reviewing the information his ship's database had concerning Lyta Alexander and considering his options. There didn't seem to be much available until he gained access to a very restricted part of her file. He reviewed the restricted data. The idea of going after her actually unsettled him - not something easily done to a member of the warrior caste; unfortunately even the restricted data didn't address any of Lyta's more dangerous abilities because those who knew of them had never let their knowledge become part of any permanent record. Items such as the visual records of what she had done to the bounty hunters' ship a few years earlier were not included, nor was there any mention of her part in the recent attack on Babylon 5. ***************************** Lyta had one more trip to make to Slor before she would be ready to leave the solar system. She availed herself of the plentiful iron asteroids orbiting Bliteroth. It took two days for her to construct the bombs she wanted then she headed for Slor. Once again, as soon as her shuttle exited hyperspace, it was hidden from direct observation by what looked like a small weather anomaly. It didn't go unnoticed on Whitestar 89. Lyta landed at the Drakh base and immediately went about having the data crystals she had directed them to produce loaded into her shuttle. She also watched the Drakh minions - under Drakh supervision - use forklifts to carry the huge spherical devices that she had made down to the lowest level of the installation. There were a hundred of them and each one massed almost two metric tons. As soon as the offloading was completed, Lyta erased the event from the memory of everyone involved. She figured that in the remote event that the devices were found, they would be ignored as nothing more than a curiosity. In hyperspace and normal space the devices had not presented any problem to Lyta's shuttle. Her telekinetic abilities made carrying the overload possible for the short period of time that her shuttle was airborne in the planet's atmosphere. Satisfied with her efforts, Lyta took off from the base and ten minutes later entered hyperspace. Once again her departure from Slor appeared to be a disappearing weather anomaly. The evolution was recorded by the orbiting whitestar. ****************************** Lyta was sitting across the desk watching Professor Stath finish a phone conversation. After a few minutes, he hung up the phone and said, "Our people are ecstatic over the materials you let our team bring back. They are absolutely thrilled to have real Slorians to study. I think their greatest problem is going to be determining how to best make use of them without harming them. It should keep them busy for quite some time." "I'm going to want to review what your specialists learn about the DNA differences between the evolved Slorians as opposed to their unevolved brethren. It may influence me in my final judgment about how to handle the Slorian problem." "I'm glad to hear that you haven't set anything about that in concrete yet. The copies of the data crystals you provided are another matter altogether. Some of our computer whizzes aren't sure that our computers can handle the programs on the crystals. The data files are another matter. We can access them, but it's going to be a slow process. It would be nice to have some idea what we're looking for." "The best I can do professor is to tell you that I'm quite sure they're concerned with the DNA experiments the Shadow thralls were conducting on the Slorians. You might try buying the necessary hardware from the IA. I'm sure that they'll also be interested in this information." "I'll check into that. It'll give some of my friends and me a legitimate excuse to have some expensive lunches on government money. By the way, when are you leaving?" "Tomorrow morning. There's a dinner theater nightclub I ate at the other night that has some unusual ideas about entertainment. Tonight is what I'd describe as an open mike night. Members of the audience will be encouraged to show off their abilities in song, dance and what not." ****************************** Onboard Whitestar 89: "Alyt Nelan, we have received another message form our unidentified contact in the Ghorian ministry. Lyta Alexander's shuttle just landed after being gone for almost three days." Alyt Nelan listened to the report and considered the weather anomaly they had observed earlier that day. He was convinced that somehow Lyta Alexander and her shuttle had been on the planet's surface and was connected to the apparent weather anomaly. Nelan enabled the ship's announcing system and said, "Ranger Hawk, report to the bridge." Ranger Hawk and two of his comrades were dispatched to Ghor to take Lyta into custody and return with her to the whitestar. Alyt Nelan had the ship enter hyperspace then launched the three rangers in one of the ship's shuttles. They were ordered to radio the ship when they departed Ghor. The shuttle would be retrieved from hyperspace