~Modern Crusaders  Book 3~

Nwyn

by

Psi Draconis

The latest attack against the Realm of Atlantl convinces Princess Evelynne deMolay, the Heir to the Throne, and Alleandre Tretiak, Adeptus Major and Consort, to return from hiding and face their enemies. A devastating attack that hits very close to home has them bringing together all their formidable resources in the hunt for those responsible. But with a faceless enemy who can seemingly strike in the very heart of the Realms security, even Allys powers and the entire weight of the Atlantlan government may not be sufficient to keep them safe.

Chapter 1

Move! Move! Move!

Captain Arnold Beckman of the Calgary Urban Response Team listened to his sergeant and watched impassively as the man exhorted his men into greater speed as they hurried into place. Teams set themselves up on street-corners and behind benches, and some settled into hiding spots in the surrounding area.

Hotel-four in position. Lima-one in position. Baker-two in position.

The calm chorus of voices echoing in Beckmans earbud was gratifying in its efficiency as the bulk of the citys special police units spread out around the Atlantean Trade Consulate.

X-Ray-one in position.

That was one of the sniper teams taking up position on the roof of a nearby office building, which had been evacuated along with every other building in a three-block radius. Beckman didnt envy the Police Chief the grief he would certainly be receiving over this, but fortunately that wasnt his own problem. The Urban Response squads simply went where they were ordered and did as they were told, and it was only if one of his men screwed up royally that any crap rolled downhill, at least under the current Chief. Chief Niles Monroe was always ready to shoulder the burden of the day-to-day criticisms of his force, leaving the perpetually overworked and underpaid officers under his command to get on with their jobs. Which was just how Captain Beckman liked it.

In this case, however, Beckman didnt think the fallout would be as bad as it otherwise would be. Once news that a terrorist threat had been discovered directed against the local Atlantean Trade Consulate inevitably leaked out through the sieve that was City Halland Chief Monroe would find some way to get it out if it didnt find a way on its ownthe public response would change quickly. With an attack on the future mother-in-law of the lesbian Heir to the Throne of the Realm of Atlantis only two days in the past, public sympathy was running high for that nation, even in Alberta, which generally wasnt known for its acceptance of anything homosexual-related. For that matter, it probably wouldnt matter if the Mayor stapled his staffs mouths shut, since any halfway intelligent reporterBeckman’s own experience had left him wondering if that was a contradiction in termswould be able to put heavily armed police units and the Atlantean Consulate together and come up with a lot of speculation.

And who knew, maybe some of that speculation would even turn out to be correct. It happened occasionally in the press.

Of course, it didnt help that even Beckman wasnt entirely sure what was going on with the Consulate himself. Thirty minutes ago he had received the call from the Police Chief, ordering him to secure the outside of the Trade Consulate with all possible speed. It made sense that a terrorist threat could have been detected, but if that had been the case, the building would likely have been evacuated.

As it was, there were still people inside, as shadows could be seen moving behind the windows of the short brick building. That made the threat of a real attack unlikely, since any halfway intelligent bureaucratanother oxymoronwould know to keep away from the windows at the very least.

The regular checkins from his squads slowed and finally stopped as they took their final positions, to be replaced by the softer murmurs of situational chatter and visual updates. Beckman checked his watch. Three minutes and forty-eight seconds. Not a bad time, considering the area they had been forced to cover. Not that hed ever tell them that.

Movement, front door. Designate Target One.

Captain Beckmans head shot up from where he was studying a detailed map of the surrounding area, considering moving a squad to cover a slightly more vulnerable approach, at the quiet voice in his ear. As he watched, a person slowly opened the front door and moved out onto the front porch. Frowning, the Captain peered at the door through a small telescopic lens.

She looks nervous, Beckmans second-in-command, Sergeant Louis St. George, commented nearby.

She looks terrified, Beckman disagreed absently, taking in the woman on the front porch dressed in the purple and gold of the Atlantean Guard. Which doesnt make me feel any better, considering what shes packing.

St. George nodded. The Guard was fully and neatly kitted out in full uniform, but its normal lines were now broken by the full body armour she wore, right down to the helmet on her head. More disturbing, however, was the large, deadly-looking rifle she held at rest across her body as she stood at guard rest on the porch, obviously trying to ignore the array of firepower surrounding her.

Looks fully-automatic, St. George speculated. Military issue. M-16?

Beckman shook his head. Atlantean military Maevar-3 7.62 mm automatic rifle, he murmured. I got a report when the Lannies were first moving in here. They should have three Guards in residence. I wonder where the other two are. Keying his own mike, he instructed, All units, hold fire. Target One classified friendly. Targets weapon is full-auto, effective range four-two-five metres. If worst came to worst, Beckman wanted his men fully aware of just what they were up against.

It dont make sense, St. George said, shaking his head in puzzlement. If theres a threat, why havent they evacuated?

I dont know, Lou. The only thing I can think of is theyre protecting something. But what would the Lannies be protecting in some Podunk trade mission?

Acting Assistant Deputy Consul Ivaan Elseth looked out the window at the assembling police teams with a mixture of relief and abject terror. This isnt supposed to be happening to me! a small, scared part of him wailed, and was firmly ignored by the rest of him. After all, he doubted any member of the Foreign Council would really be prepared for what had fallen in his lap, much less the temporary and provisional head of a minor Trade Consulate which wasnt even fully operational yet.

That lack of preparedness was the reason for the massive police presence outside the Consulate. A full one-third of the Guard detachment attached to the Consulateone Lieutenant Amy Bulalehad just headed out the door and Elseth didnt know whose situation was worse: his own, attempting to control the situation that had overtaken him, or hers, standing guard outside the Consulate in full combat gear, in the face of what looked like a large portion of the Calgary Policewho were probably less than thrilled to have a heavily-armed foreign national on heightened battle alert anywhere within a hundred miles of their cityand trying to appear confident and unmoved while doing so. Elseth was honestly torn over which task was less undesirable.

However, the simple fact was that a single Guard was completely inadequate for the task of protecting what was currently in the Consulate. The other two Guards currently assigned had been summoned, and were certainly en route to the Consulate with all possible speed, although it was uncertain whether they would now be able to gain access through the police cordon around the building.

I should have got them here, and then called in the police, Elseth thought. The Police Chief promised them passage, but it takes time for authorisation to go through.

When the Trade Mission had been instituted, Elseth had visited the Mayor and Chief of Police as a courtesy, providing what unclassified information he could about the Consulate and its security. They had appreciated the gesture, and Elseth and the Chief had managed to strike up a tentative friendship. That had made him the first person the Deputy had thought of when much more intense protection had been suddenly needed. The Chief had promised an Urban Response presencethe closest to a full military guard that could be arranged on such short noticeand would also attempt to request real military protection from one of the Canadian Forces Bases in the area.

Now that he had done all he could in terms of protection, Elseth was trying, with near-desperation, to contact someone with more authority to take over. Home Office had already been informed of the situation, and were currently trying to coordinate affairs on their end, likely with an equal amount of desperation, and one of the Consulates secure lines was now permanently connected. Elseth was now attempting, without success, to reach Emily Karawe, the official Chief Trade Consul for western Canada.

The customer you are trying to reach is currently out of range, or has turned off their phone. If you would like to leave a message, press one



Elseth cursed, a very rare event, and left a message. Karawe was notorious for taking very long holidays at extremely inconvenient moments. An avid skier, she was likely somewhere on the slopes of Whistler near Vancouver at that moment. It was only the fact that she was absolutely brilliant at her job, when she was around to do it, that had likely saved her from being relieved permanently by the Foreign Council.

Hanging up, the Deputy consciously forced himself to relax, and then headed towards the main meeting room of the Consulate. The buildings internal communications system would alert him the instant a new communication was received from Home Office.

Hesitating, he knocked softly on the door to the room. A moment later an elderly Native man opened it, smiling reassuringly at him.

Enku Black Crow, Elseth said, bowing slightly.

Black Crow smiled again, and Elseth could almost feel some of his anxiety draining away, allowing a semblance of calm to emerge. He didnt know just what it was about the old man that was so reassuring, and wasnt really inclined to question it.

Mr. Elseth, Black Crow replied. Please, come in.

Nodding in thanks, Elseth entered, looking around at the rooms occupants, who were the reason for the chaos that had descended on his quiet Consulate. Sitting sideways on a couch by the window with her legs drawn up under her was Her Ladyship Dame Alleandre Tretiak, Consort to the Heir of Atlantl. She looked very different from the last pictures Elseth had seen of her. Medium-length brown hair had morphed into a wavy, shoulder-length black style, and a series of earrings followed the curve of her ear. A tense, anxious expression haunted her, far different from the tentative, shy face in the pictures Elseth had seen. Lady Alleandre was currently looking out the window, fingers nervously drumming on the back of the couch.

She was being comforted by the woman who was, without question, the most exotic-looking of all of them. When he had first seen her, Elseth had assumed that Ishta Claire Jones was covered head to toe in tattoos, turning her face into a black-and-white mosaic. Even her hair was bicoloured in black and white patterns, and one of her eyes was a very ordinary brown, while the other was a disconcertingly pale blue. Those eyes had seemed to look completely through him when they had first met. Ishta Jones was rubbing Lady Alleandres shoulder gently but firmly, her attention fully focussed on the other woman, although she looked up with a brief, shy smile when Elseth entered the room.

The third woman was

Elseths heart froze in his chest when he saw that the final womanwho was arguably the most importantwas missing from the room. Where is Her Highness? he asked, and despite his best efforts, his voice was strained and shaky.

Evelynne went to get

Enku Black Crows replya part of Elseths mind wondered at the mans casual use of the Princess given namewas cut off as the door opened behind the Deputy, and the Heir to the Throne of Atlantl calmly entered.

Your Highness, Elseth said automatically, bowing deeply to the woman who would someday become his liege, still surprised at just how much she had changed since the last time anyone in Atlantl had seen her. The Princess trademark fiery red mane was completely gone, replaced by a short, spiky hairstyle that was so blonde it was almost white. Her attirea casual sweater, tight blue jeans, and slightly worn shoeswas far removed from her customary elegant gowns and dresses. The face was still much the same, but it was lacking the makeup she had normally worn, and was possessed of a seriousness and maturity that had left her young, almost childlike expression behind. The Deputy was willing to bet that anyone who had not grown up around her likeness constantly would not recognise her.

Princess Evelynne looked at him oddly for a moment, as though the formal honorific was unfamiliar somehow. Then she shook her head bemusedly. Consul Elseth, she replied, heading towards the low coffee table in the middle of the meeting room.

The Deputys eyes widened as he saw the tray she was laying on the table. It was covered with sandwiches, sliced cheese and fruit he recognised from the Consulates tiny kitchen, and a teapot was settled among a couple of empty cups and three steaming mugs of dark liquid. Elseth knew for a fact that no snacks had been prepared that day, which meant that the only way they could now be present was if Princess Evelynne had made them. As his mind struggled to comprehend the future ruler of his country putting together sandwiches in his own kitchen, Elseth realised she had addressed him.

Im sorry, Your Highness?

Again that odd expression crossed her face, but she repeated her question. I asked if you would care for something to eat. She smiled.

Uh

thank you, Your Highness. One did not decline an offer from one of the Royal Family without good reason. Despite everything, Elseth was not prepared for her to fill a plate and deliver it to him personally. He took the plate automatically, vaguely aware that he was practically gaping like a fish. Crown Princess Evelynne Sophia al-Heru deMolay serving a very minor member of her bureaucracy like a

a servant? As he stammered his thanks and blankly felt his way into a chair, the Deputys mind struggled to find some rationale that it could accept to explain this anomaly. Perhaps if he thought of her as a hostess, serving guests in her own house? It was a stretch, since technically she was not yet Atlantls Mistressor by extension the Consulatesbut it would serve as an adequate scenario that the Deputys already-stressed mind could desperately grasp.

As though reading his mind, the Princess smiled at him wryly before serving Enku Black Crow, and then, expertly balancing two plates and a couple of steaming mugs, headed over to the couch to seat herself in front of her Consort. Some sort of unheard communication seemed to pass between the two women before Lady Alleandre managed a strained smile and murmured her thanks. Princess Evelynne kissed her Consort briefly, and then shared an equally expressive glance with Ishta Jones, who nodded and smiled, never ceasing her soothing caress of the Ladys back.

Princess Evelynne stood and walked back over to the Deputy. Elseth hastily swallowed the mouthful of sandwich he didnt remember eating and stood in what he hoped was an appropriately respectful stance.

Consul Elseth, what is the status of the communications with Atlantl? the Princess asked quietly.

I have submitted a report of events, Your Highness, Elseth replied, happy to be able to fall into professionalism, and have requested further instructions. Im afraid that Home Office has been caught

unprepared for your arrival.

Princess Evelynne smiled with subtle humour, and Elseth found himself relaxing in her kind charisma. I can imagine, she murmured. Isis, we werent exactly

prepared for this ourselves. She looked concernedly at her Consort again, who was once again staring pensively out the window. Do you have any news on Allys

Lady Alleandres mother?

Im sorry, Your Highness. Nothing detailed. A Trade Consulate is not generally considered a priority for receiving such sensitive information. I can only repeat the general reports released by the Crown. Lady Alleandres mother is currently in an undisclosed secure location and receiving medical care. Her condition was last reported as serious, but not life-threatening. Her Ladyship’s father has been taken into protective custody by his Guard detail, and is being held in a secure location.

The Princess face was grave. And the original attack? Is there any new information?

The military is being very close-lipped, Your Highness. They have confirmed that it was a missile attack, likely from a shoulder-launched weapon, but have released no information on suspects or specifics. All military assets have been placed on high alert, and a warning has been issued to all diplomatic offices and missions.

There have been no statements by those responsible? No additional attacks? No ideas as to who was behind it?

No, Your Highness.

Damn, Princess Evelynne said softly.

Elseth didnt even blink.

Claire watched Evelynne stand and talk quietly with the Consular officialIvaan, she thought his name wasbefore turning her attention back to her friend on the couch. Ally had been silent and focussed during the whole journey from Black Crows house to the city, and her only sign of her apprehensiveness had been some shaking body part. In the truck it had been her leg, which hadnt remained still the entire way, and now it was her fingers, nervously drumming an erratic pattern on the back of the couch.

Claires own stomach was twisting in sympathetic anxiety. She had never known her own mother, just a series of emotionally detached foster parents. Still, the memory of how she had felt when Ally had been hospitalised after her bad drug reaction was still fresh in her mind, so she had some idea of what her friend was going through. There wasnt much Claire could do beyond rubbing Allys shoulders, and projecting a constant feeling of sympathy and comfort in the hopes that Allys empathic sense would pick it up.

Sighing, Claires mind wandered to the events that had overtaken all of them since their arrival at the AtlanteanAtlantlan was the proper term, she corrected herselfgovernment building. Evelynne had taken charge immediately, identifying herself and demanding access to her father. The change in Claires friend was unsettling. Evelynne had always possessed a certain subdued authority, and a talent for organisation and inspiration, but now that authoritativeness had come to the fore. The transformation from Claires close friend to the unmistakeable future commander of Atlantl was confusing, which was one of the reasons Claire had retreated and concentrated on comforting Ally instead. Evelynne had seemed to sense what was happening, but had not been upset, simply smiling reassuringly and entrusting the care of the woman she loved to her friend while she took care of more practical matters. The fact that Evelynne could speak to Ally telepathically from anywhere in the building made the decision less cold than it might have appeared.

Evelynnes newor newly exposedauthority was also taking its toll on Claires optimism for what the future might hold. This new Evelynne was going to be returning to her KingdomDiarchy, actually, since Atlantl was co-ruled by both a King and Queenand would ultimately become the most powerful person in that Realm, and one of the most powerful in the world. Simple, odd-looking Claire Jones, an abandoned orphan with no background whatsoever, would have a hard time fitting into that world at best. The most practical value she had came from her still-erratic psychogenic remote viewing talents. Those skills would certainly be highly prized in any intelligence agency, but were of little real use in day-to-day life.

Add to that Claires bizarre variegated albinism, and her presence became an active disadvantage, at least to those who wanted to keep their location and activities incognito.

Claire knew that the most convenient thing that could happen was if she quietly disappeared into obscurity, but also knew that she would never do so of her own volition. As much as she tried to ignore it, deep down she knew she was in love with both her friendseven knowing that the depth of her affection would never be returnedand would never abandon them unless they sent her away.

How long have they been there? The booming voice of Jad Richard ibn Jad deMolay, King of the Realm of Atlantl, echoed along the hallway as he marched along it at an impressive rate of speed. Stationed Guards came to even more impressive attention as he passed, and servants and bureaucrats scurried to get out of his way. He was in definite war-god mode, blue eyes flashing lightning and red hair and beard seeming to flame. Three members of his Personal Guard escorted him like Horus’ honour guard.

About an hour, Sire, replied Marianne Conchobar, the Kings Intelligence Advisor, her breathing slightly laboured as her tiny frame struggled to keep up with her lieges long-legged stride. On the other side of the King, his personal secretary, Mohammed al-Shan, was faring only slightly better. Level One Confirmation was submitted forty-five minutes ago. It took the Foreign Council office another twenty-five minutes to process Level Two Confirmation. All codes and physiological data check out, so now were just waiting on your own final confirmation.

Where is the code?

In your office, Sire, under your personal encryption, al-Shan said.

Good. King Jad slowed slightly as his office came into view. What is the situation on site?

Acting Assistant Deputy Consul Elseths reports are still a little sparse, Sire

 Conchobar began.

That got the Kings attention. Acting Assistant Deputy Consul? he asked incredulously, his stride faltering before picking up again.

Yes, Sire, Conchobar confirmed as the King swept through his outer office, startling his other secretaries, and into his inner sanctum. The Consulate is still not fully established. Consul Elseth has been assigned while it is being set up.

Acting Assistant Deputy Consul Elseth is in charge of protecting my daughter, King Jad breathed, shaking his head. He installed himself at his computer and began entering a series of passwords. Go on, he said absently.

Elseth has done the best he can with the on-site Guard detachment, Sire, Conchobar continued. However, only three Guards are permanently assigned to the Consulate, and only one was actually present when Her Highness arrived.

King Jad looked up sharply, his expression becoming dangerous. Are you telling me that only a single Guard is protecting my daughter?

Not quite, Sire. Elseth apparently realised that he had insufficient manpower, so he called in the help of the Calgary Police. Additional protection now consists of approximately thirty-nine members of their special tactics squad.

Hmm. I suppose that was a reasonable response, considering the circumstances. King Jad went back to his computer.

I think it was the best we could expect of him, Sire, Conchobar agreed. She frowned. To be honest, Id almost have preferred he leave off the additional protection altogether. Complete anonymity may have been a better defence than more firepower.

King Jad shrugged. It sounds to me like he made a judgement call. His reasoning in either case would have been sound. Besides, its too late to second-guess him now, so we will support whatever decisions he makes. Ah, finally.

The final password request was submitted to his entry, and the code phrases sent by the Calgary Consulate, allegedly from Princess Evelynne, scrolled by on his screen. It was comprised of a poem, written over a hundred years before by one of Atlantls premier poets; only Evelynne, King Jad, and Queen Cleo had known what it was. It was the final piece of the series of passwords and phrases that would prove that Evelynne was who she claimed to be.

Geme’ket set her delukaya,

Emir netes lamini a’eniqmas

Kher kemet ap marat set me an’ket.

In re’ketet akan netet

Sa marates me ten,

S’kemes a’eniqmas yu’et ka,

Et wenenet wed-a hemet

Ne wa sep.

Jad felt a part of himself loosen as he read the words. He closed his eyes and sighed, and then looked up at his Advisor. Its her. Bring her home.

The plane is on the ground, Sire.

The quiet voice cut across King Jads concentration as he stared blankly out the window of the Base Commanders office. He smiled, and managed a distracted nod in the direction of Sir Adun, the Chief of the Kings Guard, then returned to his musing. The air outside the window was quite foggy; not enough to cause a serious problem for aircraft, but thick enough to defeat mere ground-level eyes. However irritating it was for those peering out into the fog, that was actually a blessing, because it meant that eyes that shouldnt have a view of the proceedings, wouldnt.

King Jad wasnt the only one straining to see through the mist, but he was probably controlling his anxiousness better than most of his companions. To his right was Queen Cleo el-Kareen, his co-ruler and sister-in-law, standing with her arm around the waist of her husband. To his right stood William Tretiak, father of his future daughter-in-law, deep lines under his eyes testifying to the lack of sleep he had been getting lately. Jad knew that William was torn between staying by his wifes side at the hospital where her terrible wounds were being cared for, and coming to this out-of-the-way military base to greet his daughter on her return.

Behind them, a number of other people crowded the office. Ma?da Amonet, Princess Evelynnes long-time lady-in-waiting and surrogate mother, sat with Meghan Doherty, who had been the one person with the most direct contact with the returnees over the last months, for all that she likely had the most distant personal relationship with Alleandre and Evelynne. The former servant had been pressed into service as the covert communications pipeline between the Princess and her family, using a series of completely innocuous emails between herself and her niece and her husband. That consideration, amongst others, had earned her a place at this occasion.

Rounding out the group were Lieutenant-General Sir Adun al-Raziq and Major Ben Lafleur of the Kings omnipresent Guard detail, and Major Harold Bunker and Sergeant Irene Hamain of the Queens.

Silence reigned for another fifteen minutes, until Sir Adun cocked his head at the information coming through his earbud and announced, En route, Sire.

That statement tore everyones attention from the window, and a kind of uncertain dance took place as the new focus became the door to the office. The room seemed to hold its breath, and then the door opened and the people everyone had been waiting for hesitantly walked through.

Evelynne and Alleandre were first, and Evelynnes eyes widened and began to tear as she saw those assembled. Za! she shouted, tearing her hand free of her partners to bolt across the floor and throw herself into her fathers waiting arms.

Alleandre didnt seem to mind as she rushed, with only slightly less speed, into her own fathers embrace, a quieter cry of Daddy! escaping her.

Jad said nothing as he closed his eyes and continued to hold his daughter, her feet dangling above the floor as she mumbled incoherently into his neck. He was distantly aware that Cleo and Jeremiah had moved in closer, Cleo dabbing at her eyes. After long moments, the embrace relaxed, and Jad lowered Evelynne back to the floor. Evy, he murmured, his voice suspiciously hoarse and un-Kinglike. Thank the Universal youre back.

Amen, Cleo said, drawing first her nieces attention and then her embrace.

Aunt Cleo, Evelynne sighed, falling willingly into the waiting arms, this time staying with her feet firmly on the floor. Her uncle joined in the hug, and she sighed again. Uncle Jerry.

Welcome back, Jeremiah said warmly.

Next was Ma?da, who was sobbing so hard her words blurred together, until Evelynne pulled back with a watery grin and handed her a handkerchief from her pants pocket. Ma?da half-laughed, half-sobbed as she took it and blew her nose noisily.

Cheeky thing, she muttered, bringing a low chuckle and corresponding release of tension from the group.

Evy, King Jad said, rubbing Evelynnes shoulder, how are you doing?

Evelynne sighed wearily. Im scared, stiff, and so exhausted Im about to wet my pants. She grinned weakly, and then sniffed. I also stink. She wrinkled her nose. We had a bit of a mix-up with packing, and ended up without any clean shirts or sweaters. Dont ask. Consul Elseth did the best he could, but he didnt have much to work with. She looked down wryly, and for the first time Jad noticed the over-large Calgary Flames hockey jersey she was wearing. We owe him a couple of sweaters.

We owe him a lot more than that, Jad replied. Youll be happy to know that the Acting and Assistant have been dropped from his title. And Ill personally send him a shirt from every hockey team on the planet. The King stepped back a little, taking in his daughters appearance fully for the first time. I have to ask, what in all the Gods Names did you do to your hair? He looked with barely concealed horror at the spiky platinum style that had replaced her gorgeous red mass.

Evelynne burst into full-fledged laughter, an obvious release of days or weeks worth of anxiety and tension. She looked over at Alleandre, and Jad wasnt totally surprised when her fianc?e looked over, despite no words being said. There was a moment of silence before Alleandre grinned and shook her head before turning back to her own father. The casual, easy display of Evelynnes telepathic talent was fascinating to the King. He had just been getting used to the fact that his daughter could speak mind-to-mind with people when she had left.

Sorry, Evelynne said, bringing her attention back to her immediate family. I bet Ally that you would say exactly that. She shrugged. Its the last thing anyone would be expecting me to have, though, isnt it?

It certainly is that, Jad murmured, while Ma?da clucked disapprovingly as she ran her fingers through Evelynnes hair.

Come on, Evelynne said, tugging her fathers and aunts hands as she led them over to where Alleandre and William appeared to be finishing up their own reunion.

Alleandre turned as they approached and, as one of the few people in the room who could almost match his height, looked into Jads eyes. Jad looked back and was impressed by what he saw. His mind flashed back to the very first time they had met, and the painfully shy, uncertain, practically terrified young woman she had been then. That woman was gone. The King thought he could still see the barest hint of her lurking somewhere, still a certain reticence and uncertainty, but it was almost completely eclipsed by a deep, hard-won maturity and quiet strength, and he wondered just what the cost of that strength had been. Certainly something had happened during the months she had been away, as though she had been broken down so totally that her only options were to give up, or rebuild herself with the strongest of materials. It hadnt been pleasant, as he could tell from the lingering memory of pain in her eyes. The King remembered speaking with his friend Lord Thomas, Duke Avalon, immediately after Evelynne and Alleandres announcement of engagement, and commenting that the young woman would be a formidable force when she finally acquired some confidence. Obviously, she had gained that confidence, and then some.

Startled, Jad looked over at his daughter, and was uncomfortably unsurprised to see that Evelynne was also visibly more mature, at least to his eyes. Before she had left she had been a girlintelligent, strong, and confident to be sure, but still with a happy immaturity that showed she still hadnt grown up yet. Deep down, he had always been worried about her engagement to Alleandre because of it. That love and desire to be married, while certainly genuine, had been far more romantic than practical, a fairy tale ending with which she had been enamoured. Now, as Evelynne slipped her arm around her fianc?es waist and leaned a head on her shoulder, subtly giving and receiving support, Jad could see that that relationship had matured along with them, likely not without a degree of pain and effort, to become the bedrock of a relationship that would be able to weather whatever came their way.

Realising that he had been silent for several moments, Jad smiled and held out his arms for his future daughter-in-law. There was only the slightest of hesitations before she accepted his embrace, and a moment later Evelynne was wrapped around them both. It didnt last long, Alleandres discomfort with physical contact obviously still present, and she drew back slowly.

Hello, za, she said, and the hint of uncertainty and nervousness that accompanied her use of the title, along with the faint blush, made Jad smile. The old Alleandre wasnt completely gone, after all, and he was inexplicably pleased.

Hello

Ally, he replied, seeing the pleased flash as he used the more familiar form of her name. He stood back and looked at her. She had changed physically as well, though perhaps less dramatically than Evelynne. Straight black hair that reached nearly to her shoulders had replaced the unruly mop she had once had, and she looked somewhat thinnera truly unsettling concept, as she had never been overly large to begin withbut nothing much else. I like the hair, Jad said softly.

So do I, dear, William said as she flushed. His voice turned stern. However, Im not so sure about the piercings.

Jad blinked. Piercings?

In reply, William reached out and brushed the hair back from Alleandres right ear, revealing a row of at least a half-dozen earrings. None of them was particularly extravagant, but just who was wearing them made them just as startling.

And this is the daughter who said that shed get her ears pierced the same day she got pieces of broken glass driven through her eyelids, William said mournfully.

Evelynne likes them, Alleandre mumbled, ducking her head and allowing her hair to once again cover up the adornments, embarrassment finally overcoming her.

I do, Evelynne said firmly, mulishly looking around at the assembled gathering.

And thats that, Jeremiah said, his eyes twinkling, and Alleandre flushed again as a chuckle ran around the group.

Looking around a bit more fully, Jad saw an older gentleman and an unusual woman standing by the door, near Sir Arthur Ramirez and Colonel Theodora Nixon, Evelynnes and Alleandres Masters of Guard, respectively, who had entered just behind their charges. Sir Arthur had been recalled quite abruptly from his duties investigating those responsible for the Invasion to once again take up his duties protecting the Heir to the Realm. Jad looked at the newcomers and quirked an eyebrow at Evelynne.

Taking the hint, Evelynne grinned and tugged her fathers hand, the other still wrapped around Alleandres waist, leading him over to her companions.

Za, this is Ishta Claire Jones, of the United States of America. Our qorima, Evelynne introduced, ignoring Claires puzzled look and her fathers raised eyebrow. Claire, my father, King Jad Richard ibn Jad deMolay.

Jad looked down at this very unusual-looking person and carefully kept both the curiosity at her appearance and the amusement out of his face as she very carefully executed a bow of high respect, touching her fingers to her forehead, lips and chest as she bent low at the waist, one leg slightly behind the other, her free hand held slightly in front of her, palm up. The almost painfully precise movements made it obvious the young woman had been practicing extensively for just this occasionprobably in front of a mirror, Jad mused. Your Majesty, she murmured almost inaudibly.

Jad firmly stilled his twitching lips with the ease of decades controlling his expression. Now this certainly brought to mind the first time he had met Alleandre, although it seemed likely that this young woman was even more nervous than the other woman had been, assuming such a thing was possible.

Ishta Jones, he intoned just as seriously as he took her hand, noting the slight sharp breath of relief that Evelynne was unable to suppress. According to Atlantlan tradition, the honorifics Ishta and Enkuused for women and men, respectivelywere given to an individual who had performed a great service or were held in the utmost respect. Traditionally, if the title was given by a member of high station, it would automatically be used by everyone of lower station, but not necessarily by those of higher standing than the issuer. Since Evelynne socially outranked everyone in Atlantl apart from the King and Queen, it was not obligatory for either of them to use the term of respect. The fact that King Jad had just confirmed the title showed the faith he had in her assessment.

Im very pleased to meet you, Jad continued. Welcome to Atlantl. My House is at your service. That final statement wasnt completely conventional, but given the esteem in which Evelynne obviously held this Claire Jones the King was more than willing to extend her every courtesy.

Claire, this is my Dad, William, Alleandre introduced. Dad, this is my best friend, Claire.

Mr. Tretiak, Claire greeted with much less trepidation, plainly relieved to meet someone outside the rarefied heights of the nobility. Its good to meet you. Allys told me a lot about you.

William ignored Claires outstretched hand, instead pulling her into a hug. Im very happy to meet you, Claire. Any friend of Allys is part of the family. When he released her, she was a most intriguing blend of red and black.

The introductions continued, Claire repeating her formal bow to Queen Cleo just as precisely and then being smothered in Ma?das chest.

Then Joseph Black Crow was presented. The older Native American seemed respectful of the King and Queen, but certainly not intimidated in any way. The explanation that he was present in his role as Alleandres counsellor was met with surprise, but no questions were asked.

The helicopter bounced in the windy air as it made its way over the Atlantlan countryside. Claire was disappointed that she couldnt see the landscape through the mist outside. Not only was she intensely curious about the country she was now init was only the third country shed ever set foot in, after all, and the homeland of her two best friends on top of thatbut she would also have liked something to distract and relax her after the events of the last half hour. Meeting the King and Queenshe still couldnt quite think of them as Evelynnes father and aunthad been just as nerve-wracking as shed expected, but at least she had avoided any obvious gaffesat least that she knew of. She could have just insulted the entire deMolay line for the past seventeen generations through some misplaced word or gesture for all the in-depth knowledge she had of Atlantlan codes of propriety. Nobody had ordered her beheaded, though, so she figured she was fairly safe.

This was practically the first opportunity she had been able to grasp to sit back and fully process what had happened in the last day or two. The whirlwind had begun at the Calgary Trade Consulate with the arrival of two trucks full of fierce Atlantlan Guards, ostensibly dispatched to protect Atlantlan interests. It was unlikely anyone had guessed just how important those interests were, and from what Claire could gather they had done little to elaborate. According to the official story, the Guards had arrived to safeguard certain classified documents that were being stored at the Consulate. Several very important-looking boxes had certainly been carried out to the waiting trucks by several individuals in Guard uniforms. What nobody, hopefully, knew was that the four “Guards” had actually been Evelynne, Ally, Black Crow, and Claire, who had then been whisked away to a local Canadian Forces Base where they had boarded a very fast jet. That jet had been accompanied on its journey back to the Realm by a full escort of eightAtlantlan fighter planes and an early detection aircraft.

There could have been time to relax on the flight, but Claire’s stomach had been tied in knots over the imminent meeting with her friends’ families.

Now the entire party was packed into a military transport helicopter, on their way to some unknown location. As far as she could tell, the latest attack had brought a high degree of perfectly justified paranoia into play, such that she, Evelynne, Ally, and Black Crow had been flown in to a very remote military base under maximum secrecy. The Royal party had arrived at the base in equal secrecy, eschewing the use of the conspicuous Royal helicopter or jet in favour of a completely ordinary Royal Atlantlan Air Patrol transport under the guise of a run-of-the-mill personnel transfer. The entire operation had been so covertly planned that not even the King’s or Queen’s personal secretaries had known where they were going. The seats were arranged in two long rows running the length of the vehicle, facing the middle, and the less sophisticated aircraft lacked the sound muffling of a high-class passenger helicopter, making conversation difficult unless one was directly beside ones companion.

Evelynne was engaged in just such a discussion with her father and aunt near the front of the aircraft, but fortunately Claire had managed to stick close to Ally and find a seat next to her. As though reading her thoughtswhich, of course, was a quite literal possibilityAlly looked at her and smiled.

So how are you doing? she asked above the noise of the engine and rotors.

Claire let loose an explosive breath. Okay, I think. It wasnt as bad as I thought it would be. I still might have to change my pants, though.

Ally laughed. I know what you mean. The first time I met King Jad I almost puked all over his royal shoes.

Claire laughed as well, feeling a welcome release of tension. That sounds about right. Still, they seem nice enough, she mused.

They are, actually, Ally agreed. Evy likes you, so theyre definitely willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Upset her, though, and youll be out of the country so fast



Hell, if someone made Evelynne upset I dont think her father would have time to get there before she did something unpleasant to whoever it was. And if she didnt, you would. Claire looked sideways at Ally. And if you didnt, I would, she finished quietly.

I know, Ally said just as softly. Anyway, I dont think you have anything to worry about. I think they like you.

Mm. Claire hesitated. One thing I dont get. Evy said I was her qor

qorima? She stumbled over the tongue-click. What does that mean?

Ally frowned and Claire waited as she searched her eidetic memory. Im not sure, she said finally. Just a minute.

Ally stared at Evelynne, and Claire knew she was getting her fianc?es attention by tugging in some indefinable way on the link that bound the two. Sure enough, Evelynne looked up, and a brief, silent communication took place. It was an aspect of their respective abilities that only Evelynne could actually initiate true mental speech, Ally being confined to sensing surface thoughts.

Oh, Ally said out loud, nodding, as Evelynne turned back to her own conversation. Ally blinked. A qorima is a kind of

heart-sister. Thats not quite accurate, since there isnt actually a direct translation into English. Heart is close, but not quite right. Maybe soul is closer, but even thats not perfect. It isnt quite sister either. Not really family, but more

 Ally shrugged. I dont know. I do know what it means now, but I cant put it into English. Ask Evelynne to explain mind-to-mind; she can give you the true feeling.

Oh. Okay. Claire looked rather stunned. Then she slowly grinned shyly. I think I like that.

Ally squeezed her knee. I think I do, too.

There was quiet between them for a few minutes. Finally Claire cleared her throat. Uh

What about your mother? Is she okay?

Ally immediately tensed and her eyes squeezed shut. It took several tries for her to speak. My Dad talked to me about her first thing. He says that shes in a military hospital. Shes out of immediate danger, and shes been awake off and on for short periods. She had a broken arm, some broken ribs and they

and they had to reinflate her lung. Her throat moved as she swallowed convulsively several times. She, uh

she lost her leg.

Claire pulled her newly designated qorima to her as Ally could no longer hold back, cradling her awkwardly across the armrest as Ally sobbed into her shoulder. Then her other qorima was there, summoned by the surge in Allys emotions, kneeling on the floor to wrap her arms around both of them, heedless of the discomfort and unstable motion of the aircraft. Allys father managed to reach across the aisle from where he was sitting to grasp one of her hands firmly.

Finally Allys bout of crying slowed and she pulled back slightly, squeezing her fathers hand before she let go. Claire felt tears on her own cheeks, but kept her arm around her friend as Ally used a free hand to wipe her face. Evelynne pulled back as well, but left a hand on both of their shoulders.

Sorry, Ally muttered, still partly leaning against Claires chest. Evelynnes hand moved up into her hair to scratch the back of her neck, and Ally relaxed into the caress like a cat. I was just trying to hold everything together until we got there. Then I had scheduled my breakdown. She chuckled ruefully. Jeez, what is it with our family? I get shot and almost paralysed, and now Mom

 She swallowed again and then pointed sternly at her father. If anything happens to you Ill kill you. Just so you know.

William smiled sadly back at her and managed a weak smile. I dont know, honey. Im a schoolteacher, so I probably have the most dangerous job of all.

Ally laughed out loud at that as Evelynne grinned. You know, love, if you actually look at your family this shows just how tough you all really are. Evelynne grinned cheekily. With these kinds of genes, ourkids are probably going to be bulletproof.

Allys mouth opened and closed soundlessly and Claire laughed as she imagined a gaggle of tiny red-haired children with grey eyes tossing cars to each other around the back yard, and then was startled as a little girl with exotic colouring showed them all a totally new way to play hide-and-seek

The hospital floor was quiet. Corridors where nurses and doctors would normally have patrolled were empty. Only the hum of an air-conditioning system broke the silence.

The only places that showed any activity were a single waiting area and a single room. Ally barely suppressed a shudder as she listened to the doctor give her some final instructions, although she didn’t really hear them. She knew she would be able to play them back verbatim later, but for now her attention was on the sick sensation in her stomach.

I hate hospitals. I really hate hospitals. It seemed like she had been in far too many in the last couple of years. Although, to be fair, there had really only been three, but it felt like far more.

The first, of course, had been almost a year and a half previously, where she had spent several days in a coma recovering from the bullet wounds to her shoulder and back she had received after the first time she had thrown her body over that of the Heir. Well, that didn’t turn out too badly in the end, Ally thought grudgingly, squeezing the hand in hers.

The second hospital had been hidden deep in the bowels of an Elysium bunker, one of the ultra-secure boltholes available for the Royal Family in the event of an attack. That time she had visiting Lord Thomas Baker, Duke Avalon, who had been seriously injured by an assassin during the Invasion attempt seven months ago. She had spent several hours probing deeply into his mind, unsure of what she would find. She still didn’t know exactly what she had found, as the alien mental landscape of the deep unconscious was something that simply could not be comprehended by the waking mind, but whatever she had found had left her with the conviction that Lord Thomas had to remain alive.

The last hospital had been in Horton City, Pennsylvania, where Ally had been taken after a very bad reaction to an experimental date-rape drug she had inadvertently consumed. The effects of that drug had very nearly destroyed her mind, and the echoes of the ordeal were still with her.

And now she was in another hospitalalthough, technically, it was more of a clinicwhere her critically wounded mother was in intensive care after the missile attack on her research ship. Catherine Tretiak was, by far, the most severely injured of the survivors. Two of her crewmates had died instantly in the attack, but most of the rest had survived with miraculously minimal injuries. The next most severe injury was that of a researcher who had a broken hip and leg, along with second-degree burns over much of his back.

I hate hospitals, Ally thought again, and could feel that hatred burning somewhere in the back of her mind, snarling restlessly as it threatened to awaken some vicious, primal part of her subconscious that would stop at nothing to destroy its enemies. After all, three of these four hospital visits had been a direct result of those same faceless enemies, and a part of Ally’s mind was frightened by the thought of what she might do when she found them. Another part didn’t care.

“

so just remember that she’ll probably be a bit confused if she happens to wake up. The pain medication she’s on is pretty strong, so it’s possible she won’t awaken. If she doesn’t, don’t worry. She really needs to rest as much as possible.” The doctor tried to smile reassuringly, but his action seemed wooden. A tall man with a fringe of snow-white hair surrounding his bald head, he seemed to lack any emotions whatsoever, but it didnt matter. The part of Ally that was actually paying attention was more reassured by his aura of competence than whatever social skills he might or might not possess.

Ally nodded, heading for the door to her mother’s room while her father quietly spoke with the doctor behind her. Her whole body felt cold, except for the heat of Evelynne’s hand in hers, thawing her slightly and preventing her from slipping into the mask she had hidden behind after her encounter with the drugs. She could feel herself gripping those fingers with what must have been painful tightness, but the good thing about Ally’s state of mind was that it was so unfocussed that she didn’t think she could psychogenically enhance her strength to dangerous levels, even if she wanted to.

As if in a dream, the door opened, and they entered the room. Machines monitoring Catherine Tretiak’s vital signs beeped softly and with regularity, and Ally caught her first sight of her mother in the bed.

Catherine Tretiak had never been a large womanher daughter’s impressive height was inherited entirely from William Tretiakbut now she looked even smaller among the machines surrounding the big hospital bed. Tubes and wires ran everywhere. It looked like the majority of the damage was on her left side, only a few cuts and scrapes on her right side, and an admittedly spectacular bruise on her right forearm. A nasty-looking burn covered her left ear, and her left eye was hidden beneath white gauze. A blanket was pulled up neatly under her arms, one of which was encased in a plaster cast. Her compact body, still in excellent shape for her age, showed clearly under the blanket.

The empty space where her left leg abruptly ended just above her knee was starkly obvious.

“Mommy?” The quiet word was more a whimper than a whisper, as the full reality of the situation collapsed on Ally. She blindly dropped Evelynne’s hand and crept closer to the bed. There was no response from the woman in the bed, and Ally hesitantly took her right hand, which was almost obscenely pristine and undamaged.

“Hey, Mom,” Ally said softly, stroking the hand in her grasp. “I’m back.” She cleared her throat roughly. “I’d really like to talk to you.”