on their return. It was either this or take the whitestar itself to Ghor and Alyt Nelan wasn't willing to leave his station for that period of time. In normal space the round trip would take seventeen days even at a speed of a million-and-a-half kilometers per hour. ****************************** In the Kindred Spirit Nightclub: Lyta was sitting at a table in the middle of the showroom. Onstage, there was a male and female duet doing their best to sing a couple of the traditional folk songs of Ghor. Lyta was glad that her ears were virtually indestructible. She enjoyed watching some members of the audience outright cringe at the effort. She was enjoying a third drink and slowly munching on another tapa. There had been several more singers, two comedians, and a magician of sorts. He was just finishing up his act. Onstage, a young Ghorian female was announced as being an illusionist. The young woman walked out onto the bare stage and began talking into a small hand- held microphone. "Tonight you are going to be treated to the best illusions that have ever been performed on this or any other stage. Before I begin, I want to remind all of you that everything you will see during this performance is an illusion. None of it is real. Please remember that and behave accordingly." A voice from the back of the audience said in a rather loud voice, "I don't see anything. When do the illusions start?" The young woman replied, "They already have." Fog drifted down from the ceiling of the establishment. It seemed to come out of nowhere and in a few seconds obscured everything in the room. A few seconds later, the fog stopped and immediately began to dissipate. On the stage, behind the woman, was an assortment of what could only be implements of torture. The audience was stunned. There was no way the items on the stage could have been put there in so short a period of time. "I'm going to begin with a simple illusion. I need a volunteer from the audience." A Ghorian male got up from a front table and walked up onto the stage. "As you see here, my assistant has opened a box and as you can see it is completely transparent. I'm going to put our volunteer into the box, and in front of your eyes, he will vanish. By the way, what is your name?" "Eile," replied the man. "Well, Eile, my assistant is going to put you into the box and then fasten it shut. I need another volunteer to check the box and ensure that it is empty now and that it is closed and locked after Eile is placed into it." A few minutes later, the woman said, "As you can see, our subject is in the box. In other acts, the box is covered or otherwise hidden from sight while the vanishing is taking place. We're going to do it the hard way." Turning around to face the man in the box, the woman began chanting in what sounded like an obscure Ghorian dialect. After a few chants, she waved her hands and said, loudly, "Vanish and be gone!" At that moment, the man in the box disappeared and the crowd drew in a very loud collective breath. "I want our volunteer inspector to once again examine the box." The assistant opened the box and the volunteer examined it inside and out, even going so far as to stand inside the box, showing that it was in fact empty. "If my faithful assistant will be so kind as to close the box again." After her assistant closed the box, the woman again mumbled some words and shouted, "Come back!" What appeared inside the box looked like a large mass of bloody meat, with pieces of bone sticking out of the mess. The assistant opened the box and the mass oozed out onto the stage. "I'm sorry," said the woman. "I should have warned him about the risk involved in the trick. Don't worry; my other assistant will squeegee the mess offstage in a few minutes. Meanwhile, I'd like another volunteer from the audience." There didn't appear to be any takers. "Remember what I said earlier; nothing you are seeing is real. It is all one very large illusion." Another volunteer went up onto the stage. "Let's have about seven more volunteers. I need that many to finish my act. I promise that no one will be harmed in any way." About this time, Ranger Hawk and his associates walked into the club and started observing the stage show. The volunteers all went up onto the stage and were introduced to the audience. The woman looked out at the audience and motioned for one of Hawk's fellow rangers to come up onto the stage. He tried to decline, but the audience booed him so badly that he relented. What followed was a huge gore fest as one after another the volunteers were butchered in various ways. In one trick a finger from a volunteer flew out into the audience and landed in someone's drink, making a bloody mess. The stage was a bloody mess with body parts and entrails making lumpy piles from one side of it to the other and front to back. The last illusion was one featuring a modified version of a guillotine. Hawk's hapless partner was fastened into it and beheaded in only a few seconds. Blood gushed