There was no response, and Ally inhaled shakily. One of the positive thingspossibly the only positive thingabout actually seeing her mother was that it had focussed Ally’s mind perfectly. Taking another, more steady breath, she closed her eyes, easily slipping into the first stage of trance. The outside world seemed to fade, becoming distant, muffled, the only real component the hand in hers. Another breath and Ally focussed on that hand, sinking deeper, allowing her mind to flow down and through that connection.

For years Ally had possessed the talent to detect the energies of other living things in her vicinity when she focussed correctly. She had even learned enough to distinguish between the different types of life she “saw” in her mind. Plants had a very different “colour” than animals. Gradations between types of animals were more subtle. Insects were fairly easy to recognise, but even differences between the life forces of, for example, fish and mammals were so small as to be almost indistinguishable. Ally had never really decided exactly what it was she was sensing, but thought that the minute electrical fields surrounding every living thing were a viable possibility. It had been scientifically proven that even plants had an “aura” of sorts, so it seemed a reasonable hypothesis.

Now, Ally focussed on this one body before her, slowly seeing its energy take form in her mind. Nothing really specific could be “seen,” only its general state. It was surprisingly healthy; people often forgot just how extensive the human body is, such that even apparently severe damage usually leaves a very large amount of healthy tissue. There was certainly damage here, ugly black streaks throughout the aura, although colour didn’t really exist in this realm. There was a very faint intrusion that Ally instinctively guessed was an infection of some sort, but it was a weak thing, being beaten back by the body’s defences, likely with the aid of antibiotics. The most jarring thing was a barely-sensed, ghostly region, as though the body’s aura hadn’t yet realised that part of it was missing.

All in all, it was a reassuring vision. Even with the severe damage, this body was fighting back, valiantly rallying its resources to heal itself.

Ally let the trance slip away, pulling back to the world of the five conventional senses. She didn’t know how long she had been undertime worked very differently in that realmand looked down at Evelynne, seeing her partner looking back up at her with concern.

“How long was I out?”

“Oh. Not long. About ten minutes.” Evelynne frowned, squeezing her hand. “How is she?”

The easy way with which Evelynne accepted her unique talents bemused Ally for a moment. She had once thought she would never find someone who could so easily accept the things that made her unique on the planetas far as she knewbut Evelynne had, after an initial episode of natural uncertainty, taken the things she did in stride.

“Good,” Ally replied, looking up at her father to include him. He was probably feeling a little isolated, having absolutely no extra-perceptual talents at all, which made him a minority in a family that contained an empath and a full Adept. “I hate to say it looks worse than it is, but

” She sighed, some of the tension leaving her body. “She’s healing,” she said finally.

“That’s what the doctor said,” William said, smiling tentatively. “At first they were worried about her lung, and obviously, the shock of

” He trailed off, unable to bring himself to mention his wife’s missing limb. “They both seem to have stabilised. It’s too soon to know if the lung damage is permanent. But there’s no detectable brain damage, which is a relief. They’re still concerned about her eye.”

“P’ch.”

The barely heard noise brought their attention immediately to the bed. Catherine’s good eye was looking at them blearily. “P’ch,” she muttered again, barely moving her jaw. “P’g.”

“Hey, honey, how are you doing?” William asked quietly, leaning over to kiss his wife on her forehead.

“Mm.” The woman obviously wanted to speak, but the combination of exhaustion, drugs, and pain defeated her attempts. Her eye shifted to Evelynne, and she blinked twice, slowly and deliberately.

Evelynne leaned closer, and there were several moments of silence. Suddenly, Evelynne laughed, surprising her companions. She shook her head, still chuckling. “She says that if her eye doesn’t work, she’ll just have to get a patch, a peg-leg, and a parrot. She’ll be Cap’n Cat, Scourge of the Atlantic.”

Catherine’s husband and daughter joined in the laughter, which was more than a little hysterical with relief. Even Catherine’s eye held a fuzzy twinkle.

“And I suppose I’ll just have to be Will the Merciless, your gallant and dashing first mate,” William joked.

There was another moment of silence, and then Evelynne winced. “Ew, ew, ew. No, there is no way I’m going to tell him that. Isis, Mom. That’s between you and Dad and the four walls of your bedroom. Thanks so much for the visual, by the way.” She turned and buried her face in Ally’s shoulder. “I’m going to have to scrub out my brain.”

Ally looked just as comical, for once cursing her vivid imagination. “She didn’t.”

“She did.” Evelynne’s face peeked out. “Your mother is one sick, twisted individual.”

Ally shrugged. “Oh, I’ve known that for years.”

Evelynne looked back at Catherine again, and another exchange took place, then the sick, twisted individual in question closed her eyes. “Okay, I’ll tell them,” Evelynne said softly. She turned back. “She can’t stay awake any longer, but she wanted you to know that she loves both of you, and she’ll see you again soon. And Ally, she says you’re too thin and wants you to fatten yourself up.”

Ally sighed. “Yeah, she’s going to be fine.”

Chapter 3

The clinic turned out to be located within the impressive fortifications of Rehan-el’PactaThe Fist of God’s Peace in English. Originally built five hundred years before by a particularly paranoid Count on theIsland of Lyonesse, the citadel was popularly considered to be the most impregnable complex in the entire Realm.

Although the original stone bastions of the keep remained in place, it had been greatly renovated over the centuries, and now resembled an opulent retreat. Even though the Count who had built it had died long beforeironically killed by a fall from his horse within the very keep itselfthe active defences had been upgraded regularly as well. It was more likely out of habit than anything else. It had become a testing ground of sorts for both new, innovative security systems, and for those in the convert community whose job was to circumvent those security systems. The closest any agent had come to the central hall was the outer curtain wall, which was an impressive feat in itself.

The fortress used the natural terrain in which it was set to maximum effect. It sat near the delta of the Y’ple River, which cascaded down a sheer cliff face some four kilometres from the sea. In fact, cliffs surrounded the entire delta on three sides, forming a rough square of flat land. They continued out into the sea, creating a long, narrow bay. The only way onto the plain was either by air or using a heavy-duty elevator on the southern cliff. A few narrow, treacherous footpaths dotted the walls, a legacy of centuries past.

The citadel itself was actually carved into the northern cliff face, a warren of tunnels and rooms that could house eight hundred people easily. Actually, many of the tunnels predated the rest of the fortifications by millennia, a relic of the antediluvian civilization that had called Atlantl its home. Even today impressive carvings of stylised birds, cats, dogs, elephants, and birds could be found in odd crannies here and there.

Of course, even the most secure keep wasnt much help if the enemy managed to set up camp outside, so the active defences surrounding it were both extensive and deadly. Manned anti-aircraft batteries dotted the cliffs, along with mortar companies and heavy-weapons posts. The same littered the plain, and there were persistent rumours of an entire battery of medium-range cruise missiles hidden somewhere in the vicinity. The bay and natural harbour were protected by a constantly shifting pattern of both passive and active sonar detectors, and two minelayers were constantly docked at the small shipyard, ready to turn the bay into a very unhealthy place for an enemy ship to explore. The open ocean beyond the bay also just happened to be the most common location in which the Atlantlan Navy conducted its drills and war games.

Even the most militant warhawk tended to think overkill when considering the base.

Claire had learned all of this on the way there from Sergeant Rupert Gyrus, a member of Ally’s Personal Guard who had been willing to talk to her while everyone else was busy. It was probably a good thing he hadn’t explained the situation to her while their very fragile aircraft had been actually flying through the teeth of those defences. She would likely have jumped out of the plane.

Now that she had been there a few days, however, her initial trepidation was gone, and instead was impressed by the historic legacy of the Fist of God’s Peace. Most of the military protections were hidden, anyway, with only a few more overt emplacements. Three artillery batteries were installed on the thick wall that formed a ring in front of the gates to the cliff keep itself, and soldiers constantly patrolled the grounds, but for the most part it was deceptively peaceful.

Claire happily held on to that feeling of peace, however illusory, as she focussed on remaining calm in the midst of the whirlwind surrounding her. The Royals, including Ally and Evelynne, had been meeting almost non-stop for the last two days, leaving her to her own devices. So far she had spent a lot of time with Ally’s mother, talking to her when the woman could, and just sitting quietly when she slept. Catherine was in remarkably good spirits, considering her terrible wounds, but Claire wasn’t sure how much of that was genuine, and how much was due to the massive amounts of painkillers the woman was receiving. Those drugs made her a little confused at times, and Claire had been mistaken for both Ally and Evelynne on a couple of occasions. Ally’s father also spent most of the time with his wife, allowing Claire to form a friendship with the kind, intelligent man.

Unfortunately, her other two friends were markedly absent, and she was missing them both terribly. They had been in each others company nearly constantly for the past three months, and the lack of companionship was unpleasant.

This morning, Claire was looking out the window of her roomthough not overly large, the room was beautifully furnished, and was one of the few rooms with a window carved out of the very face of the cliff itselfand wondering just what Ally and Evelynne were up to. Her musings were cut short by a knock at the door and she took a moment to come back to herself.

“Come in,” she called, standing just in case it was some Very Important Person.

The door opened, and a grin split Claire’s face as Evelynne peered in, Ally standing just behind her.

“Hello,” Evelynne said, smiling. “Anyone home?”

Claire laughed, meeting her friends in the middle of the room in a three-way hug as Ally murmured her own greetings. “Of course. Long time, no see,” she felt comfortable enough teasing.

“I know,” Evelynne said, grimacing. “I’m really sorry we haven’t been very good hosts recently. It’s just been

” She waved her hand vaguely.

“That’s okay,” Claire dismissed, shrugging. She led her guests to the chairs arranged around the room and sat down. “I cant even begin to guess just what you’ve been dealing with. I think I needed a few days to settle anyway.”

“And have you?” Ally asked. Claire shrugged and nodded at the same time. “Well, one of the reasons we came by is because we decided to take some time to ourselves for the day, and thought we’d like to go exploring.” Her voice dropped to a stage whisper. “I’ve heard a rumour that there’s buried treasure hidden somewhere in this place. You and me, we’ll split it fifty-fifty.”

Claire laughed. “Okay, I’m in. I don’t suppose you have a treasure map.”

Evelynne shook her head indulgently. “Unfortunately not.” She sobered. “Before we do that, though, there are a few things we have to discuss with you.”

Claire became serious as well, a hollow feeling forming in the pit of her stomach. She nodded.

“Well, it basically deals with what you want to do. In the long run, I mean.” Evelynne sighed. “I hate to say it, but your presence makes things a little tricky for our situation here.” This time Claire couldn’t keep the sick feeling from showing on her face, and Evelynne grabbed her hand and held it tightly. “Honestly, it has nothing to do with anything you’ve done. And it’s nothing that can’t be worked out, however you decide.” Evelynne took a breath. “It has to do with

how you look.”

Claire winced visibly, and Ally was quick to reassure her. “It’s not because you look bad, because you don’t. The unpleasant truth is that that you’re very distinctive, and that could cause problems. Simply put, assuming you decide to stay here with us, the chances are fairly good that at some point someone will take a picture or video of you, and someone back in the States will see it. That would open up a whole lot of questions that nobody around here really wants to answer, which would happen if someone recognised you and then started wondering about how much Lady Alleandre and Princess Evelynne resemble Sophia Doherty and Allison Parks.”

Ally’s tone was calm and gentle, without a hint of condemnation, and Claire found herself nodding in agreement. “Okay, I can see that. I wondered about it before, actually. So what do we do?”

“Well, first of all, it depends on what you want,” Evelynne began. “I suppose the first question is: do you want to stay?”

Claire’s chest tightened. “Do you want me to stay?” she asked, her voice timid.

“Of course we do,” Evelynne said firmly. “I’m not the kind of person to send my qor’ima off to the lions when things get a bit complicated. Neither of us is.” Ally nodded vigorously. “On the other hand, we’re not going to keep you here in a situation you can’t abide.”

The band across Claire’s chest loosened. “Okay. And thank you.” She took a deep breath. “I want to stay,” she said firmly.

Evelynne grinned and squeezed her hand, and Ally smiled and nodded happily. “Good. In that case we have to decide how to work this. The way we see it, there are two basic options.”

Ally took over. “Basically, the first plan is to disguise you so that nobody recognises you.” She smiled apologetically. “We’d have to get someone to help you with covering up your patterns. It’s tricky, but not impossible. Didn’t you use some kind of body paint sometimes?” Claire nodded. “This is the same, just on a larger scale. We add a wig or dye your hair, maybe add some coloured contact lenses.” Ally frowned and glanced at Evelynne. “Frankly, neither of us likes this plan too much. There’s too much of a chance that someone will slip up, or see you without your makeup. For that matter, all it would take would be a servant walking in on you when you’re still in bed.”

Claire nodded. “The stuff rubs off, too, no matter how good it is. I’ve heard you can dye your skin, and I tried that once, but I had a really bad allergic reaction.” This was one of the things she loved about her friends. They didnt see her first as some bizarre-looking woman. Instead, she was just Claire, and one of her features was her exotic black-and-white patterning.

“We could probably find something that would work with you,” Evelynne mused, “but you’re right, it would take a lot of work in the long run.”

“Which leaves the other option,” Ally agreed. “If we can’t make you into someone else, we have to come up with a legitimate reason for you to be here. We have a basic plan worked out.

“Within the next few days, you will travel back to Canada, firstvery covertly, of courseand then back to the States, openly.” Ally ignored the panic that flashed through Claire. “You were off visiting with your friends Allison and Sophia while they relocated to Vancouver. Once you’ve been back a week or so, you will receive a letter from some department of the Atlantlan government.”

“Probably the Foreign Office, Public Relations,” Evelynne murmured.

Ally nodded. “You see, at the beginning of the year, you decided on impulse to apply for the Atlantlan government’s Page Service, never really expecting to be accepted. They have program where they bring young applicants from other countries to serve as Pages for various Nobles. You’ll be very surprised at being accepted, but you’re not going to pass up this opportunity. You’ll put your affairs at home in order, and move back here for placement. At about this time, either Evelynne or I will feel the need for some additional personal aid, and look into acquiring a Page. We’ll interview several candidates, and eventually settle on Ms. Claire Jones, of Horton City, USA, due to the rapport we feel with that candidate.”

Claire could only stare for several minutes. “Is all that legal?”

“Eh.” Evelynne waggled her hand. “Some of it, certainly not. But then, Ally and I were breaking at least a dozen American laws when we were there. For that matter, your status here and now in Atlantl could be considered quasi-legal.” She grinned. “Don’t worry, za has granted you a full pardon. On the other hand, other than the bureaucratic legerdemain required to make your application look like it originated nine months ago, the rest will be completely legal, complete with all the visas and Resident Alien documentation to protect you under Atlantlan law.”

“Page appointments generally last a year,” Ally added, “with the option to renew at the end of that time, assuming both Page and Noble feel they are still compatible.” She shook her head in mock sorrow. “I dunno, somehow I think you might be a troublemaker.”

“Me?!” Claire exclaimed in a pretence of outrage. “May I remind you just who sang Ride The Wild Wind in the restaurant and practically caused a riot?” As soon as she said it, Claire wanted to swallow the words. That episode had taken place while Ally had been unknowingly under the influence of a drug that lowered her inhibitions. A more concentrated dose weeks later had put her in the hospital and practically destroyed her mind.

To Claire’s relief, only a flicker of pain crossed Ally’s face, shrugged off as she murmured, “The most fun I’ve ever had while stoned.”

Evelynne wrapped her arm around her fianc?e. “Anyway, that’s what we’ve come up with. Unless you have some other idea?”

Claire shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so.” She looked up and frowned concernedly. “How much trouble could this get you into?”

“Some,” Evelynne admitted. “However, the way things are right now, if the only scandal that erupts is some questionable paperwork I’ll be happy.”

“In that case, the only other choice you have to make is whether you want Evelynne or me as your mistress.” Claire gaped, and Evelynne looked at her partner with her brows raised nearly to her hairline, while Ally hesitated, reviewing what she’d just said. “Uh, that didn’t quite come out like I thought it would.”

“Sir?”

Commandant Dumalo Hetstata, commanding officer of the Atlantlan Royal Army Base Hep-shesut, looked up from the piles of paperwork that were the true duty of any serving officer and frowned, trying to place where the sound had come from.

“Sir?”

There was the noise again, and with a sigh the Commandant dug through a mound of readiness reports to locate his intercom. He punched a button with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary. “Yes?” he growled.

There was a brief pause, and then the Corporal who acted as his assistant replied, her voice carefully devoid of emotion. “Sir, training group Sierra-Foxtrot-Six has reported back. You asked to be notified.”

Hetstata sighed, rubbing the space between his eyes. He knew he was being snappish, but high alert status inevitably resulted in a quantum increase of the amount of paperwork for any commander, and he had been taking his frustration out on his underlings. While Corporal Miller would likely be fine in the long run, she had also been very recently appointed to her position, and had yet to develop the thick skin that every military assistant required.

“Thank you, Bernice,” the Commandant said, his voice more even. “Let me know when they’re through debriefing.”

There was another pause. “Actually, Sir, Lieutenant Jaqamel is requesting your presence during the debriefing. He is reporting a possible Kilo-Seven, Sir.”

That brought Hetstata’s brows up. Kilo-Seven was a code used to identify the existence of civilian casualties incurred during a training mission. “I’ll be there momentarily,” he said instantly, already standing and gathering his uniform jacket. “Have the Exec, Master-at-Arms, and Chief Legal Officer meet me there.”

“Already done, Sir,” Miller said promptly, and the Commandant’s respect for her rose a notch. Sensitive she might be, but the Corporal was showing commendable efficiency.

Ten minutes later, Commandant Hetstata sat across the table from Lieutenant Jaqamel as the soldier began his report.

Fifteen minutes after that, he was on the phone to General Devilliers, the overall commander of all military forces on Lyonesse.

Twenty minutes after that, General Devilliers was calling the fortress of Rehan-el’Pacta.

Lieutenant George Jaqamel was sweating, which was a very rare occurrence. His normal demeanour was calm and focussed, rounded off by the steely determination that had earned him a training spot with Oricalc Company, Atlantl’s premiere fighting force, comparable to the United States’ Green Berets. Temerity in any situation was something that was quickly and ruthlessly removed from every candidate within the first three weeks of training.

Now, however, Jaqamel was suffused with a feeling of dread and something he was reluctantly beginning to recognise as fear.

Since returning from his latest training mission, he had spent some time under heavy guard at Hep-shesut Base, and then had been whisked with dizzying swiftness to the fortress of the Fist of Peace. That was enough to intimidate any soldier. Rehan-el’Pacta was widely rumoured to be where the Atlantlan government took those it wanted to interrogate with a little more force than might have been considered polite. Personally, Jaqamel thought that the rumours were more myth than fact, but the keep’s deadly reputation certainly created an aura of fear, which was probably what the government wanted.

So far, the Lieutenant had been interrogated by three different questioners, twice since arriving at the keep, and once with a polygraph. His interrogators had shown absolutely no sign whether they believed him or not, but that was understandable. Now he was waiting for whoever was going to question him next.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the door opened, and Jaqamel shot to his feet, his parade stance only marred by the shackles that bound his wrists and ankles. The first person through the door was a fairly short man in Royal Guard uniform, who made up for his lack of height by being almost as wide as he was tall. It was all muscle, too, and Jaqamel could see the man cheerfully and doggedly pulling a length of train cars across the Nundes Plains. The second person through the door was almost the first’s polar opposite; where her companion was massively built, this woman was almost painfully thin, but it was a strong, wiry slenderness. The only thing similar about them was the expressions they both wore, which said that they would, efficiently and without an ounce of regret, proceed to break the Lieutenant down into component pieces at the slightest provocation. Even with his own impressive training and skill, Jaqamel had no doubt that they could do it, even if he weren’t chained.

The third and fourth persons were surprising, and Jaqamel didn’t recognise them for a moment. As soon as he did so, however, he stood even more stiffly at attention, before saluting as smartly as he was able, given his bonds, in the traditional Atlantlan styleright forearm held vertically in front of the centreline of his body, palm directly before his face, mimicking the Atlantlan greeting of fingers to forehead, lips, and chest in a single gesture. He held the stance unflinchingly, despite the awkwardness of his left hand being cuffed to his right.

The two women looked at him, the brunette cocking her head to the side slightly, as though puzzled. Lady Dame Alleandre Tretiak, he recognised, though she looked quite different from how he remembered, her hair longer and darker, and a series of what looked like red puncture marks in her right ear. Her companionwho was obviously Her Highness Crown Princess Evelynne deMolayjust looked at him curiously.

Finally, seeming to arrive at whatever conclusion they were looking for, they glanced at each other, and then moved towards the chairs set on the other side of the table.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” Princess Evelynne said. “Have a seat.”

Jaqamel obediently sat, only relaxing in the slightly. Behind the Princess and her Consort, the two Guards stood on either side of the door as though they were made of stone.

“So, Lieutenant. You know who we are?” the Princess asked, her tone neutral.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Jaqamel replied promptly.

“Good. So you know why we have a more

personal interest in what you have to say.”