out from the stump of his headless body and his head rolled off the stage and across the floor toward Hawk. Hawk and his remaining associate were stunned beyond belief at the scene. The woman, now covered with blood and gore from the mess onstage, once again reminded the audience that nothing they were seeing was real. "Trust me, ladies and gentlemen; no one has been harmed in any way." As fog once again drifted down to obscure everything in the room, she said, "Thank you and goodnight." As the fog dissipated, the audience could see that the stage was empty. The gory mess was gone. The finger in the drink was also gone and the drink was once again normal. The head that rolled across the floor had vanished and the ranger who owned it was standing with his comrades in perfect health. It soon became obvious that everyone was back in his or her seat, in perfect health, and the woman was gone as if she had never existed. Sitting at her table, Lyta became aware of the rangers even before they had entered the establishment. She hoped that they had enjoyed the show. ***************************** Hawk looked at his companion and asked, "What just happened, Roy?" "What are you talking about, Hawk?" replied his companion. "We just watched you get your head cut off." Roy looked at the other ranger and asked, "What's he drinking, Allan?" "Nothing, Roy. I saw it myself. You went up on that stage and had your head cut off. It rolled over here and almost hit my foot." Roy looked at the two of them and shook his head. They were losing it. They had been out on patrol too long. "That's the Alexander woman over there," said Hawk, pointing at Lyta. "Let's get on with it," said Roy. ****************************** Lyta had watched everything in the bar and was very satisfied with her efforts. Everyone would be talking about tonight's show for a very long time to come, and some talent agent would go nuts trying to learn whom the young female magician had been. The show ended and Lyta waited for the rangers to make their move. She wasn't disappointed. "Miss Alexander?" asked Hawk. Lyta looked at them and smiled. "Who wants to know?" "We're with the Anla'shok, Miss Alexander. We've been detailed to escort you to meet our commanding officer, onboard Whitestar 89," replied Hawk. "Do I know your commanding officer?" "I don't think so, ma'am. Will you come with us, please?" Lyta looked at them and replied, "Why not?" ****************************** The quartet left the nightclub and headed for the local bus stop. Roy had had his hand on Lyta's arm for about half a block when his hand suddenly went through her arm like it was an illusion. A moment later, Lyta faded from view. The three rangers looked all around and found that their willing prisoner had simply vanished. They walked back to the nightclub. Surely enough, Lyta was sitting where she had been when they had first seen her. As they started to walk into the club, they found themselves again leaning against the wall from where they had watched the magician's performance. They realized that everything they had just 'experienced' had been an illusion. Once again, they walked over to Lyta's table. Lyta got up and said, "Okay. Let's do it for real this time." "What just happened to us?" asked Hawk. "Consider it an object lesson, Ranger Hawk." As they left the club for the 'second' time, Hawk realized that no one had told Lyta his name. ****************************** On Mars: It was dark. Robert Bryson was awake and wondering what in hell was going on. The last thing he remembered was crawling into bed and pulling the blanket up over himself. Why he was awake in the middle of the night puzzled him, because he very seldom awakened in the night unless he had to go the bathroom, something he didn't have to do. He was also looking up at the darkened ceiling, and he never slept on his back. There was a tube running up his nose, and he couldn't move; he also felt hungry, he ached all over. It slowly dawned on him that he was in some kind of medical facility. He couldn't imagine why. He tried to cry out, but his mouth and throat were dry and all that he managed was a scratchy croak. Slowly, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. As Bryson drifted off to sleep, a nurse arrived to check out the fluctuations the monitor equipment recorded and reported to her remote station. She looked at the monitors and then at Bryson's sleeping form. She noticed that his left hand was across his abdomen instead of along his side. The brain activity monitor was showing normal sleep activity, something that it hadn't displayed before. The nurse notified the duty doctor, who arrived in a few minutes to investigate the situation. ***************************** Detective Lieutenant Jason Morgan had been notified of Bryson's regaining consciousness. Now, he was sitting in a chair beside Bryson's hospital bed. Looking at his old friend, he asked, "Bob, what can you tell me about the attack that put you in here?" Looking at the detective he replied, "I'm sorry, Jason. The last thing I remember is going to bed on the Thursday night before this attack thing happened." Morgan looked from Bryson to his doctor. "He's telling you the truth, detective. After being subjected to the extreme shock his body and mind received, it's not unusual to not remember the events or the time immediately leading up to them. In Mr. Bryson's case, he's lost an entire day. It may or may not ever come back to him. Considering his injuries, I'd suspect that it'll never return." "Can I have a few minutes alone with him, doc?" "Sure," replied the doctor; then he left the room. Morgan looked at Bryson. "You want to try a scan don't you?" asked Bryson. "Only with your permission. Somehow, I don't think it'll meet with any success. You just try to remember the event, I'll do the rest." "Okay." Ten minutes later, Morgan said, "It's no good, Bob. Your memory is excellent right up to the time you went to sleep on Thursday evening; then absolutely nothing until you woke up here. I've never seen a memory loss that complete before. Not even a mind wipe is that thorough. I'm afraid the doctor is right. You aren't ever going to remember that Friday." "Tell me what happened. The doc wouldn't tell me anything including how extensive my injuries were." Morgan told him the facts, as he understood them, about the attack and the time leading up to it. "I'm afraid you'll have to get the story of what happened at your job from your fellow workers. I'm sure that Mrs. Wiseman'll be more than happy to bring you up to date about that." "I'm just glad she wasn't hurt any more than she was. She's a very good worker." "That's all she is to you then - a fellow worker?" "Of course, Jason. Edgar Industries has some very strict rules about employees fraternizing at work. They don't like it even when it's done during non-work hours. They believe it can compromise employees and lead to harassment complaints." "Somehow, I got the feeling from her that she thought of you in a less than fellow employee manner." "You're completely wrong, Jason. I summarily fired her from my office a while back. She ended up filing harassment charges against me. Take my word for it; Beverly Wiseman can barely stand being in the same room as me. The only reason I would have been escorting her home was that we had just finished a meeting with the President's communications officer and Bob Withers, his campaign manager. Withers is a womanizer and doesn't know when to leave a woman alone. He won't take no for an answer." "I don't think that will be much of a problem in the future." "Oh? Why not?" Morgan handed him a sheet of paper. "That's the hardcopy of an e-mail I received last week. Do you remember what it means?" Bob Bryson slowly read the e-mail. It was short and to the point. Bob Withers, Harvey George, and Leslie Dyer are Bob Dillon. Bryson read it again. "My God. This is for real?" "We can't find any of them, and none of their associates have seen them since about a week after the attack on you." "Who do you think is responsible?" "I don't have a clue. If you remember during the rebellion when we were winning our independence from Earth, and we captured and interrogated any Earthforce personnel, we couldn't let them go because they were killing ten of our people for every one we were killing of theirs. We simply left them unconscious and trussed up at wherever we were told." "Yeah. I heard a rumor that they were killed, cremated, and scattered out an airlock to mix with the sands of Mars. I never knew if it was true or not, nor did I ever hear anything about who might have been involved." "It wasn't a rumor, Bob. I was shown a crematorium that wasn't listed in the Funeral Homes of Mars directory. I learned that it could be used with no one being the wiser, but I never met any of the people involved. Of course, this was after the war was over; so, your guess is as good as mine. I think that maybe some friends of yours from the war may have decided to handle the situation their way. You were in a coma from the time of the attack until this morning, so you have an ironclad alibi." "Jason, I'd have kicked a mud hole in Bob Withers' ass and then stomped it dry to keep him from harassing Beverly. But, I'd never have killed him, nor did I wish him to come to really grievous harm. Lock the son of a bitch up, maybe. Kill him, no way." "Beverly has a recording that will change your mind. I think I may have inadvertently been responsible for it. I showed a copy of the recording to some of the other squad members at the precinct. None of them liked it that he might get away with it. I can only guess that someone discussed it with someone else who is a good friend of yours from the war." "I'll have Beverly show me the recording when I get back into the office. What else can I do for you, old buddy?" "You've already done it, Bob. You awoke and are still alive. The doc tells me that you'll make a complete recovery. He and his