The Lieutenant couldn’t stop himself from breaking into a fresh sweat, but his response was admirably level. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Good. You have been advised of your rights under military law?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The Princess nodded. “Then you should be aware that although neither Lady Alleandre nor myself are military personnel, this interview will proceed under the same regulations. You are considered to be under oath, and you do not have the right to remain silent, although you may request the presence of your attorney. You should also know that we have been granted X-Ray Level clearance for the purposes of this discussion. Do you understand?” She slid a small laminated card across the table for his perusal, and Jaqamel nodded at the familiar item. He had seen several during various interviews in his military career, and it stood to reason that someone as influential as Princess Evelynne would have access.

“Yes, Your Highness. I formally waive my right to have my attorney present at this interview.”

She nodded again. Lady Alleandre remained silent, just staring at him with a disconcerting gaze. “Very well, Lieutenant. Please tell us what happened during training mission Sierra-Foxtrot-Six.”

“Yes, Your Highness. On November sixteenth, at approximately oh-five-thirty hours, my training team departed Hep-shesut Army Base aboard an Upa’uit-class personnel insertion helicopter. Our preliminary orders were to proceed to Insertion Point Alpha, located approximately one hundred twenty kilometres south of the Base, and secure our position.”

“Of whom did your team consist?”

“Your Highness, my team included Lieutenant Eileen Hansen, my second-in-command; Sergeant Hamal al-Terriq, the communications officer; Sergeant Fariq Chaisson; Sergeant Holland Llammalos; and Corporal Monika Murthi, the heavy weapons officer.”

Princess Evelynne nodded. “Continue.”

“Your Highness. We successfully completed our insertion, and the aircraft departed. We then awaited further orders by radio, as instructed by our preliminary orders. At approximately ten-sixteen hours we received such orders.”

“And they were?”

“Your Highness. Once decrypted, our orders instructed us to proceed under Condition Black to Point Echo”

“Condition Black?” the Princess interrupted.

“Yes, Your Highness.” Jaqamel explained, “Condition Black instructs the team to maintain cover and avoid contact with all other persons. Radio silence is required except in the case of extreme emergency.”

“I see. Go on.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Point Echo was a point on the Maaqez Channel two hundred fifty four kilometres north of Be’narrat. We were expected to arrive at that Point no later than November twentieth.” Jaqamel saw the Princess’ raised eyebrow, and knew she couldn’t help but be impressed. That was a distance of just over five hundred kilometres in four days, over rough terrain, with full gear, and a constant requirement to remain unseen. “My team arrived at Point Echo at approximately twenty-three-forty hours on November nineteenth.” That brought another impressed nod, and Jaqamel couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. The hike had been pure hell on Earth, through forests and over mountains in weather that had been, if not strictly freezing, at least miserable.

“At that point, I sent a confirmation signal to Command, and awaited further orders.” Without realising it, Jaqamel had stopped using the plural form, unconsciously taking responsibility for what had happened next. “At oh-one-fifty-two hours on November twentieth, final orders were received.”

Jaqamel hesitated, steeling himself, seeing the renewed tension in the women across from him and knowing the cause. When he spoke again, his voice was steady, flat, and completely emotionless. “My orders informed me that a live fire target was located approximately one kilometre off the coast by my position. I was ordered to destroy the target, without revealing my position.” He drew in a breath. “I relayed the instruction to Corporal Murthi. Reconnaissance identified the target as a mid-size civilian-class marine vessel. Corporal Murthi set up position approximately three hundred metres from the team’s location, and calculated a firing solution for an Atti’ka shoulder-launched surface-to-surface missile, and requested a release confirmation. I confirmed the weapons release, and Corporal Murthi fired as instructed. Impact and detonation was observed at two-forty-two hours.”

Lady Alleandre winced, breaking eye contact for the first time, and Princess Evelynne put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. There was a long moment of silence and then the Lady took a deep, shaky breath and looked back at the Lieutenant, gesturing for him to continue.

“I immediately gave the order to abandon positions and rally with maximum stealth to Waypoint Charlie. Once the Waypoint was reached, my orders were to proceed back to Hep-shesut Base on foot under Condition Void. Condition Void instructs the squad to maintain absolute radio silence for all conditions severe less than the imminent death of a team member,” Jaqamel explained. “All radio communications are completely eliminated, save for the emergency override signal. Even personal com units are deactivated.

“We arrived at Hep-shesut on November twenty ninth, at approximately fourteen-thirty hours, and immediately reported for debriefing. Prior to the debriefing, however, I overheard conversation that led me to believe an

error had been made, and I immediately placed myself and my team under conditional arrest and requested the presence of the base commander.”

Lieutenant Jaqamel finished his report and wished for a glass of water. As though reading his thoughts, Lady Alleandre grabbed a glass and poured from the decanter on the table, handing it to him, her movements almost on autopilot.

“Thank you, Your Ladyship,” Jaqamel said, carefully taking the glass, though he waited for the Princess’ nod before drinking.

“I have some questions.” Lady Alleandre spoke quietly for the first time.

The Lieutenant nodded and put down the glass, giving her his full attention.

“Were you aware that the orders originally transmitted to you did not include travelling to the coast and destroying a ship? That after you landed you should have headed into the mountains to destroy a simulated ammunition dump?”

Jaqamel was impressed. Op plans remained highly classified even after the operation had concluded, and the fact that Lady Alleandre was aware was interesting. Many Atlantlans, Jaqamel included, had initially concluded that Her Highness’ engagement to this woman was a purely romantic gesture. However, the knowledge she was displaying, not to mention the mere fact that she was conducting this interview, revealed that she was far more than just a pretty face, however intelligent, and had somehow become deeply involved in the real functioning of the government. “I am aware of this now, Your Ladyship,” the Lieutenant replied. “However, I can state with certainty that those were not the orders we received. Our orders were as I described.”

“There’s no chance you could have received them wrongly? No way you could have made a mistake in their interpretation? No way Sergeant al-Terriq could have decrypted them wrong?”

Jaqamel shook his head firmly. “No, Your Ladyship. The orders were clear. I examined Sergeant al-Terriq’s decryption myself, as is required in the event of a weapons-free instruction. Hardcopy transcript was recorded per regulations.”

“What about the target itself? Could you have made a mistake and targeted the wrong one?”

“No, Your Ladyship. With our instructions was included a detailed description of the target, including its name, registration number, mast height, and other physical characteristics. I verified these details before giving the order to fire.”

“You must have seen that the ship wasn’t some old wreck. Why did you fire on it when it was obviously in good repair and showed active running lights?” There was tension but no condemnation in the Lady’s voice.

“I did observe that, Your Ladyship. However, the parameters of the training mission included a Class Two Realism designation. Such a designation instructs the trainees that all targets and opponents will correspond closely to a real-world operation,” Lieutenant Jaqamel explained. “Targets will appear fully real and active, with only concessions to the safety of civilians and military personnel as exceptions. A target building will have no inhabitants, for example.”

“And you didn’t see anyone on the ship?”

“No, Your Ladyship. The vessel was kept under constant observation by at least one member of the team at all times. At no point did any of them report observing personnel on board.” Jaqamel hesitated. “In retrospect, it seems obvious that

all those who were on board were below decks, asleep.”

Lady Alleandre nodded noncommittally. Then her gaze sharpened, and Jaqamel shivered at what he could see behind her eyes, finally appreciating just how dangerous this woman actually was. “Lieutenant Jaqamel, are you an agent of, or in the pay of, any domestic or foreign person or persons, with the task of committing acts of espionage or terrorism in this nation?”

The question hit him in the gut like a punch, even though he had already been asked the same question several times before, in a few cases practically word-for-word. “No, Your Ladyship,” the Lieutenant said fervently. “I have never, and would never, commit any act of treason such as you are suggesting.” There wasn’t much more he could say.

There was an uncomfortable silence, as Lady Alleandre stared at him with incredible intensity, as though trying to read the truth or falsehood of his words in his face. Finally she nodded slowly. “And, to the best of your knowledge, is any member of your team such an agent?”

“No, Your Ladyship. To the best of my knowledge they are not, and I have great conviction that none would ever do so.”

The loaded silence continued, and then Lady Alleandre slowly relaxed. As if on cue, the other inhabitants of the room, who had seemed to fade into the background during her scrutiny, relaxed as well.

“Thank you,” she said finally. She turned to look at Princess Evelynne and a brow rose questioningly.

Princess Evelynne shook her head and got to her feet. Lieutenant Jaqamel immediately rose as well. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said shortly. “You have been very informative.”

“You’re welcome, Your Highness,” Jaqamel said, saluting. He saluted again in the direction of Lady Alleandre. “Your Ladyship,” he began, hesitating, “please allow me to express my sincerest apologies for the injuries you mother has sustained as a result of myself and my team. Y’fay-en o leinus madi, Ur-Mesiya Alleandre.” The formal Lantlan phrase acknowledging an unrepayable debt rolled off his tongue with sincerity.

Lady Alleandre paused, and then gave Jaqamel the formal Atlantlan greeting, touching forehead, lips, and chest. “Thank you,” she said simply.

Princess Evelynne held the door for her, and just before Lady Alleandre stepped out, the Lady turned to look at him. “For what it’s worth, Lieutenant, I believe you. What happened was not your fault.”

With that, she was out the door.

Chapter 4

“Oh, God,” Ally groaned, sinking onto the couch in the sitting room of the suite she was sharing with Evelynne.

Evelynne closed the door softly before turning to look at her fianc?e. “Are you all right?” she asked concernedly. Grimacing, Evelynne lifted her hands to her head and proceeded to lift off the thick, heavy, red wig that was the closest Ma?da had been able to find to her original coiffure. It was remarkably lifelike, but Evelynne had become used to her very short hair over the past few months, and was dearly looking forward to finding some legitimate excuse to explain her new hairstyle to the public.

“My brain is fried,” Ally muttered, her voice muffled as she put her face in her hands. Evelynne walked over and sat down beside her, tugging gently on her shoulders until she leaned back into a welcoming embrace. “I’ve never tried to scan that many people in a row before.”

Wrapping her arms around her partner, Evelynne began a slow scratching of Ally’s stomach. “Do you believe what they were telling you?” she asked quietly.

Ally closed her eyes and nodded. “They were telling the truth. All of them. None of them is actually

culpable for what happened to Mom. They were just following orders that they honestly thought were perfectly legitimate.”

“No guilt, hm?”

“Oh, they’re not all squeaky-clean. Hansen and Chaisson are having an affair, and Llamallos is deeply involved in a minor smuggling ring on base; alcohol and pornography, mostly. And there’s plenty of guilt about what happened on their mission, trust me. Monika Murthi was just about ready to cry.”

“Really? She seemed calm to me.”

“Believe me, all she really wanted was to wake up in her mother’s arms and realise it was all a nightmare.” Ally sighed sadly. “I have a strong suspicion that whatever happens she’ll be leaving the army.” She turned her head enough to look at Evelynne out of the corner of her eye. “You might want to arrange to have her put on suicide watch for a while.”

Evelynne’s brows rose, and then she nodded soberly. “I will.” She paused. “You don’t blame her?”

“It’s hard,” Ally admitted. “She was the one who actually pulled the trigger. But she was absolutely convinced that her actions and orders were legitimate.” She sighed again. “She was doing something she absolutely loves. She’s wanted to be a soldier since she was eight. Not the killing part, although she has resigned herself to killing enemy soldiers when she has to. But she’s felt the draw to become a warrior, to protect the things she loves, for years, and realising that dream has been wonderful for her. And now that life is over.”

Evelynne nodded as well. She was relieved that Ally was able and willing to avoid placing blame where it was not due, but not really surprised. Her fianc?e had always shown an ability to assign proper responsibility to whom it was logically due, and in this terrible circumstance the soldiers of training mission Sierra-Foxtrot-Six had been nothing more than puppets. “You’re probably right,” she agreed quietly. “Even if they’re ultimately cleared, their military careers are probably over. They might maintain their ranks and positions, but nobody will really trust them again. Not many commanders will be willing to put them in sensitive posts, and opportunities for promotion will be pretty limited.” Evelynne shrugged. “And even if za or Aunt Cleo were willing to bestow direct promotionswhich I’m fairly sure they wouldthat kind of special treatment would only emphasise their isolation.”

“Mmhmm,” Ally hummed, and Evelynne could practically feel her mind working through their Link.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

Ally jerked back to herself. “I’m not quite sure,” she admitted, rubbing her eyes. “After being in so many minds today I think I’m still feeling echoes and there are a few things I can’t figure out whether they’re mine or theirs.”

“That’s not good, love,” Evelynne said, urging Ally to stand and leading her towards the door to the bedroom. “Towards the end there I noticed you were speaking in a pretty military manner. Like you were using their vocabulary. Is that normal?”

Ally shrugged. “Define ‘normal.’ I have no idea.”

“Hmm. Well, let’s see what I can do about that. Take off your shirt and lie down,” Evelynne instructed, pointing to the bed. Ally’s eyes rose. “Not for that, you horndog,” the Princess said in exasperation. She headed towards the bathroom, and a moment later her voice carried back into the bedroom. “I’m going to give you a massage and see if we can get rid of some of your tension. Then you’re going to have a nap for a few hours. When you wake up you can see whether you should ask Black Crow for some help before dinner this evening.”

Ally’s eyebrows remained elevated, but she obediently stripped off her blouse, only hesitating for a moment before removing her bra as well and crawling onto the bed. “Yes, Your Highness,” she murmured.

And don’t you forget it, Peasant, Evelynne said directly into her mind, smirking as she exited the bathroom, a small bottle of oil in her hands. A moment later she had crawled onto the bed and was straddling Ally’s hips, her hands beginning to work their way into tight muscles. “Isis, you’re tense,” Evelynne murmured.

“Not for long,” Ally mumbled into the quilt, her muscles already beginning to relax.

There was silence for several long minutes before Ally spoke again.

“Where did you learn ‘horndog,’ anyway?” she asked, her voice muffled.

Evelynne laughed, gentling her hands as they neared the small, shiny scar in the middle of Ally’s lower back, a constant reminder of the assassin’s bullet that had first introduced them and had very nearly taken Ally’s life. It was a testament to how much she had healed mentally that Evelynne could touch the scar with only a slight twinge of residual fear. Claire used it a while back, she explained. You remember that time about two weeks ago just after the ceremony, when we were outside in the snow, and you were assaul

I mean, tickling me? And your hands wanderedcompletely accidentally, of courseinto some very

naughty places? She wondered if you were born a horndog, or if it was something I’d taught you.

Ally laughed into the mattress, making the whole bed shiver. I must not have heard, seeing as I was digging snow out of my ears at the time. She chuckled a few moments more. So what did you tell her?

Evelynne grinned. I explained that that much raw talent could only develop naturally at birth. She agreed, and then observed that we both must share that same gene.

Ally opened one eye to glare at her tormentor balefully. “Cheeky wenches, the two of you,” she muttered. There was silence for a moment. How do you think she’s doing?

We haven’t heard otherwise, so I’m assuming fairly well. She must be on the way to the border by now.

“Mmm.” In New York State already, actually.

Evelynne paused in her massage, looking at Ally in surprise. “How do you know?”

Ally hesitated, and then shrugged awkwardly. “The timing works out about right,” she explained simply.

“Oh.” Evelynne resumed her kneading. “I miss her, you know,” she admitted softly.

Ally nodded. “Me too. Still, it should only be a couple of months,” she said sleepily.

“That’s true.” Evelynne grinned. “I’d love to see Corey’s face when she shows up at his door.”

Ally chuckled slowly before her breathing evened out into sleep.

“Do you remember the last time we had a family dinner with everyone there?” Evelynne asked as she strolled arm-in-arm with Ally down the hallway.

They were being followed discreetly by Sergeant Ariman Tresca and Major Susan Martinez of the Heir’s Guard, and Captain Amanda Benson and Sergeant Rupert Gyrus of the Heir Consort’s Guard. Although the bowels of the Fist of Peace were probably the safest place on the planet at the moment, continued paranoia demanded their presence. There were actually a few practical reasons, as well. Both the Heir and Heir Consort had been absent for months, and Sir Arthur and Colonel Nixon obviously felt that maintaining a Guard detail in a relatively safe situation was an ideal way of getting the teams used to watching over actual charges once again. Actually, in the case of the Heir Consort’s Guard, this was the first time most of them had ever had a real protectee, given the unusual circumstances of their assignment. While Tresca and Martinez were only blowing the rust off their skills, Benson and Gyrus were learning the real thing for the first time.

They had been performing admirably, sensibly taking their cue from the more experienced Guards. Benson was fairly confident, having been a career Naval officer for sixteen years before her transfer, but Gyrus was visibly nervous, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Ally had caught the younger Guard looking at her with a mixture of fascination and anxiety several times, and she was intensely curious as to what was causing both. She had been tempted to read his thoughts and find out, but had restrained herself from the invasion of privacy.

Distracted by her thoughts, it took Ally a moment to respond to her partner’s question. “Of course. The day after you proposed to me.” She chuckled. “I was terrified your father would have me beheaded.”

“Thank Isis that Patrick ran interference, then, isn’t it?” Evelynne replied, smiling.

Ally shook her head. The stay in America had changed Evelynne in subtle as well as obvious ways, one of the most telling of which was her vocabulary. “Horndog” and “running interference” were the two most recent examples, and Ally was eagerly looking forward to her lover’s first use of the word “dude.”

“I still can’t believe a priest is allowed to know that many dirty jokes,” Ally mused. “That must be cause for self-flagellation or something.” Evelynne laughed. “And now we’ll just steer the conversation away from things that priests do to themselves. How is Patrick?”

“He’s doing well,” Evelynne admitted. “He loves the monastery he’s staying in. I’ve been to that area of France before, and it is gorgeous. He’ll be coming back in a couple of weeks.”

Ally frowned. “Is that safe?”

Evelynne shrugged. “It’s not as though he’s completely secure where he is. He’s incognito, to be sure, but it isn’t deep cover, and there isn’t a lot in the way of security at the monastery. Besides, he said he wanted to be here, no matter what ends up happening.”

They had arrived at the door to the King’s private dining hall while they walked, and had to remember to wait while Captain Benson provided a passcode and checked out the interior before allowing them to proceed. Satisfied that no assassins were lurking behind the door, the Captain held it for the two women.

Inside, the large room was surprisingly warm, given that the entire keep was carved out of solid rock. A roaring fire at the far end certainly contributed, as did a cunningly designed heating system installed under the wooden floor. The chamber was informally divided into two sections; one held the large dining table, an ancient and elegant piece of woodwork, and the other held a collection of chairs and couches gathered companionably around the fire. It was there that the other diners were currently found.

King Jad and Queen Cleo were there, of course, along with the Queen’s husband, Jeremiah. They were all dressed in the much more informal outfits that had become the norm over the past week, rather than the intricate and weighty costumes that composed formal court attire. William Tretiak was chatting quietly with Joseph Black Crow, and both looked up and smiled at the newcomers. To Evelynne’s mild surprise, Meghan Doherty was there as well, seated next to Ma?da near the King and Queen. Still, the older woman had been the conduit by which she and Ally had communicated with Atlantl, so she was directly involved in their little play, even if her role was minor.

Without words, Ally and her partner separated, moving to greet their respective families.

“Hey, Dad,” Ally murmured into her father’s shoulder. She pulled back. “How’s Mom?”

“Doing as well as can be expected,” William said, unable and unwilling to hide the pain in his voice and face. “Better, actually. She’s going to be fine.” He chuckled involuntarily. “She still has that ‘Cap’n Cat’ idea in her head.” He shook his head fondly, and Ally laughed. “She told us to enjoy ourselves this evening and to remember exactly what we eat, so that we can describe it to her in detail later. And she said that you’re to eat well and stuff yourself. You’re still too skinny.”

Ally rolled her eyes and smiled. “Still on hospital food, huh? I can relate.” Her father looked at her with concern. She had explained the basics of what had happened to her while she had been away, but had yet to go into the painful specifics. Rather than get into something more suited for a less cheerful situation, she turned to Black Crow. “Hi, Joseph. Thanks for helping me out this afternoon.”

“You are welcome, Ally.” The Indian shaman-psychologist looked at her sternly. “I said it before and I will say it again. I dont know what you did today, but you must not do it again, if you can. There were too many echoes in you this afternoon.”

“I know,” Ally said simply, “but it was something I had to do.” Unsaid was the statement that she would do it again without hesitation if the need presented itself.

Black Crow easily read the silent intention and nodded mildly. Ally knew he expected no less.

“Ally, come over here,” Evelynne called, drawing her attention. Ally obediently followed. “You remember Meghan Doherty,” her fianc?e introduced.

The solidly-built woman looked up at Ally and smiled hesitantly, offering her hand. She was probably in her fifties, Ally estimated, her coppery-brown hair liberally streaked with grey, and she was wearing a simple yet attractive green skirt with a maroon blouse.

“Of course,” Ally said. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for us. I dont know what we would have done without you.”

Surprisingly, the older woman blushed like a schoolgirl. “You are very welcome, Your Ladyship,” she stammered. “It was my duty to aid Her Highness and yourself any way I could.”

“Oh, please,” Evelynne interrupted, grinning down at Meghan. “It was more than duty. And really, I think you can call us ‘Evelynne’ and ‘Ally.’ After all, you are ‘Aunt Meghan.’ You’re practically family.”