associates would just like to know how in hell you managed it." "I can do that, but they aren't going to believe me. It's what remains of a favor a friend did for me." "When you get a chance, I'd appreciate you introducing him or her to me." "She's definitely a her, and if she ever comes back this way, I'll be more than happy to do the introductions." "I have to go, Bob. I have cases that won't wait." Morgan shook his friend's hand and turned to leave then hesitated. "Don't let the Wiseman woman get away, Bob. She's definitely a keeper, and this is from a man who doesn't chase women." Morgan then walked out the door only to be replaced by an older middle- aged man who introduced himself as Doctor Allison. "What can I do for you, Doctor Allison?" "I'm not sure where to start. When you came into our emergency room, you should have already been dead, but obviously you weren't." "That's the story of my life, doc. I'm always disappointing people. You have my sincerest apologies." "I'm not disappointed, Mr. Bryson. I'm just very curious." Doctor Allison then moved to read the monitors that were still monitoring Bryson's vital life signs. After studying the monitors for all of a minute, the doctor used a hand scanner, passing it over Bryson's upper and lower torso including his crotch. He studied the images displayed on a monitor screen mounted on an adjustable support that was presently positioned above Bryson's head. He studied it for a few minutes then moved it so that Bryson could see the displayed images. "What we have displayed here, Mr. Bryson, are images of a perfectly normal male of about thirty years of age. The problem with that is the fact that you are much older than that. I don't suppose you could explain why that is, can you?" "I expected you to ask about the anomalies in my blood, doc." "Yes. There are those too." "I can tell you who's responsible, but I don't think you're going to believe me." "Try me, Mr. Bryson." "Why don't you do a records search using my name as the search reference and limit to San Francisco dating back about six months? After that, you, your associates and I can have a little chat." Doctor Allison looked at Bryson for a minute. Bryson could see the man's mind churning through at least a dozen questions. Finally, Allison said, "Okay, Mr. Bryson. This may take a while." "If you wish, doc, I can have the material sent over from Edgar Industries. Their doctors will be happy to share what they have with you." This obviously got Dr. Allison's attention. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone and handed it to Bryson. "Be my guest, Mr. Bryson." Bryson punched in a number then after a few seconds, he punched in another series of numbers. Finally, he spoke into the cell phone pick-up very quietly. Several seconds after he finished speaking into the phone, He punched in another series of numbers then looked at Dr. Allison. "What's your e-mail ID number, doctor?" Allison told him, and watched Bryson enter the digits then Bryson returned the cell phone. "The images and pertinent files are being e-mailed to you as I speak. When you try to open the files, you will be prompted to enter a password. Enter your last name, a space, and your cell phone number. The files will ask for a destination directory. Enter where you want the files to be saved to and they'll be decrypted and stored. When you and your associates have finished reviewing the data, I'll be happy to answer any questions you have, if I have the information. Bear in mind that in some cases, I may not possess any information in the area in question." "You agreed to this rather quickly. Why?" "Why not? Nothing you can possibly ask me is classified to the best of my knowledge. The one person that might give a damn is in a position to not care." ***************************** Onboard Whitestar 89: Alyt Nelan walked around Lyta looking her up and down. Finally, he spoke. "You don't look very impressive to me. My Anla'shok brought you here without any difficulty. What do you have to say for yourself?" "About what?" Lyta replied. "Do you deny that you have been on the planet below?" "No." "Did you not know that it is quarantined?" "Yes." "You are in a great deal of trouble, Miss Alexander." Lyta didn't answer since it was a statement instead of a question. "Didn't you hear me!" spat Nelan, slightly raising his voice. "Yes." Alyt Nelan didn't quite know what to think of the woman standing in front of him. If appearances were to be believed, she was slightly bored with him and what he had to say. That irritated the hell out of him. "You are operating a shuttle that is registered in the Interstellar Alliance." "So?" "I can seize your shuttle until this situation is settled in an IA court." "Really." Lyta appeared distracted for a moment. Almost immediately, Nelan felt his ship break orbit. "Helm! I gave no order to move the ship!" "I didn't do it, alyt," replied the helmsman." "Take us back to our original position!" "The helm controls are