The poor woman blushed even more deeply at the full force of Evelynne’s charm. “Of course, Yo

Evelynne. It would be my p-pleasure.” She managed to smile shakily.

“Good,” Evelynne stated firmly.

“Good, indeed,” the King murmured, shaking his head abruptly. “Well, I believe the cooks have everything prepared, so shall we sit?”

It took a few minutes to arrange seating. The King and Queen, of course, sat at either end of the tables. Evelynne sat at her father’s right, her fianc?e right next to her, and Jeremiah also sat at his wife’s right hand. William was on Cleo’s left, which also put him beside his daughter. Black Crow sat across from Ally, and, perhaps most surprisingly, Meghan sat immediately to the King’s left.

Glasses of a deep purple Atlantlan wine sat at each place, and the Queen raised hers. “To family,” she said simply. The toast that followed was in the Atlantlan style. The European style was a custom that originated in the middle ages as an attempt to knock the devils that sat on the rim of a glass into the alcohol to drown, all in an often vain attempt to kill the demons that caused hangovers. In Atlantl, the drinkers dipped the index finger into the wine and then ran it around the rim, trying to placate the demons with an offering, rather than kill them. The still-wet finger was then placed to the lips before a sip was finally taken.

Everyone at the table performed the ritual with varying degrees of ease, although Ally hesitated uncomfortably for a long moment before looking at Evelynne. The Princess exchanged a few quick inaudible words before shaking her head, and Ally put down the glass without drinking.

“Is everything all right?” Cleo asked.

Ally shook her head briefly. “I, uh

I dont drink any more,” she said softly, looking down.

“Oh.” The Queen obviously wasn’t alone in wondering why that was so. Ally had not been a teetotaller before, but this was evidently yet another one of the things that had changed during her time away from Atlantl. “Well, what we do have is some juice instead. Meghan, if you could pass that jug?”

Slow conversation picked up again as juice was poured and Ally sipped gratefully.

Are you all right? Evelynne asked silently, her hand on Ally’s thigh comfortingly. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about

It’s okay, Ally interrupted. I just couldn’t

Ally hadn’t drunk alcohol since the night she had inadvertently taken the drugs which had lowered her inhibitions so severely. The experimental drug had been dissolved into Ally’s drink, and the doctors had suspected that it was the alcohol that had reacted with the compound to create a much more intense reaction. Ally knew that her own unique neural chemistry probably also had a lot to do with the unexpected reaction, but she had since suffered from an aversion to alcohol in all its forms that was so strong it neared being a phobia.

However, she really didn’t want to explain all that to the others who were dining. Especially not the part where, while under the influence of the drug, she had practically had sex with a total stranger in a bar bathroom. Even though Evelynne had forgiven her completely, the terrifying memory of the event still lurked within Ally’s subconscious.

Food had arrived, the servers summoned by some unseen signal, and feasting commenced, interspersed with conversation that flowed easily and naturally. It was a scene that could, with only minor adjustments, have taken place in any dining room around the world, and the true natures of those involved were forgotten. Ally wasn’t an Adept, Evelynne wasn’t the Heir to the Throne, and the King and Queen simply became proud family members. A few of the conversation topics weren’t so typical, perhaps, but all in all it was the most domestic scene Ally had observed since returning to Atlantl.

Cleo was holding court at one end of the table, questioning Black Crow about the techniques and theories he used in his unusual psychological practice, Jeremiah and William deeply involved as well. At the other end, Evelynne and Ally were regaling Jad and Meghan with some of the more amusing things they had seen and heard on their travels. Meghan was rather quiet, still obviously somewhat shy about the company she was keeping, but Jad more than made up for it with his guffaws that threatened to shake the plates off the table.

Actually, Ally mused, as Evelynne wrapped up another anecdote, the former servant appeared more than shy. In fact, she was actively apprehensive, something that Ally could detect even without using her empathic senses. And most puzzling of all was the fact that the older woman seemed to be specifically afraid of Evelynne for some reason. Granted, perhaps she wasn’t as used to the Princess’ company as she was to the King’s, but it seemed to be

more than that.

And whatever it was, Evelynne had picked up on it too, as Ally could tell from the tiny subliminal signals that she could recognise in her lover.

The tale drew to a close, and Jad’s laughter finally quieted. “You actually convinced them that Atlantl runs on a twenty-hour day?” he chuckled. “Oh my. Metric system indeed.”

Evelynne shook her head. “That’s what I said.” She sipped her wineAlly had insisted she not also give up alcohol out of some sense of dutyand looked back and forth between her father and Meghan. “So,” she said firmly, “are you going to tell me just what’s going on here? I know something’s off.”

Meghan almost choked and looked at the King in something resembling a panic. In contrast, the King looked back at his daughter calmly before glancing at the older woman and nodding slightly. “I was

We were planning to tell you. Meghan and I are involved.”

Whatever Evelynne had been expecting, that obviously wasn’t it, although Ally wasn’t extremely surprised. Wine sprayed over the table in a perfect spit-take, thankfully just missing Meghan. Ally wrapped an arm around Evelynne’s shoulders, supporting her as she wiped ineffectually at her blouse with a napkin. Silence fell at the other end of the table, the other diners looking at them curiously, the Queen with a wicked grin on her face.

“I take it you told her, then,” Cleo said, smirking.

“Told me

” Evelynne rasped, still coughing. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Convinced her coughing fit was over, she opened them up again to spear her father with a glare. “All right, now, tell me again.”

“Meghan and I are involved,” Jad repeated mildly, reaching across to grasp his companion’s hand.

“Involved,” Evelynne said flatly. “How involved?”

Jad shrugged. “How much would you like? We’re lo”

“Stop!” Evelynne barked holding up a hand. “Don’t say that word. I get it. Involved.” She took a deep breath, visibly calming herself. “So just how did you get

involved?”

“Well, Meghan was passing along your messages, which meant she had to be able to meet with me at odd hours. A minor servant can only have so much regular contact with the King without raising suspicions, so we had to come up with a legitimate reason.” The King shrugged again. “We began to spread the rumour that we were having an affair. After a time, it was no longer a rumour.”

“Oh. All right.” The shellshocked look was slowly fading from Evelynne’s face. “So

are you

in love?”

“Yes.” Meghan spoke up for the first time, her voice quiet.

“All right,” Evelynne said again. “Just give me a while, all right?” She took another steadying breath, and Ally could feel some of the tension flow out of the muscles under her hand. Eventually, Evelynne looked up at Meghan, smiling crookedly. “So Aunt Meghan might be a little inaccurate, do you think?”

That startled a laugh out of the older woman, and her own face relaxed. “Perhaps,” she said quietly.

“Well, I don’t think I can call you mamu right now,” Evelynne said awkwardly, and Meghan’s expression sobered. There was a pause. “Yet.”

The spark came back to Meghan’s eyes. She smiled tremulously when Evelynne reached across to squeeze her hand. “I understand

Evelynne. I’m sure my own daughter will be suitably outraged when she finds out as well.”

Evelynne blinked. “Wow. Stepsister.” She blinked again. “So how is this going to work?” she asked. “Are you getting married? Is Meghan going to be Queen?”

“Marriage is

a distinct possibility,” Jad admitted. “As for the Second Crown

“

“No!” Meghan said forcefully. “I have no wish to become Queen.”

“Thank you, Adun,” the King said, settling into a deep armchair. “That will be all, I think.”

“Of course, Sire,” Sir Adun murmured. “Madam.” He bowed to both his Diarchs before leaving the room, Queen Cleo’s Chief of Guards preceding him. The door clicked closed softly behind them.

Jad sighed in satisfaction and looked out over the valley. This particular “room” was set high in the cliff wall that housed the fortress, and boasted a huge, floor-to-ceiling window. In summer, the glass of the window could be removed, turning the room into an expansive balcony, but during the winteras nowthe glass provided protection from the elements. A relatively mild storm was currently lashing the glass, providing a staccato soundtrack to the conversation.

“That went well,” Cleo commented from her own chair, swirling a glass of green cer’ant liqueur. “Evelynne seemed accepting of Meghan.”

“Once she finished spewing wine all over her future step-mother, yes,” Jad chuckled.

Cleo laughed as well. “How is Meghan taking it?”

“Oh, she was unbelievably anxious beforehand. She held up well, though. She really does want Evelynne to like her.”

“Oh, Evelynne will,” Cleo assured him. “I think she just needs to get used to the idea. After all, she’s become accustomed to seeing you single for almost her whole life. The idea of a new ‘mother’ must be unsettling.” Jad’s previous wife, Queen Amelia el-Kareen, the sister to the current Queen, had died when Evelynne had been very young, and the Princess had only vague memories of the woman. Cleo hesitated. “I know I’ve said it before, but I honestly think Meghan is going to be good for you.”

“I

Thank you.” There was silence for a moment. “Do you think Evy ever knew about the others?” Jad asked quietly.

The King had kept his affairs discreet, but Cleo was under no illusions that he had been celibate since his wife had died. “I’m sure she suspected,” she replied. “And if she didn’t, she certainly speculated. Evyalways was an intelligent child. However, no child wants to imagine their own parent in an intimate setting. I know for a fact that my own parents had sex exactly twice.”

Jad guffawed. “Oh, come now, you really aren’t still hung up on that sort of thing are you? You’re a grown woman, with children of your own, I might add, and there’s nothing to be ashamed or uncomfortable of about sex! You know the definition of a prude, don’t you? Someone who is ashamed to have been born naked in bed with a woman.”

“Oh really?” Cleo’s brows quirked. “And Evelynne and Alleandre?”

Jad’s glass froze on its way to his lips. Then he slowly and deliberately took a large mouthful and put it down again with equal care. “I will have you know,” he said in severe tones, “that my daughter is still a virginal blossom, and that she only enjoys sharing body heat with my future daughter-in-law. She will wear diamonds on her wedding day, so your inferences are quite specious.” In Atlantlan culture, diamonds were used to denote a virgin bride, rather than a white dress. Needless to say, not many diamonds were worn during modern nuptials, and the King had always been baffled that so many brides in other countries still wore white.

“Now who’s being a prude?” the Queen crowed.

The King muttered something incomprehensible, and a silence fell over the balcony, broken only by the wind and rain on the window.

Finally, Jad looked over at his companion again, seeing a pensive look on Cleo’s face.

“Something is bothering you?” he asked.

The Queen looked startled as she pulled herself out of her thought. “I was just thinking of Evelynne and Alleandre, as a matter of fact,” she said, and her voice was troubled.

“I do that on a regular basis,” Jad replied. “I worry about them constantly. However, no matter how I turn it, I still truly believe that they will be alright. Their romance will be difficult, but they will not fail.”

“It’s not that,” Cleo said, shaking her head. “I worry about them myself. No, I find myself more and more concerned about Alleandre. Not because of what might happen to her, in particular, but more because of

” She trailed off, struggling for words. “I think what bothers me about Alleandre,” she continued finally, “is that I cannot help but feel that there is something

inhuman about her.”

Jad frowned. “I beg your pardon?” he asked dangerously. It had taken him a while to come to terms with the partner his daughter had chosen, but now that he had he was ready to protect them both with equal ferocity, even from his own sister-in-law.

“It’s nothing

overt,” Cleo was quick to reassure him, “or even sinister. It’s

It’s nothing I can specifically point to, or put a finger on. It’s more a

feeling I get, deep down. Something that just barely touches my subconscious. An aura.” She chuckled. “And now I’m beginning to sound like she does when she talks about touching minds.”

“Well,” Jad said slowly, “perhaps that’s it. We tend to look at Alleandre and just see a young, nervous girl, and forget that she is most likely the closest thing to a living god that exists upon the Earth. She can know our thoughts, see places far distant from her physical location, and defeat forty soldiers without touching a thing. When she chooses, she is the next best thing to invulnerable, and can fly to the top of a mountain as easily as you or I walk. And those are just the abilities we know about. These are things that are practically unique among the human race, and set her apart from the rest of us in a perfectly understandable way. She experiences sensations and abilities of which we are barely able to even conceive, and her outlook must be just as disparate. So, yes, in a quite literal way there is something

inhuman about her.”

“You’re right,” Cleo agreed, nodding slowly. “It’s entirely obvious that her

powers make her different. In fact, in retrospect, I think I might be even more concerned if her psyche wasn’t different. I just think about the moral and ethical rules she’s had to develop around her abilities, and part of me is honestly glad that she doesn’t think as mere human does. Humans have always had difficulty controlling their own power.”

“Too true. I can’t say I really like the term ‘inhuman’ though,” Jad commented. “It has too many negative connotations, which are extremely unfair to apply to Alleandre.”

“You’re becomingwhat’s the term?politically correct?” Cleo smiled at Jad’s scowl. “I agree, though. Still, what do we call her? ‘Transhuman?’ ‘Metahuman?’ ‘Parahuman?’”

“Personally, I prefer ‘Alleandre,’” the King said gruffly.

Cleo looked at him. “Touch?,” she said finally. “It will come up eventually, though. You’ve seen the signs. Not only Alleandre, but Evelynne as well. Joseph Black Crow and Claire Jones. This Mrs. Chen they’ve told us about, and Enku Black Crow’s mother. Even Chorus Tladi. They are all in control of powers beyond what we mere humans are capable, and they are all in contact. For the first time in history, that we know of, these ‘parahumans’ are joining together and forming a community. Under the loose leadership of the next ruler of one of the most powerful nations on Earth and her partner, who also happens to be the most powerful of all of them. More will join over time. Only a very few, most likely, but under leadership which is the ultimate in political, social, and personal power. Unless the whole thing falls apart for some reasonwhich I admit is a possibilitythat community is going to be revealed to the world at large. And when that happens, the next generation is going to have to live with these not-quite-humans in their midst. And humans being humans, some will start chanting ‘Inhuman.’ And almost-humans being, well, almost-human, some of them will live up to that ‘inhuman’ description. And, now that I think about it, that is why I am actually glad that it’s Alleandre who is the most powerful of them all.”

Chapter 5

The ringing of the phone was almost lost in the omnipresent bustle and noise of the main news offices of LANTA, Atlantl’s major television network, and Martina Lowes answered it only by sheer reflex.

“Lowes,” she muttered absently, still focussed on the computer screen in front of her, and she rested the receiver between ear and shoulder as she jotted down a new series of notes. The voice on the other end finally drew her attention. “Maggie! What’s up? You made any headway on that connection with Hep’shesut?”

“Sorry, babe, nothing there.”

“Damn it.”

“Fret not, hon. The base angle’s a bust, but I still have something for you. In fact, I hope you brought along a clean pair of panties, because I’m about to make you cream yours.”

Martina’s eyes rolled indulgently. “Dream on, Maggie. Some day you’ll realise that I already have two husbands who help me with that on a regular basis. You just aren’t my type.”

“Don’t be so sure, Marti. Two husbands and a wife aren’t that big a stretch from two husbands.” Martina laughed, and there was a sorrowful sigh from the phone. “Fine. If you’re not going to propose right now, I’ll just have to keep wooing you. Starting with this gift: our Prodigal Daughters have returned home.” There was silence. “Babe, you still there? I said gorgeous Princess Evelynne and her oh-so-delectable Consort are back.”

Lowes shook herself from her shock. “I heard you. You’re not kidding? When did this happen?”

“Exactly when they got back to the Islands, I don’t know. I do know that they’re about to land at Jamaz Intercontinental in about thirty minutes. There was a very discreet leak from the Queen’s Office to only a very few members of the press. I think you’re one of only about four or five reporters high enough in Royal favour to get this advance notice. You’re being noticed, babe.“Maggie’s tone was congratulatory.

“Shit, thirty minutes?” Martina leapt up and began shoving her laptop, recorder and notebooks into her field bag, and started snapping her fingers and waving her hands towards her cameraman, who was currently chatting up one of the research aides by the lunchroom. “That doesn’t give me a lot of time.” She was already mapping out the fastest route from the office to the airport through Jamaz’s noon-hour traffic. “And I need to change my underwear.”

The smirk from the phone was audible. “Told you so. Just call me your human vibrator.”

“Tell you what, you come over for dinner on Saturday and you and Ahmed can discuss vibrators. I need to repay you for this somehow.”

“Ooo, the studly Ahmed. Although if you really want to repay me, you could” Maggie’s suggestion was lost in the click of disconnection.

Forty-five minutes later, Martina Lowes and her cameraman, Hee Jae Kim, were standing in a small room, bare but for the one-way mirror on one wall, along with six other reporters from various media and their respective photographers, both still and video. Lowes was impressed by the assortment. They were all people she respected highly, even Nand’ik Sumarri, the only other television reporter, with whom she regularly battled without restraint for stories. They were such bitter enemies that they were practically friends. The two of them had actually come to blows in an abandoned parking lot one night, resulting an a cumulative total of three black eyes, a broken nose, four broken fingers and a truly artistic array of bruises. Not long after that, Sumarri had introduced Martina to the man who would become her second husband.

Right now they were all trying to act very nonchalant and unthreatening, a state highly encouraged by no less that six Guards in full battle uniform who ringed the walls. Rather than the handguns the Guards normally wore, these men and women carried full assault rifles, and the fact that the weapons were pointed to the ground wasn’t particularly reassuring. Lowes had once done a series on Guard trainingthe unclassified portions, anywayand knew that any one of the stern, unsmiling soldiers around the room could probably take apart every reporter present with her bare hands, even the very young-looking Guardswoman closest to her, who must have been all of five feet tall and about the same age as her niece.

So far, the impromptu press conference had been very tightly controlled. After every piece of equipment and body part had been thoroughly scanned and searched, the reporters had been taken to a secure location with a view of the runway, so they could take pictures of the landing airplane. The plane wasn’t the regular Royal passenger jet, but instead a Meher Reconnaissance and Evasion Aircraft. That actually made sense from Lowes’ point of view; Lady Alleandre’s mother’s boat had been attacked with a missile after all, and the Meher boasted the pinnacle of Atlantlan electronic counter-measures and anti-missile defences.

They had also been in position to film two small, almost totally obscured figures disembarking the aircraft. The pair had been instantly surrounded by more fully-armed Guards and swept inside the terminal. The Crowns really weren’t taking chances with the safety of the Princess and her Consort, Lowes observed. There was something tickling the back of her mind, though, the sensation similar to the hunches that had made her a journalist, and she couldn’t pin it down.

Now the reporters had been hustled back to their room, where they had been waiting for the last five minutes. A movement out of the corner of her eye caught Martina’s attention, and she glanced over at the Guardswoman nearest the door. The woman was listening to her earbud, and murmured an inaudible response into her collar mike. Lowes nudged her cameraman’s shoulder and Hee Jae looked over and nodded. He didn’t raise his camera to his shouldersuch an overt move seemed less that recommended given the on-edge soldiers in the roombut she saw him surreptitiously checking his equipment.

“Isi, eni,” the Guard’s surprisingly soft voice broke the quiet. “Her Royal Highness Evelynne Sophia al-Heru deMolay, and Heir Consort Lady Dame Alleandre Tiffany Tretiak.”

With that, every Guard snapped to full attention, and even the reporters stood a little straighter. The door to the side opened, and the first through was the immediately recognisable form of Colonel Sir Arthur RamirezLieutenant-General Sir Arthur Ramirez, Lowes realised, taking in his rank insignia. The Master of the Heir’s Guard had completely dropped out of sight shortly after the Invasionquite a feat for such a distinctive individualand obviously at some point he had been promoted. Rumours had placed him heading some covert branch of the Guard investigating some aspect of the Invasion. Lowessuspected he had been overseas for most of that time, since he would have been spotted too easily had he remained in the Realm.

The next was Colonel Theodora Nixon, who was Sir Arthur’s complete opposite in almost every respect, but nearly as distinctive. Where the General was nearly three feet across of solid muscle, the Colonel looked like a strong wind would blow her over. Appearances were deceiving, however, as the woman would never have been accepted into the Guard, much less appointed the new Master of the Consort’s Guard, had she been physically fit. Nixon’s actions since the Invasion were far more observable than Ramirez’s, but far more baffling on the surface. Taking over the Consort’s Guard was a fairly understandable act, but while the Consort’s Guard was traditionally composed of three or four members, it had now been expanded to at least twice that. And the new recruits were unusual as well: a collection of previously undistinguished low-ranked Guards for the most part, with at least one former Navy Captain for good measure. Lowes had been trying to get behind the scenes of those decisions for months, and the only thing she had been able to confirm was that all of them had been inside the Hall of Lords during the attack. A few Guard teams who had happened to be in the right place at the right time to save the Royal Family’s life was a fairly reasonable scenario, but such an act should have resulted in promotions, a few medals, perhaps even a knighthood or two, not assignment to what had suddenly become one of the most important Guard postings available.

A couple of those new Guards followedCaptain Amanda Benson and Lieutenant Rupert Gyrusalong with two more established members of the Heir’s Guard, Lieutenant Ariman Tresca and Captain Susan Martinez.

The next individuals through the doorway were Princess Evelynne and Lady Alleandre. Lowes immediately bowed deeply, touching forehead, lips and chest in formal greeting, and around her the rest of the reporters did the same. They all held the bow for perhaps a moment longer than was strictly necessary, and then straightened. As they did so, Her Highness performed the same greeting, though her bow was much shallower, and Lady Alleandre followed. As they did so, Lowes’ mind raced as it catalogued her first impressions. They had changed slightly since they had been last seen in Atlantl, gaining an air of maturity, but otherwise looked much the same, beyond a few minor physical differences. The Princess was wearing a light green blouse and blue slacks, which her Consort leaned much more heavily towards dark colours, with a dark blue sweater, and black pants tucked into black calf-length boots. An amethyst ring was prominent on hands bare of any other adornment.

“Good afternoon, isi and eni,” Princess Evelynne said. A jumble of greetings answered her. “It is gratifying to see such select members of the press here to meet us.” It was a message, Lowes realised, and acknowledgement that those present had been carefully chosen as recipients of the “leak.” “If you wish, pictures may be taken.”

That was the signal for the assembled camera operators and photographers to ready their equipment and begin filming or snapping. The photographer from the Hy Braseal Inscriptor made the mistake of using a flash with his first pictureLowes was sure it was an honest errorand hastily disconnected it after a penetrating glare from Lady Alleandre.

Meek little “Lady Ally” has grown up, Lowes thought, interested. No more hanging onto her lover for support.

While all of Atlantl had watched the film of Princess Evelynne’s entrance, with her brand new fianc?e and Consort, to the Hall of Nobles extensively over the past months, few had probably scrutinised it as closely as Martina Lowes. The story itself was massive, of course, but Martina had taken a more personal interest in the events as well. Despite firm support going as high as the Diarchs, the Marriage Equality Decision handed down by the High Justicars had still maintained a fairly strong opposition. A reversal of that Decision would have created a very uncertain situation for people like Lowes and her unconventional three-way marriage. Now that Decision was incredibly stronger than it had been. The unequivocal support of both the King and Queen; the finding of two of the three Dukes of a lack of Moral Questionability; and the sudden openly fierce defence by at least a dozen self-admitted homosexuals among the Nobles, not to mention all those who weren’t gay themselves, but whose Heirs, friends and children had chosen to come out into the open, and their supporters had all combined into a nearly invincible force.

The Invasion had been an inconceivable tragedy, killing nine out of every ten Nobles, but the abruptly elevated Heirs had found their strength quickly. Many of them had realised on their own just how inexperienced and uncertain they were, and had reached out to their fellows, forming new relationships and alliances that had completely rearranged the traditional political landscape of the Nobility. Without old, ingrained associations to restrict them, the new Noblesthe “Young Blood,” as several pundits were referring to themwere creating a network that was less hidebound and restrictive than before. There had always been a strong ethic of cooperation among the Atlantlan Nobility, but long-standing personal grudges and unofficial “political party” affiliations had naturally crept in. Now the Young Blood, while still somewhat uncertain, was far more willing to reach out to anyone who would help.

The implied support of the Order of the Illuminated Word, a multi-faith religious order, for the suggestion that Evelynne’s brother acting as a donor to give Alleandre the ability to bear an Heir of Royal blood had shocked much of the religious community, but new support had grown from that as well. It had begun with several of the smaller religions, such as the Atlantlan Unitarian Society and the Universalists, but had grown to include such groups as the Liberal Jewish Congress, the Ithikan Muslims, and at least six of the nine Temples of the Ennead. Several faiths, like the Atlantlan Catholic Church and the Temple of Ra, remained officially silent on the issue, but even the detractors had learned to use restraint in their criticisms, as the public at large had expressed just how unhappy they would be at discourteous diatribes, and religious leaders across the Realm were learning that hellfire-and-brimstone sermons of condemnation and intolerance were a very easy way to lose parishioners.

Not everyone was so accepting, of course, but Princess Evelynne’s previous near-universal popularity had combined with the outpouring of public sympathy and anger over the Invasion to create an iron-bound sense of respect at the very least. That had wavered slightly during the Heir’s long exile under the Geranin Protocol, and Lowes had privately questioned the wisdom of keeping the Princess incommunicado for so long. However, it looked like any doubts had been swept away after the attacks on decoy Guard units over the last months, and support would strengthen even further once it became known that the Heir and her Consort had returned to face the attackers, rather than remain in hiding, if Lowes was any judge.

And if both Princess Evelynne and Lady Alleandre proved as strong and confident as they appeared at first appearance, their opponents didn’t stand a chance.

“We are both very happy to be back in Atlantl,” Princess Evelynne continued. “The time away has been difficult, although we are extremely grateful for all the support expressed both here in the Realm and around the world. There is really nothing we can say that will adequately express our thanks. Of course, it is very unfortunate to be forced to return in the wake of recent terrible events. We are looking forward to aiding in the capture of those responsible in any way possible, and bringing these cowardly attackers into the daylight.” She took a breath. “We will now take a few questions.”

Hands instantly shot up. Lowes’ rival, Sumarri, beat out the rest of them by a fraction of a second, and the Princess nodded to him.

“Your Highness, Your Ladyship, can you give any details on your location while you were under the aegis of the Geranin Protocol?”

Princess Evelynne shook her head. “I’m afraid not. All details under the Geranin Protocol are classified for obvious security reasons.”

It was a question that was inevitable, Lowes knew, even though nobody present had any illusions that it would be answered. Her question was the next chosen.

“Your Ladyship, reports are that your mother was seriously injured in the recent attacks.” Lady Alleandre nodded, stone-faced. “Have you been in contact with her, and can you tell us about what injuries she has received?”

“I have visited my mother since we returned. She is in very serious condition from multiple wounds. However, she has regained consciousness and is in good spirits, given her situation. A full medical report will be released at a later date.”

It was obvious that the Lady was gritting her teeth, at least metaphorically, in order to give out such personal information, and the non-reporter in Lowes sympathised.

Another question. “Your Highness, can you tell us anything about the attacks themselves? Do you have any leads or suspects in custody?”

“We do have several very promising leads which we will be investigating with all the authority of the Thrones behind the Guard. I cannot comment on the details of this sensitive, ongoing investigation, except to say that no level of society or government will be spared our scrutiny.”

Again, it was the kind of non-answer that was inevitable and expected.

“Your Highness, are you suggesting that you suspect collusion within the government itself?”

“We have no proof at present. However, the resources and planning behind the Invasion point to persons with large amounts of money and power. We will follow any leads to their utmost conclusion, no matter where they take us.”

“Your Highness, will you be investigating the international connections as well?”

“As I said, all leads will be followed to their utmost conclusion. International involvement in the Invasion is a given, as we know from the nationalities of those Invaders who were captured. As well, the murders over the last months of several undercover Guard teams in the course of their duties while abroad also points to an external connection. Whether the core organisation behind all of these is located within Atlantl, or abroad, or both, is something I cannot comment on.”

It was the first officially stated connection between the recent attack on the Consort’s mother, the murders of the diversionary Guard teams, and the Invasion. Before Lowes could follow up on it, though, the Princess turned her head slightly to catch a signal from Sir Arthur. “I’m afraid that is all the time we have for now, isi and eni. You may rest assured that the Thrones will reveal what details it can as the investigation progresses. Thank you.”

Under more normal conditions, the press might have tried to get in one last minute question, but the foreboding Guards around the walls curbed their enthusiasm severely. Instead, cameras were turned off with polite speed and a chorus of goodbyes followed the Heir and her Consort out the door, trailed by most of the Guards.

Once the door closed again, Lowes let out a breath, feeling the adrenaline drain from her system. It had been an informative meeting, she mused, far more revealing than its seemingly guarded statements might suggest. As she jotted down her immediate impressions, she felt a presence nearby and looked up to see Nand’ik Sumarri standing nearby.

“Martina,” the other reporter said shortly.

“Nand’ik,” Lowes replied in the same tone.

There was a long silence as they each waited for the other to break first. Eventually, Sumarri relented.

“An interesting experience, don’t you think? Quite a splash.”

Despite her personal dislike of the man, Lowes respected his professionalism without question. “Very prominent,” she said, nodding. “One might almost say

blatant.”

“My thoughts as well. Quite a risk for the Guard to be taking, landing in a public airport. It could be considered to be uncharacteristically sloppy. A press conference of the same size would be much more secure within the Royal Palace, say.”

“One could suggest that the whole point of this exercise was an attempt to draw an assassin into the open on an easily accessible runway. In theory, of course. No Guard Master would take such a risk with her charge, however.”

“Of course not.” There were several moments of thoughtful silence. “It’s unfortunate that I could not get a good shot of Her Highness and Her Ladyship actually debarking the aircraft,” Sumarri finally said casually. “It would have made a good opening for the story I will be presenting.”

“I agree,” Lowes said. “Just a bit too far away to see real details, and obscured by very enthusiastic Guards as well. A suspicious person might believe, with absolutely no evidence, of course, that the Heir and her Consort were already waiting within the building, and the whole scene on the runway was staged.”

“Then it is fortunate that neither of us is quite that suspicious, isn’t it? Such unfounded conspiracy theories are more appropriate for tabloid newspapers, aren’t they?”

“How do you think it went?” Evelynne sat back in the limousine seat, urging Ally to lean on her shoulder. There was a slight jerk as the vehicle pulled away, and the sirens of a full police and Guard escort could be heard even through the limo’s impressive soundproofing.

“Well, the whole thing served its purpose,” Sir Arthur replied from his own seat facing them. “There was no ambush, so we’ve learned a few things at least.”

“Several possibilities,” Colonel Nixon agreed. “We’ll know soon if our enemy has contacts among the cream of the Atlantlan media. We’ll have to wait for the intelligence reports on just what our esteemed members of the fifth estate were doing after they were contacted to be sure, of course. If he does have sources there, he does not have the capability to arrange an attack on such short notice.”

“What if he’s just cautious?” Evelynne asked.

“It wouldn’t fit his pattern so far,” Nixon replied. “Whatever his ability to compromise our security, he’s shown a degree of what can only be called arrogance. Since the Invasion, none of the activities we have been able to attribute to him have been covert in any way. No, I think that if he could have hit this decoy he would have.”

“Well, I’m just glad he didn’t,” Evelynne said fervently. “And now that the world knows we’re back, hopefully he’ll focus his attacks on me, and not innocent civilians.” She squeezed her fianc?e’s hand in sympathy for the latest victim. “Do you think any of the reporters suspect anything?”

“Martina Lowes does,” Ally said, the first she had spoken since entering the vehicle. Evelynne looked at her with concern to see her with her eyes shut and pinching her nose sharply with the fingers of her free hand. “She and Sumarri have guessed pretty much the whole thing. I

She

I

She’s not going to print anything about it, though. Without proof, the whole thing is just speculation for me

I mean her. Damn it!” Ally lowered her hand slowly, and Evelynne was alarmed to see it shaking. “She’s still in my head, and I can’t get her out.”

“What do you mean?” Colonel Nixon asked, leaning forward.

“I mean that

she has a very strong personality. Maybe latent psychogenic talent. And I can still feel the way she thinks. The line between her and me is a bit fuzzy right now.” Ally leaned forward, resting her head on her knees.

“Sir Arthur, I need you to arrange to have Black Crow meet us at the Palace,” Evelynne ordered. “As quickly as possible. And we’ll need a secure room right away.” She hesitated, thinking. “Preferably as far as possible from other people.”

The Guard simply nodded, speaking into his mike, while Evelynne turned back to her partner.

“I told you to stop reading so many people,” she scolded with more concern than heat. “You were already getting echoes before we left the Fortress.”

“I’m keeping you safe.” Ally’s voice was muffled. “I can’t stop doing that.”

“I know, love. We’ll do what we can here.” Evelynne turned back to Sir Arthur. “Could you arrange to move up our transfer to the Country House sooner rather than later? We need some recovery space.”

“We can’t go into hiding again, Evy,” Ally protested, lifting her head, but her tone was weak and her eyes bloodshot.

“You’re keeping me safe? Well, I’m keeping you safe. Even if I have to protect you from yourself.” Evelynne dropped a kiss on her partner’s head.

“Are you ready? Don’t rush.”

Evelynne forced herself to acknowledge Black Crow’s words, taking a deep breath that was heavily scented with some kind of burning herb that she wasn’t sure was strictly legal.

The psychologist-shaman had done a good job in creating an effective meditation space with the time and materials available. The three of them were actually sitting in a little-used boiler room deep in the basements of the Royal Palace. It was the most remote location one could find in such a busy building, and Sir Arthur and Colonel Nixon had managed to clear at least twenty metres in every direction by evacuating the upper floors due to a suspected “gas leak.” In the meantime, Black Crow had installed several blankets on the floor and around the walls, and produced an herb known for its “psychically enhancing properties.” It was a far cry from the elegantly crafted sweat lodge the two women had used several weeks before, but it was adequate.

Once she felt more centred, Evelynne opened her eyes again, looking across at where Ally was sitting. The other woman had stopped mixing up her pronouns, but was still shivering faintly, a sign of the iron control she was maintaining over her own mind. With a final shaky breath, the Adept opened her eyes and nodded.

“Good. Evelynne follow your link into Alleandre’s soul. Go slowly. Travel farther inside, swimming down, down, until you reach the place where the spirit lies.”

Black Crow’s low voice remained perfectly clear, but seemed to fade slowly as Evelynne followed the now-familiar mental link between her and Ally’s minds. The entire room became less and less real, until the only clear vision was of her partner. Then, with an almost audible “click” she was there, standing on nothingness with Ally standing before her, who, in some indefinable way, appeared somehow more “real” than she ever was in the waking world. They were both naked, a symbol of the lack of barriers between them in this state, although Ally was still wearing the engagement ring on her left hand and the dragon pendant around her neck. Evelynne remembered the last time she had seen her lover’s mental avatar, and the tender, newly-healed “skin” on that entity’s body. It had been a leap of mental healing, but now it appeared as though that rebuilding was much shakier than it should be. It was understandable; an emotional blow on learning of the attack on her mother, followed by the stress of ill-advised excessive mind-reading of a large number of strangers, had left this new psychic skin raw and painful.

“Ally? How are you doing, love?” Evelynne thought/said.

“Better now that you’re here,” Ally replied, and Evelynne could literally feel the truth of that statement. “Still, I have a little too much company right now.” She gestured around her, and for the first time Evelynnenoticed that there were faint, ghostly images of people surround them, each one seeming to exist in more dimensions than the four of the mundane world.

“These are the

echoes?” Evelynne asked, examining one in some way that did not include mere physical sight.

“In a sense,” Ally confirmed. “At least, they’re symbolic representations of the echoes that can be understood in this shallow level of trance.” She frowned. “I can perceive them all the way down to the deep unconscious.” She drew a totally unnecessary shaky breath. “I could probably fix all this myself, but I’m having trouble concentrating on the lower levels.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here, love,” Evelynne said reassuringly. “You just show me where to go and I’ll help lead you back.” Despite her words, she was filled with trepidation. She had been into Ally’s unconscious before, but that experience had been anything but pleasant, despite its beneficial ending.

“Are you sure?” Ally asked, and her partner nodded firmly. The Adeptor whatever aspect of her psyche was actually “standing” thereheld out a hand, and Evelynne took it.

At first, there was no change, but then the darkness around them became filled with incomprehensible shapes, manifestations of the architecture of Ally’s mind. Evelynne didn’t know how long it took, as time in these circumstances was an abstract concept at best, but the part of her that remained awake realised that she was no longer holding a more literally symbolic appendage. Instead, both she and Ally had dissolved into beings of pure mental cohesion, still joined in some way. Of course, even if that really was Ally in “front” of her, they were both inside Ally’s mind at the same time, and the recursive paradox of a mind within itself could keep philosophers busy for centuries. Yet somehow, the concept made perfect sense according to the alien rules of this plane.

With senses that were both uncomfortably alien and wholly natural, Evelynne took in the mindscape in which she was immersed. It was immensely strong, she could tell instinctively, a testament to the incredible powers of an Adept, but there were parts that were

uncertain. It tasted like a combination of physical instability and an odd etherealness, as though certain aspects were on the verge of ceasing to exist, or possibly were emerging for the first time. There was too much Evelynne didn’t know about manipulating a mind this directly, so she stayed far away from issues of which she felt unsure, focussing instead on regions that were obviously in error.

The echoes of past mind-scans were indeed here in this realm, and were much more real than they had been before. They overlay parts of the mental landscape like ghostly cloths, a mere illusion in most places, but occasionally they touched a bit of Ally’s true mind, and from those points of contact dissonance spread. There was something else as well, Evelynne observed as she looked closer, faint trails of cord that led from each echo into the vastness outside the mind, each sounding like blue silver. They were links, she recognised, immaterial constructs mimicking the steel-strong bond that joined Ally to hersoulmate, but infinitely weaker. The echoes were more than wraithlike remnants, once this was understood, but were anchor-points to psychic links to the people with whom Ally had merged her mind. That made them all the more dangerous, turning them from figments that would eventually fade away on their own and into conduits for a constant trickle of thought from foreign minds. One or two would be harmless enough, most likely, but most of the dozens of people Ally had scanned over the past weeks were represented here, taking unwitting advantage in previously weakened defences.

Those links must be broken, Evelynne emoted, feeling Ally’s love as the words themselves resonated with the mindscape, subtly shoring it up.

I know. Come.

Somehow moving closer in a way that had nothing to do with mundane concepts of space and time, Evelynne inspected the first echo. She couldn’t tell exactly who it was, but impressions were clear. A strong-willed, determined mind, smelling faintly of ruthlessness in the pursuit of career, but also a deep devotion to the truth. One of the reporters from the morning, most likely. Extending an ethereal appendage,Evelynne felt around the core of the echo, touching the intangible connection where it had infiltrated Ally’s mind. With the most subtle touch she could managea surprisingly simple task in a dimension where thought and action were one and the sameshe detached the anchor, experiencing Ally’s tiny mental flinch at the sting of separation, followed by a feeling of relief. With care and gentleness, Evelynne released the echo into the void, encouraging it to return to its proper home.

Encouraged by her success, Evelynne moved on to the next. With equal care, she removed the tiny psychic hooks, sending the echo on its way. One after the other she worked, and with the removal of each inadvertent intruder Ally’s mind quieted a little. There were some she couldn’t break, echoes that had become a more integral part of the mindscape. These were important, she guessed, and wouldn’t have removed them even if she knew who they represented. Ally’s family, in all likelihood, perhaps some of her closest friends. Definitely a very small number in comparison to the dozens of passing scans, and none of them were as strong as the bond between Ally and Evelynne, although one was fairly intense.

By the time she reached that one, however, Evelynne’s perceptions were blurring with a burning substance she recognised as exhaustion. Even though the process itself was fairly simple, if profound, a huge amount of energy was being expended, and she was nearing the end of her reserves. As the mindscape became more imperceptible, the mundane world became more solid and real, until with fuzzy surpriseEvelynne was back in the boiler room, staring across at a profusely sweating Ally, who looked at least as tired as she was.

“Thank you,” Ally whispered hoarsely, leaning forward on her knees to kiss Evelynne with what passion she could muster, before they sank into each other’s bodies, holding each other upright while Black Crow summoned the Guards.

Chapter 6

It had been disconcerting for Claire to wake up back in the bed in the apartment in Horton City, Pennsylvania, that she had occupied for several months before traveling to Vancouver with Ally and Evelynne. At that time she had been sharing the room with Corey, but now upon her return she had had the room to herself. In fact, for the first few days she had been left almost completely alone, as her friend had been busy for over sixteen hours a day in his new role as Assistant Manager of the grocery store where he worked. It might have been an unimpressive achievement to many, but considering that Corey had been born with the name Gloria Amelia Martin, this was a huge step for a town he had once referred to as “painfully whitebread.”

In fact, the changes Corey had undergone just in the few months Claire had been away had been disconcerting in themselves. Before Ally and Evelynne had left, they had sublet their apartment to Corey indefinitely for the grand sum of a dollar a year, and the young man had obviously taken advantage of the lack of need for rent money to accelerate his personal transformation. He was putting on muscle mass, and while he would never be anything even resembling buff, his shoulders were subtly broader, and he was painstakingly tending to a bare hint of hair on his upper lip. He was still as flamboyantly gay as he had ever been, still as drawn to Hawaiian shirts and pants in garish colours.

Claire had spent the first few days sleeping and resetting her internal clock to Eastern Standard Time. The last few weeks had seen two drastic time zone changes, and her body was finally getting the rest it needed.

Now, on the first evening that Corey had free, she was recounting the events that had followed her departure from Horton City. She had just got to the morning after Ally’s psychological wounds had been healed in a Native sweat lodge ceremony when Corey focussed with unerring accuracy on what he considered the most important event.

“What a minute. You’re saying she kissed you?”

Claire sighed. She should have known better that to bring up that subject to as natural a scandal-hound as her friend. “It wasn’t a big deal,” she said, trying to play down the incident. “It was sort of a ‘thank you’ for helping.”

“But she did kiss you. On the lips?” Claire nodded reluctantly; Corey could always instantly tell if she was lying. “Details, girlfriend! Pressure, duration

Was there tongue?”

Another sigh. “No, there was no tongue. Come on, she’s just a friend.”