frozen, alyt," replied the helmsman. Alyt Nelan was very irritated. "Do whatever it takes to regain control, but get us back into our proper orbit. The navigation console operator and the helmsman tried everything they knew how to do, but it was wasted effort. In a few minutes the ship stopped moving. "I think it's time for an object lesson, Alyt Nelan," said Lyta. Nelan turned to look at her. "What did you say?" "If you will observe the planet below and use your high powered optics you will see that we are directly over an island that is located about two hundred kilometers from the mainland." An image appeared on the display at the front of the bridge; the image showed a very heavily forested island that was thirty-two kilometers long and twenty-four kilometers wide at its widest point. "Watch the image, Alyt Nelan." As he turned his head to look at the display, Nelan realized it had been an order not a request. Before he could react to his interpretation of her statement, a very brilliant white light from the image lighted up the bridge. Nelan was momentarily stunned into immobility. "Watch and learn, Alyt Nelan," said Lyta in a low voice. As the entire bridge crew and their alyt watched, a cloud of smoke and dust rose into the planet's upper stratosphere and continued rising toward its ionosphere. Nelan turned to look at Ranger Jenkins. "What was that?" It took a few seconds for Jenkins to reply. "According to our sensors, alyt, it was an explosion." "I can see that for myself. What kind of explosion?" "It appears that it was some kind of non-nuclear explosion, sir. There isn't any appreciable radiation being monitored. A nuclear or thermonuclear device would produce a very high reading on our gamma radiation sensors, sir." Nelan looked at Lyta and asked, "What kind of object lesson?" "You're looking at it." "We're getting some measurements of the damage to the island, alyt," said Jenkins. "How bad is it?" "Our sensors indicate that the island is no longer there, sir," replied Jenkins. Nelan looked at Lyta with disbelief showing in his facial expression. "You are responsible for this?" "Of course," replied Lyta. Nelan looked back at the displayed image and noted that strong ocean winds were causing the smoke and dust to drift north, away from where the island had been. He knew that the image of the island had been centered in the display. Now, there was only boiling water. To him, it looked like the boiling water covered an area several times as large as the area the island had occupied. "Alyt," said Jenkins. "Sir, our computers have made an estimate of the size of the blast by using our sensor inputs." "What is the estimate?" "Sir. According to the sensors the blast created a crater almost a hundred and sixty kilometers in diameter and almost that deep. They show that the crater is symmetrical, something like the shape of an ice cream scoop." Nelan was totally speechless. He knew it would take an asteroid at least ten kilometers wide moving a great speed to even begin to cause that much damage. "What about that boiling water?" "Sensors are indicating that the explosion opened up something like a caldera that was located about fifty kilometers below the island." "How big was the explosion?" "As best the computer can estimate, it was about ten thousand megatons, give or take a megaton or two, sir." Nelan still looking at Lyta, whispered, "Ten thousand megatons and no residual radiation. It's not possible." Lyta said, "I suppose seeing isn't believing." Nelan returned to his command chair. He closed his eyes and rubbed them. In his mind he simply couldn't resolve what had just transpired. Opening his eyes he looked toward the front of the bridge. His mind reeled. The image was gone; Lyta was gone. He looked around the bridge. "Navigator! Where are we?" Looking puzzled, the navigator replied, "Sir, we are in orbit exactly where we've been for the last few weeks." Nelan closed his eyes again and thought, [Object lesson indeed.] "Helm, take us to a position directly above the island that had the odd sensor readings." A half hour later, Whitestar 89 was directly above the island where the Shadow laboratories were located. Alyt Nelan was looking at the image shown on the front bridge display. It was very green and heavily wooded. He wondered if it was as peaceful as it looked. Before he could finish the thought, an extremely brilliant flash that left him seeing nothing but black spots in front of his eyes blinded him. A full five minutes later, with the spots finally beginning to fade away, he could see enough of the computer generated display to realize that the island was gone. This time, the flash had been several magnitudes more brilliant than the first one. As he was trying to get his thoughts sorted out, he heard a female voice in his head, {Object lesson completed.} Outside, and underneath Whitestar 89, Lyta's shuttle moved away from the larger ship and vanished into hyperspace. ****************************** END PART 17