“So what did Sophia say? Or I should say Evelynne. They are engaged, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Claire squirmed. “I haven’t forgotten, and Evy was fine.” Her next words devolved into an almost incomprehensible mumble.

“Excuse me? She kissed you, too?” The young man hooted, pumping his fist in the air. “You go, Claire! You got kissed by Princess Evelynne of Atlantis and her lover. Wait ‘til CNN finds out!”

“Corey, come on,” Claire said pleadingly. “They’re just my friends. It was a really emotional time.”

Seeing how serious his friend was, Corey relented. “Okay, okay.” He peered at her. “They still don’t know you’re in love with both of them, do they?”

“Good God, no!” Claire exclaimed, panicked. She calmed a little. “I’m pretty sure Ally knows I find Evy attractive, and that Evy knows I find Ally attractive, but that’s as far as it goes. I think they both think of me as something like a sister. Actually, that’s kind of how Evy introduced me to her father.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! You met her father? King Jad of Atlantis? That father?”

“As far as I know, she only has one,” Claire commented dryly. “I also met her aunt, and Ally’s father. They were all really nice people. I didn’t see Ally’s mom much, though. She was still pretty out of it.”

That sobered Corey quickly. For all his irreverence, he was still a very compassionate human being. “Damn, I heard about that. How’s she doing?”

“She lost her leg,” Claire said quietly. “She might lose her eye. Ally was pretty devastated, but from what I heard, the docs said she’d pull through.”

“That’s good,” Corey said. There was silence for a few moments. “So what are you doing back? Not that I’m not glad to see you, but I didn’t think you’d want to leave your girlfriends.”

“They are not my

” Claire began with exasperation. “Oh, to hell with it. I’ll actually be going back in a month or so, probably. There was concern that someone might see me and link me, and therefore Ally and Evy, back here. Somehow I don’t think the President would be too happy to learn that one of his greatest rivals was living and working, illegally no less, right in the heart of the USA. So we had to come up with some plan that would explain my presence in Atlantl legitimately. Well, actually, I think Ally and Evy came up with the basic plan.” She briefly sketched out the subterfuge that would let her be “hired” by the Princess or her Consort as a Page.

“That’s good,” Corey admitted. “And you know I’ll back you up if anyone asks about when you ‘applied.’ So, you’re serious about going to live in Atlantis permanently? Don’t kid yourself, that’s what it’s going to be.”

“I am,” Claire said simply. “Apart from you, what do I have to keep me in this place?”

“I know. I just want to make sure you’re not going just because of how you feel for Ally and Evelynne.”

“They’re my friends,” Claire said, “but no, they’re not the only reason. Apparently when I finish this Page assignment, I’ll be awarded Permanent Inhabitant status, and I’ll be on track for Atlantlan citizenship. Trust me, there are worse places to be a citizen. Free medical care, free University education, guaranteed housing, and only a one per cent unemployment rate.” She shrugged. “In return, I have to obey the Constitution and the Ithikan Compact.”

“I still don’t get how the Ithikan Compact works.”

Claire was hardly an expert, but she had read up on the subject. “Well, their Constitution is basically like ours, in that it gives the framework within which laws can be passed. The Compact essentially spells out the rights and responsibilities of both the Nobility and Commoners. Like, the Nobles have to ensure enough food and shelter for everyone who can’t otherwise afford it, or they can be deposed, and citizens must vote in Advisory elections or lose their citizenship. That’s just a couple of parts, so there are a lot more.”

Corey frowned. “So you mean you have to vote there? That’s a little weird, don’t you think?”

“I thought so at first, too, but then I thought about it and it actually makes sense. When they were hammering out the agreement, the commoners demanded the right to elect Advisory Councils to balance the Nobility. The Nobles said, ‘Fine, but if you want the right you also have to take the responsibility. We don’t want a bunch of idiots who didn’t bother voting complaining about what their Advisory Councils are doing.’ So voting is mandatory. I think there are exceptions if voting is against your moral or religious values, like for Jehovah’s Witnesses, but even then you have to register your exemption with the government. And if you’re sick or wounded or something you can get a deferral, but you need a doctor’s note or something.”

“You know, I think I read something about Australia requiring voting. Although I think they only give you a fine if you don’t.”

“Not in Atlantl. You don’t vote and don’t have good reason, and you lose your citizenship. And with it go the free hospitals, school and whatnot.”

“Now there’s incentive for you.”

“

sudden turn of events, Princess Evelynne deMolay and Lady Alleandre Tretiak flew into Jamaz Intercontinental Airport this morning with very little warning. It has been widely speculated for the last few days that Lady Tretiak, the British Columbia native who shocked the world earlier this year by becoming engaged to the Crown Princess of the Realm of Atlantis, would return in response to the deadly attack on her mother’s research vessel last week. While the couple arrived in Jamaz today, the Atlantean government refused to confirm the actual time and method of arrival in the Realm itself, citing security concerns. Lady Tretiak had little to say, but

“

“They’re getting the titles wrong.”

Detective Oliver Marchant absently looked up at his wife’s comment from where he was poring over a stack of spreadsheets at the dining room table. “What was that, dear?”

“They’re getting the titles wrong,” Valerie Marchant repeated, waving at the television screen from her comfortable seat. “By Atlantlan custom, one’s title should be followed by one’s first name, not the last. They should be calling her ‘Lady Alleandre,’ or ‘Dame Alleandre.’ Or, to be fully accurate, ‘Lady Dame Alleandre.’ Not ‘Lady Tretiak.’”

“So has Channel Eight News just sparked a war?” Oliver asked amusedly. His wife was a Professor of History and Anthropology at the University of British Columbia, and her students quickly learned, sometimes painfully, that she was obsessed with accurate detail.

Valerie scowled at him with mock severity, an expression that could terrify anyone who couldn’t recognise the good nature behind it. “I don’t think so. Atlantis, at least, is a civilised nation. I suspect that they’ll be quite easily appeased with the head of whatever idiot wrote that reporter’s copy.”

“Well, I certainly hope so, dear,” Oliver said, leaning back in his chair to see the footage that LANTA had generously released to other news outlets around the world. “Just as long as they don’t” The camera, which had been focussed on Princess Evelynne and Lady Alleandre, focussed in for a close-up of the Princess’ Consort, whose eyes flashed at it with a piercing gaze before shifting away.

“It’s her.”

“Her who?” Valerie asked, looking at her transfixed husband quizzically.

He shook himself, but his stare remained locked on the screen. “Pardon?”

“You said, ‘It’s her.’ Her who? Lady Alleandre?”

“Yes. She’s the Lady in the Shadows.”

About two months previously, Detective Marchant had happened to come across a cloaked figure during a raid on a ship suspected of carrying illegal drugs into Vancouver. The person had easily subdued an armed suspect who had been trying to escape, and revealed a strength and agility that could only be described as unnatural. After leaping thirty feet into the air and disappearing, the Lady in the Shadowsan epithet bestowed by a few Vancouver cops upon a mysterious informant a few years beforehad summoned Marchant to a rooftop high above the city for a more face-to-face meeting

so to speak. The Detective had never actually seen her face, covered as it was by a deep hood, and the Lady’s voice had been disguised with a distorter, but the meeting had still been enlightening, if that wasn’t too ironic a word. It had been a scene right out of a comic book, right up to the point where the Lady in the Shadows had literally flown off into the night.

“What, Lady Alleandre is the Lady in the Shadows? Are you sure?” Oliver’s wife’s voice shook him out of his stupor.

She hadn’t asked him if he was crazy, he noted, which was telling. She had certainly been concerned for his mental state when he had described that night-time rendezvous with the Lady, but eventually he had convinced her that something real had happened. So far, she was the only one he had told.

“Well

” He hesitated. “I’m not positive, but

” The clip of the Princess’ and Consort’s arrival wasn’t very long, but in good journalistic tradition Channel Eight News was recycling it for all it was worth. Once again the camera went in for a close-up, and once again piercing grey eyes drove right through and into Oliver’s brain. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“Well

How old is she now? Twenty? Twenty-one? And she graduated, what, a couple of years ago? You figured the Lady in the Shadowsand I still think that’s far too dramatic a name, by the wayyou figured she went to university for four years. That would make her fifteen or sixteen when she began.”

Oliver nodded. “And the Lady showed up about five or six years ago, as far as I can tell,” he mused. “And she left about two years ago.”

Valerie had snatched up her laptop, which was never far from her hands, and was typing search terms into an engine. A plethora of websites had sprung up surrounding the latest most famous Canadian, something which, on consideration must be more than a little worrying to someone with as much to hide as Lady Alleandre Tretiak. Hmm. Pamela Anderson is from Parksville, too, Oliver mused distractedly. Maybe it’s something in the water.

A few clicks later, his wife murmured, “Graduated two years ago, Physics Honours

Managed to cut a semester off by stacking courses. Smart one. And

yes, enrolled at sixteen.” She read some more “The timing works out about right,” she said finally. “I don’t know for sure, but it doesn’t look like she had any student loans.”

“CrimeStoppers paid for a lot of it,” Oliver said wryly. “Something I consider a very worthwhile investment, by the way.”

“So that’s Vancouver’s very own superhero,” Valerie said speculatively, watching the screen, where past footage of Alleandre Tretiak and Evelynne deMolay was still showing. “I suppose I can see it,” she said reluctantly. “Sort of a dark, brooding, Batman type.”

“You have no idea.” There was silence for a few moments, as Oliver watched Lady Alleandre’s speech and movement, mentally matching it to the dark, almost sensuous movements of the Lady in the Shadows. “You know, if I’m right, she’s been doing this kind of thing since at least sixteen.” The Detective glanced at his wife. “At sixteen, the most important thing I ever did was buy an all-terrain vehicle. I thought that was pretty impressive at the time.”

“Since before then. In grade ten she pulled four students and a teacher out of a burning high school science lab.”

“You think that’s when she got her

powers?”

Valerie glared at him witheringly. “Now I know you’re not that stupid. The only thing bizarre chemicals and radiation gets you in the real world is death. A radioactive spider bites you and you pray the worst thing that happens is a rash.”

There was quiet for a few more minutes, until the news program had finally met the limits of the public’s three-minute attention span and started in on the latest doom and gloom from around the world.

“So what are you going to do?” Valerie asked.

“I have absolutely no idea.”

The Royal Country House to which Ally and Evelynne had travelled, along with their retinue, was so named with typical aristocratic understatement. It was actually a set of buildings which even collectively were smaller than the Summer Palace, to be sure, and much smaller than the Royal Palace in Jamaz, but just meant the smallest was more a mansion than a castle. Unusually for Atlantl, it displayed a very British style, without the Arabic and Mayan influences that were found in most of the Realm’s architecture. It had been built only two centuries before by the reigning King of the time as a gift for his new Queen, who had been minor nobility in England. Unfortunately, the architect had chosen, either through ignorance or design, to combine several styles, from Tudor to Victorian to Gothic, in its construction, leaving a set of buildings that were subtly jarring to the aesthetic senses.

None of the discontinuity had bothered Ally in the slightest, as she had focussed almost exclusively on the huge, hedonistically comfortable bed in the room she and Evelynne were occupying. A night spent beside her fianc?e in utter exhausted sleep had been followed by a morning of much more energetic pursuits, and then another afternoon of sleep and relaxation, as months of tension and isolation slowly began to erode.

On the second morning after their arrival, Evelynne had disappeared into the part of the complex set aside for administrationno ruler was ever really on “vacation”to take care of the massive bureaucracy involved with returning from the Geranin Protocol, leaving Ally at loose ends. Despite the furor of the past few days, it would take some time to make the preparations and set up the materiel that would allow her to take a more active role in the investigations. A preliminary meeting had been scheduled for two days hence, which would lay the groundwork for a team that would be able, hopefully, to make the best use of the unique talents Ally and her familiars could summon.

Currently, Ally was going over a report on what the Atlantlan government had been able to piece together of the movements of those who would become the Invaders, prior to the Invasion. It was quite remarkably detailed, but with the kind of clarity that only 20/20 hindsight could produce. At the time, the movements of thousands of itinerant labourers, tourists, and survivalist campers had seemed routine, unworthy of attention. Some intelligence had been gathered on them at the time as a matter of course, but the information had been of low priority. One of the intriguing aspects that the author of the report had picked up on was the suggestion that the more threatening data had been rerouted and suppressed in some way, pointing to someone with influence within Guard Intelligence itself. Ally could almost see the pattern the author was describing, but there was far too much information that required a deep familiarity with the intelligence community, something that the author obviously believed every reader would have.

It was with some relief, therefore, that she answered the knock on the door of the library where she had ensconced herself. The Master of her personal Guard detail, Colonel Nixon, entered when Ally called, looking as sharp and deadly as usual in her purple and green uniform, the rich gold triple triangle of her new rank glistening on her arm. In a matching uniform, but bearing the single silver triangle of a Sergeant, another one of her Guards accompanied the Colonel.

“Dicky, hi,” Ally greeted, smiling. “Is everything okay?”

The Colonel visibly suppressed a long-suffering sigh at the familiar nickname. As the child of American refugees fleeing the McCarthy Persecutions and bearing such a notorious surname, it had been inevitable that she would be instantly assigned the moniker of Theodora “Dicky” Nixon the first day of her Guard training. “Everything is quite well, My Lady,” she replied. “There are no emergencies. There is simply an issue that I felt should be brought to your attention, if you have the time.”

Ally winced wryly. “I don’t suppose you could just call me ‘Ally’ and leave the ‘My Ladies’ outside, huh?” she asked, knowing the answer even without touching Nixon’s mind.

“No, My Lady,” the Colonel said firmly, but with a twinkle in her eye, confirming Ally’s guess.

“Well fine, then, Colonel,” Ally said, repressively. “Just so long as you don’t start calling me ‘Ma’am.’ You know I’ll have to hurt you then.” She didn’t know what it was, but she and Nixon seemed to have developed a perfectly natural easy rapport with each other. It almost felt like gaining an older and insanely protective big sister. Ally’s theory was that the psyche of each person had a “frequency” to it which interacted with the psyches of those around them on a totally unconscious level. Sometimes there was a dissonance between the two signals, leading to totally irrational discomfort and dislike, but equally there could be a resonance between the two auras, creating an instant appeal. Of course, further interaction could render the unconscious tendency irrelevant, turning an immediate antipathy into a friendship, or an attraction into repulsion. “And

Sergeant Gyrus, right?”

“Yes, My Lady,” Gyrus replied, obviously just stopping himself from saluting. Tension and anxietyoddly combined with exhilaration and awepoured off the young man in waves that Ally didn’t even need her empathic talents to read.

“Actually, it’s Sergeant Gyrus whom I wish to discuss with you, My Lady,” the Colonel explained.

“Oh. Okay. Please, sit down. There was actually something I was wanting to get your opinion on, but you go ahead.”

“Thank you, My Lady,” Nixon replied, and Gyrus murmured the same as they took their seats. On the surface their postures looked almost identical, but where Colonel Nixon was upright and alert, but otherwise relaxed, Sergeant Gyrus was ramrod straight, and Ally wondered whether it was because of her own supposedly lofty rank, or her status as an Adept.

“So what’s going on?”

Nixon opened her mouth to speak and hesitated. “Perhaps Sergeant Gyrus can explain it to you better, My Lady.”

Even though he remained admirably under control, it was clear that the Sergeant was squirming inside. “Er, yes, Ma’am. My Lady, after you left, I was

When you had left

After seeing what you

” Gyrusstumbled and stammered, until he finally gave up. “Ah, perhaps if I show you, My Lady?”

“Sure,” Ally said, baffled.

Her confusion remained when the Sergeant placed a brand new one-talen coin on the coffee table in front of him. He focussed his attention on the coin, face furrowing in concentration, and understanding and growing excitement began to dawn in Ally’s thoughts. She kept a very careful rein on her own abilities, not wanting to influence this experiment in any way, assuming what she guessed was true, but watched intently. There was dead silence for perhaps fifteen seconds, and then Gyrus’ face abruptly relaxed, sweat beading on his forehead. At the same time, without any perceptible outside force, the coin moved a few centimetres to the side.

“Wow,” Ally breathed, and Gyrus jerked slightly, as though he had almost forgotten that she was there. “That’s impressive.”

“Uh, thank you, My Lady,” Gyrus said, blushing. “I’m afraid that’s as far as I can move it, though.”

“It’s still more than most people can do,” Ally murmured distractedly, picking up the coin and examining it intently.

“That’s what I told the Sergeant when he first came to me with this, My Lady,” Nixon agreed. “Since then I’ve had him practicing regularly.”

“Oh?” Ally looked up. “Have you improved?”

“In a way, My Lady.” Gyrus seemed to be more relaxed now that his secret was revealed. “I still can’t move anything very far, and it still takes a long time, but I can do it almost every time I try now. In the beginning it was maybe one in five.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure how much use only a few centimetres can be, My Lady.”

“No? Believe me, things don’t need to be big to be effective. Suppose you lose your keys? The tumblers in a lock only have to move a few millimetres. Or

I don’t know, typing on a keyboard without touching it. I’m sure you devious security types can think up a few more things.”

Nixon looked speculative, and Gyrus was clearly contemplating new possibilities. “You’re right, My Lady,” he said finally. “I, ah, I suppose we’re just not used to considering things like this.”

“Something we will have to rectify immediately,” Nixon said. “Alright, Sergeant, you have another new duty. I want a report on all possible uses and adaptations for your ability.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Gyrus said with enthusiasm, and Ally laughed.

“Sergeant, I saw that you were concentrating, and concentrating, and then you suddenly

let go, and then the coin moved. Is that how is always works?”

“So far, My Lady. I seem to

build up the energy, and then let it all go all at once,” Gyrus explained.

“Interesting. It seems to take a lot of effort,” Ally mused.

“I suppose so, My Lady. Uh

is it difficult for you?” the Sergeant asked hesitantly.

“For me? No, not really,” Ally replied, thinking back. “It used to be. I had to overcome my ingrained societal belief that what I was doing was ‘impossible.’ Now I suppose I know on a much more fundamental level that it is actually possible, so it’s easier. Now I just wrap my mind around whatever I’m moving and

do it.” She held up the coin between two fingers and then let go. The coin remained floating in the air, moving slightly as though bobbing on the air currents. “It’s like moving an arm or a leg. We don’t really have to think about that.” The coin began making lazy figure eights in the air, while Nixon and Gyruslooked on, fascinated. Ally slowly lowered the coin to the table, balancing it perfectly on edge, and then took away her mind. It fell to the table, spinning. “Maybe it’s like that for you,” she continued, drawing the Sergeant’s attention once more. “You have to concentrate really hard, convincing yourself that you really can do it. Then when you subconsciously believe, you relax and the rest of it becomes effortless. The difficult part is overcoming a few decades of ingrained disbelief.”

“That makes sense, My Lady,” Gyrus said, nodding slowly.

“It does,” Ally agreed. She shrugged. “Then again, it could be how you described it the first time: building up the energy slowly and then releasing it all at once. Like blowing up a balloon and then popping it. Believe me, I’ve got lots of theories, but I know about as much as you do about the actual physics involved.” She cocked her head at Gyrus, considering. “We could try an experiment. I could scan your mind while you try it again and see what I can sense. It’s up to you, though. I won’t go into your mind without your permission.”

Once again, the half-excited, half-terrified expression was back. “Uh

if you think that will help, My Lady.”

“Really, Sergeant, it’s up to you. You have a few days to think about it, anyway.” Ally scowled. “Evy’s forbidden me from scanning anyone until next Monday, on pain of

Actually, never mind what it’s on pain of. I had some

problems recently due to telepathic contact.”

Gyrus showed admirable Guard disinterest in what might be going on in his charge’s personal life. “I knew you were

ill, My Lady. I didn’t know it was because of

that.”

“I’m afraid so. It should actually be a warning to you, Sergeant. If you do decide to investigate this further, you should realise that there are precious few facts or signposts about abilities like these. Even I don’t know what all the dangers might be, either in the short term or long term,” Ally said seriously.

“I’m beginning to see that, My Lady.” The Sergeant glanced at Colonel Nixon, who was letting him make up his own mind. “I think this is something I need to do, though.”

“Believe me, I understand that need. Well, come back on Tuesday and we’ll see what we can do. But feel free to ask me questions at any time.”

“Thank you, My Lady. I’ll do that.”

“Good,” Nixon approved. “Now, My Lady, you said you had something you wanted to discuss?”

“Oh yes. It’s this idea I had, and I wanted to get your opinion

“

Chapter 7

“I’m telling you, you should get the doctor to look at it.” The comment echoed slightly in the hallway, along with the sound of footsteps. The steps formed an interesting counterpoint to the rain that beat against the windows.

“It’s nothing.” A significant pause. “Alright, fine, so I don’t want some Guard doctor, who can probably shoot the rear out of a mosquito, to hear me complaining because I sprained my finger while firing a gun.”

Ally looked down at her partner in amusement. “You did it again.”

Evelynne’s brow wrinkled. “Did what again?”

“‘Shoot the rear out of a mosquito?’ Your American roots are showing again, love.”

The princess blushed. “Well, I did clean it up a little.”

“I noticed that,” Ally replied. She turned more serious. “Really, does it hurt a lot?”

Evelynne flexed her finger, wincing. “Not enough to go to a doctor.” She grinned upwards seductively. “Enough to require some more… personal attention this evening, though,” she whispered.

Ally cocked an eyebrow and glanced up and down the hallway before answering. “Really? That works out well, because I think I pulled a muscle right up here in my thigh,” she whispered back.

“Hmm, that does work out well.”

Banter continued as they continued down the hallway. Walking several paces in front, Sir Arthur and Colonel Nixon exchanged glances. The group had come from a morning-long primer in self-defence and firearms, and it was obvious adrenaline was still running high in the two younger women.

The training had been a non-negotiable stipulation by the King and Queen on their return to a more public life, and one with which both Masters of the Guard agreed wholeheartedly. As little as a year ago, the idea of turning the Royalty into self-sufficient fighters would have been unheard-of. Of course, plenty of previous Kings, Queens and Heirs had entered military service at some point in their lives, and even maintained their skills when they took their full titles, yet it had been considered… superfluous. After all, the Guard was ever-present, men and women dedicated to protecting their charges without hesitation.

The Invasion had changed all that. The entire Royal family had suddenly been very nearly taken hostage by a single determined assassin, while the very Royal palace itself had been nearly overrun by foreign fighters. Abruptly, the idea of training those Nobles to protect themselves from personal attackbeyond the basic skills which were taught as part of security trainingwas very appealing. It wasn’t only the Royal family, either. Nobles across the Realm were suddenlyawake to the knowledge that the Guard was not as invincible as everyone had once believed, and the art of self-defence was once more becoming a Noble pastime. The tutelage of Swordmasters, marksmen, martial artists, and retired military personnel was in high demand. Some Nobles were even seeking overseas in an effort to lure the best teachers. Karate, judo, tai kwon do, fencingnot the gentleman’s Olympic sport, but true lethal sword-playboxing, and a dozen others were suddenly very popular. Even the ordinary populace was beginning to catch on, taking its cue from it rulers, and if the common citizenry could not entice the very best teachers, they could at least afford those who were still highly skilled.

Militias, sanctioned by local Nobles, were springing up in towns and cities across the islands, ordinary citizens who wanted to be prepared to defend their communities should any threat arise once more. These were not simple ragtag bands of individuals who just happened to own guns, however. By Royal decree, every militia had to be chartered and have a formal chain of command, its membership made known to the Crown along with its total arsenal of weaponry. Strict training requirements were in place, to ensure that the resulting defenders did not become more of a danger than any external threat which might arise. The Crown had made instructors from the Guard and military available. As well, every militia could be automatically incorporated into existing Guard or Army units if the need arose.

None of that made an immediate impact on Ally and Evelynne. The pair had just come from their first lesson in shooting. Contrary to all expectations except her own, Ally had proven only moderately skilled in marksmanship. Those who knew of her talents had expected a near-superhuman result, and the young woman’s performance had been disappointing. In reality, it had been respectable enough for a neophyte, but it seemed everyone had come to expect the impossible from the Adept. The unfair and unspoken, yet easily felt, disappointment had affected Ally, causing her to draw into herself in embarrassment, until her fianc?e had subtly taken everyone to task for their feelings.

Eventually, Ally had explained that the only reason she could do the things she could were because they were somehow personal to her. Moving an object telekinetically or enhancing her strength was a feat that required a direct personal connection between her mind and her goal. It was something she made a part of herself, even if only temporarily. She could throw an object at any target she could see with near-unerring accuracy, but a gun actually provided a barrier of sorts between herself and the bullet she was firing.

Evelynne had proven quite promising, displaying good eye-hand coordination. Now all she needed to do was learn to control the kick-back of the firing.

The group reached an innocuous-looking door which Sir Arthur opened and peered through suspiciously. Satisfied that the room within was secure, he turned back. “Martinez, Li-He, you’re on the door.”

“Yes, Sir,” Lieutenant Martinez and Corporal Li-He, the two Guards taking up the rear of the entourage, replied in unison. They waited until their respective commanders had ushered their charges into the room and then took up positions on either side of the door.

Inside the room, Ally grinned in delight as a stocky form rose to greet her from his place at a long conference table alongside a much thinner one. “Chorus!” she exclaimed, rushing forward to throw her arms around him. Gleaming white teeth in a grinning black face shone at her. “When did you get here?”

“About a half hour ago,” Chorus replied. “I wanted to come find you, but they told me you were cleaning up after playing Rambo all morning. Hello, Evelynne.”

“Hello, Keitumetsemosimaniwapula,” Evelynne said, smiling and coming forward to receive her own hug. “I’ve been practicing, you’ll notice.”

“I notice.” The extraordinarily long name was the young man’s real one, but he normally went by “Chorus,” much to the relief of all. “I brought along my assistant.”

Taldas Islin’s handsome face furrowed in a frown. “Assistant, ha! The brains behind the operation, more like. Hey, Boss. Your Highness.” The man’s greeting to Evelynne was far more formal than that to his onetime leader. Ally had hired him early in the year for her team at the dig site of the antediluvian city of Aztlan, where him talents for electronics, programming, and unconventional ideas had some in very useful. Taldas had also been present during the Invasion, and had been witness to his Boss’ startling abilities.

“Taldas, please, call me Evelynne.”

“Of course, ah… Evelynne.” Taldas grinned sheepishly.

“So what have you two been up to?” Ally asked.

“Well, actually, we’ve been”

Chorus’ explanation was interrupted by a cleared throat. A stern, unsmiling man and an innocent-looking woman were also standing at the table, unnoticed until now.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” the man said. He was fit without being massive, and his skin was an interesting golden-brown colour. “I’m General ab-Warat. I replaced General Danun as Director of the Common Guard.”

“Ah yes. Congratulations on your appointment.” The princess’ tone was now very formal. “We’ll all miss General Danun, I know.”

It was a bit of a stretch. Evelynne had developed a dislike for the previous Director of the Guard, after the woman had all-but-threatened Ally in the aftermath of first learning about the young woman’s powers. Ally and Evelynne’s relationship had been very new at the time, and the revelation had nearly destroyed it. They had weathered that storm, though, and Evelynne had developed a retroactive resentment of the General’s actions. Still, the woman had been an effective and skilled Director, and her death in one of the first explosions of the Invasioninside her own office in the Guard Headquarters, no lesshad been a blow to the Realm as a whole.

“We will indeed, Your Highness,” the new Director agreed.

“General, I’d like you to meet my Consort, Dame Alleandre Tretiak.” Evelynne waved her fianc?e forward.

“Your Ladyship,” ab-Warat greeted politely with a typical Atlantlan salute. “I am pleased to meet you at last.” Despite his words, there was a discomfort and wariness to his demeanour, although Ally couldn’t tell whether it was due to her relationship with the Princess, her abilities, or something else.

“Likewise, General, ” Ally replied.

“Your Highness, Your Ladyship, I’m Helena Klaussen,” the cherubic woman spoke up, breaking some of the tension. “Head of Internal Security.”

“Ms Klaussen, it’s good to see you again. We’ve met at a few functions, haven’t we?” Evelynne’s tone was much warmer.

“We have, Your Highness. The last time, in fact, I got to participate in a very fascinating discussion with Lady Alleandre on the use of Schr?dinger’s Equation on a cosmic scale.” She smiled at Ally. “Well, when I say ‘participate’ I mean listen rather dumbly and try to follow along.”

“I remember,” Ally said. It had been at one of her first grand balls upon arriving in Atlantl. Never particularly social, Ally had withdrawn to a safe “wallflower” distance until someone had asked her a question on her Honours thesis. Quite a number of interested people had congregated around the discussion, although Ally had barely noticed. “If it helps, it looked as though you understood every word.”

“A fa?ade, I assure you. Perhaps one of these days you might explain everything to me in terms one would use with a four-year-old.”

“I’ll do that,” Ally agreed, smiling.

“Your Highness, if you would care to take a seat so that we may start the briefing.” General ab-Warat was obviously trying to steal control, that much was clear to Ally.

Still, Evelynne sat agreeably enough, although it didn’t fool her Consort. Ally knew the Princess was just biding her time before exerting her own authority. Once everyone was seated, the General spoke again.

“Your Highness, Your Ladyship, as you can see, I have put together a preliminary schedule and list of ways in which Lady Alleandre will be able to use her… talents to aid in the Guard investigations. In particular, Your Ladyship, your alleged telepathic ability will come in very useful in the interrogation of suspects. In addition, there are several ways in which I believe you will be able to use your other skills to assist. I’m afraid these duties will require frequent and protracted periods at Guard Headquarters in Jamaz, Your Highness, and I will be forced to claim your… Consort for some extended periods of time.”

Evelynne just nodded absently, continuing to read the briefing folder before her. Ally had already finished, her talent for speed-reading and total recall coming into play, and she sat back in her chair with her arms crossed, her face stony. Chorus was looking on with shock, Taldas with uncertainty, and Helena Klaussen sat with her hand hiding her eyes. Sir Arthur and Colonel Nixon shared an incredulous glance before the Colonel spread her arms wide, as though spread-eagled, although it looked only like a stretch. Sir Arthur understood, though, and smirked imperceptibly. They both remembered the last Guard Director who had made Ally feel threatened. General Danun had ended up pinned to the wall by her desk, and Colonelthen MajorNixon had found herself hung from another wall by an invisible force, each of them looking down the barrels of their own guns.

ab-Warat continued explaining his plans, while Ally remained motionless, flicking one of the heavy metal pens on the table between her fingers, and Evelynne just sat attentively. Finally, when the General was finished, the Princess spoke.

“A very thorough briefing, General,” she said mildly, and only Colonel Nixon was in a position to see her hand holding her Consort’s tightly under the table. “You have certainly come up with some very interesting suggestions.” She subtly stressed the word, and the General reacted with a quick start of either surprise or annoyance. “We will definitely take them under advisement. For the moment, however, allow me to explain to you what will happen. To begin with, Lady Alleandre will have final veto power over all proposals, something I noticed you… neglected to mention in your report. Second, Lady Alleandre and anyone she deems helpful will not be working for the Guard or any other government agency. She and her team will work with the Guard or anyone else as the particular situation warrants. Third, the physical conditions under which Lady Alleandre works, including her location, will be entirely subject to her own wishes and necessities. I feel certain she will be willing to respond to requests at other locations depending on the situation, but that will be entirely of her own volition. Fourth, the team which Lady Alleandre will likely assemble will be strictly under her purview and consists of only those individuals she deems acceptable. I believe Mr Tladi and Mr Islin will be a part of that team, but ultimately the choice is hers.” Chorus and Taldas nodded quickly. “It may be that a liaison officers of sorts will be needed or desired in order to facilitate coordination between her team and various government agencies. You are quite welcome to suggest candidates for this post, as is Ms Klaussen, but once more the power of decision will rest solely with Lady Alleandre. Fifth, any attempt by an agency to coerce, intimidate, or threaten Lady Alleandre into compliance will be dealt with appropriately.”

There was a quiet creak as Ally casually and almost gently bent her pen into a U-shape between the fingers of one hand. She then continued to flip it over her fingers casually.

“Are there any questions, General? Ms Klaussen?”

There was silence around the table. Colonel Nixon leaned over minutely to her fellow Master and murmured, “Splat.” Sir Arthur nodded subtly, hiding his amusement. While Princess Evelynne’s speech may not have had been as physically spectacular as Lady Alleandre throwing people across the room, in its own way it was just as impressive.

“I have no questions at present, Your Highness, Your Ladyship,” Helena Klaussen said quietly, “but I do have some suggestions.”

“I’d be happy to hear them,” Ally said, speaking up for the first time.

“Your Highness, I must object,” ab-Warat exclaimed, and Sir Arthur sighed while Klaussen didn’t even bother concealing her eyeroll. “The investigations we are engaged in are far too serious to leave in the hands of civilians. Will all due respect to Lady Alleandre, she is hardly qualified to lead an inquiry of this magnitude, no matter her apparent… talents. It would be much more effective, not to mention safer, to allow properly qualified personnel control.”

Evelynne nodded, still with that maddening mildness. “You believe that Lady Alleandre is too unskilled in the ways of espionage to handle a situation like this, General? Smuggling, subterfuge, forgery, code-breaking, stealth, data analysis, and the like?”

The General nodded stubbornly. “With all due respect, I do, Your Highness.”

“Mmm. Lady Alleandre, could you please tell us by how much you reduced the smuggling of illegal drugs into Vancouver while you were living there?”

“Nineteen percent,” Ally said flatly.

“And the total value of the bounty you won for providing the information that resulted in last year’s interceptions? And, incidentally, the first proof that someone was smuggling arms into the Realm.”

“Somewhere in the neighbourhood of a hundred million tali.”

“A result based on over ten billion tali worth of seized contraband, I might add. Certainly a basic knowledge of smuggling at the least. Oh, General, can you tell us how Lady Alleandre smuggled us both out of the country immediately following the Invasion?” Evelynne asked innocently.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, Your Highness,” the General replied, his face stiff and red. “Our inquiries have been”

“The Roman Strider,” Klaussen broke in quietly. “A Bahamas-registry cargo ship bound for Panama. You stowed away in the hold. However, you did not disembark at its final destination, as far as we can determine, which suggests you jumped to another ship at least once during the crossing. Geographical location suggests you landed in eastern Canada or the United States, although you could have then moved further west. It’s also possible that you went in an entirely different direction, eventually ending up in west Africa or South America, but I think it unlikely, given that you returned from Calgary.”

Evelynne looked at the head of Internal Security with her brows raised. “Impressive,” she said. “Would you care to know where we ended up?”

“Thank you, but no, Your Highness. I’m having far too much fun finding out on my own.”

Evelynne chuckled and Ally smiled. “Well, let us know when you find out.” The Princess turned back to a near-apoplectic ab-Warat, becoming serious once more. “Ms Klaussen is correct. In addition, Lady Alleandre was able to procure forged documents that facilitated our stay. Now, for data analysis… What is your degree in, My Lady?”

“Theoretical Quantum Physics.”

“Now, I’m quite clueless as to what that entails, exactly, but I would imagine it requires high intelligence, reasoning skills, and analysis of experimental data. Quite the skills needed for examining intelligence data, am I correct, General?” Evelynne didn’t give him time to reply. “As for stealth… Lady Alleandre, can you please describe to us exactly what the interior of Saint Peter’s Basilica looks like at three o’clock in the morning? Particularly the document archives.”

This time Ally squirmed in embarrassment. “I was curious,” she said almost sulkily. “They close off a whole lot of the place to the public during the day. I wanted to see what was there. The Sistine Chapel looks cool in the dark.”

“I’ll be sure to tell the Pope,” Evelynne said wryly. “So, General, would you concede that Lady Alleandre has at least the basic skills needed for work of this type? I’m sure she would be the first to admit that she is far from an expert, but perhaps a fresh, unbiased pair of eyes is just what this investigation needs. Don’t you agree?”

There was silence once more, as Sir Arthur leaned subtly nearer Colonel Nixon.

“Splat,” he agreed.

After that, the discussion proceeded rather more smoothly. Ideas had been thrown around freely once it was realised that they were welcome so long as they conformed to the ground rules Evelynne had laid down so emphatically. Klaussen had jumped into the fray with enthusiasm, displaying the intense desire to solve a puzzle that had led her to her current position as head of Atlantl’s domestic intelligence agency. She was creative and often unorthodox, traits that naturally drew her to Ally and Taldas, who were prone to flights of imaginative thinking that were sometimes hard to follow.

By contrast, Sir Arthur and Chorus provided a sense of grounding in practical issues. Chorus had already been working for Guard Intelligence as a civilian contractor in a code-breaking role. The young man’s Savant ability, less directly powerful than an Adept’s but still incredibly useful, was a preternatural talent for languages, and since any code was just a translation of a statement into another language, in time he could break even the most intricate code, given enough time and information. It was his efforts which had alerted the Guard to the fact that enemy combatants had breached the security of the Royal Palace and Hall of Nobles during the Invasion.

Sir Arthur had also played a part in detecting the presence of the Invaders, although his method was far more esoteric. The Master of the Heir’s Guard was actually a precognitive, as well as an empath. Not even Ally had any concrete idea of how his ability to know the future worked, and it was completely unpredictable, but it had given the Guard a few moments to prepare themselves for when the Invaders had dropped their disguises and attacked. In the aftermath, Sir Arthur had been temporarily detached to head his own investigative team, since without a charge to protect, his position as Personal Guard was superfluous. His searches had taken him overseas, where his infallible ability to tell when someone was lying had borne very useful results. He had also conducted many interviews on the islands themselves, clearing various officials in sensitive positions of any collusion in the attack.

Colonel Nixon had restricted herself to topics directly relating to the protection of her charge. Matters relating to security arrangements were her responsibility, a desire to see her charge dangerously exposed as little as possible.

Eventually, General ab-Warat had emerged from his sulk to contribute, and his subsequent suggestions were actually quite intelligent ideas. Evelynne had to reign him in a couple of times he got too presumptuous, but he displayed an efficiency and pragmatism that were invaluable. He did not seem to be burdened with an overabundance of ethics, as evidenced by his desire to have Ally scan the minds of every suspect brought into custody, which could be a bit disturbing, but it did give insight into some of the darker possibilities of their task.

“There is something we think can help,” Chorus was saying, looking at a laptop screen. “Taldas and I have been working on it for a while.” He nodded to the man next to him to continue.

“For several months now, Chorus and I have been working on a way to gain easier access to encrypted computer networks. If the Invasion was an operation by some foreign intelligence agency, there would probably be some record of it in their most secure archives. So we’ve been using Chorus’ linguistic ability to construct software and hardware that can communicate with other systems directly through the machine code. We’ve developed a prototype that seems to be quite effective. Actually, I should say that Chorus did all the really revolutionary stuff. I mostly provided the gruntwork.”

“Hardly that,” Chorus objected. “I would never have known what to do if Taldas hadn’t taught me, and he’s the one who created the hardware.”

“Well, all I know is that I have no clue how Chorus’ program does what it does. By everything I know about programming, which is quite a lot, the thing shouldn’t work at all. It’s got looping self-reference code that should be impossible to start or end, broken syntax that should cause the whole thing to crash, and patches of what is quite literally gibberish throughout. By every rule of computer programming I know, the damned thing should be as effective as a toaster in communicating with anything.” Taldas looked a little guilty. “Ah, sorry, Your Highness.”

“I think I can stand some damned swearwords,” Evelynne replied wryly.

“Ah. Yes.”

“Of course, what Taldas isn’t telling you is that the hardware he’s created should also be impossible,” Chorus added. “I showed some of his blueprints to a few techs and they told me the machine would probably work very well as a paperweight.”

“Well, actually, the machine is heuristic and self-modifying. Boss, you remember the discussion we had about evolving computers?” Ally nodded. “Well, I finally got the funds to do the work I really wanted. The computer I made will make a minute change to its core components, test the result, keep the beneficial factors and throw out the rest. Darwinian programming. The down-side is that it’s about the size of this table.”

“Not quite a laptop yet?” Ally asked.

“So you have this computer which shouldn’t work, running a program that shouldn’t run,” ab-Warat said impatiently. “The question is: Does it work?”

“It does,” Chorus said, nodding. “We tested it by…” He trailed off. “Evelynne, can you grant a pardon if we’ve done something really naughty?”

“I’m pretty sure we can come to an arrangement if you did it for our national interests.”

“Oh, of course. National interests,” Chorus said firmly, and Taldas nodded emphatically. “Not because we thought it would be cool at all.” Equally emphatic head-shakes. “Well, we, uh, we broke into the Atlantlan Air Force R&D mainframe and downloaded the plans for the latest stealth fighter prototype. Codenamed Nox, I think.”

There was a sputter as Klaussen choked on a glass of water, and ab-Warat looked like he had swallowed his pen. Sir Arthur banged his knee on the underside of the table, while Colonel Nixon just looked impressed.

“That’s impossible,” the General said flatly. “I’ve received no reports of an unauthorised intrusion into the AAF system.” He looked uncertainly at Klaussen, who shook her head.

In response, Chorus turned his laptop screen to show the wire-frame model of an odd-looking aircraft. “There wouldn’t be,” he said. “There’s no trace. The program interacts with the external network entirely on the machine level, and essentially looks to all security protocols as though it’s part of the system, or at worst a random scrap of corrupted memory. When it exits the system, it can remove every trace that it was ever there, down to the last bit, and also restores the original data to exactly how it was before it was penetrated, right down to the physical location of its memory components. Passwords and encryption don’t help, because our program becomes part of the password code itself. Encryption can be tricky, but it’s fairly easy to break by analysing the structure of the database itself, something that’s done when the encrypted data is returned to our mainframe. About the only way to detect us is to monitor the actual network bandwidth usuage with high accuracy. Hardly anyone does that, and even then we can probably infiltrate the monitor program itself.”

General ab-Warat looked stunned, and even Klaussen was practically salivating at the thought of the intelligence that could be gained with such a system.

“It’s still got bugs,” Taldas said before either could speak. “According to Chorus, the programming is organic, with all the quirks and idiosyncrasies that implies, and the hardware is constantly evolving as well.”

“I swear, three weeks ago the thing was sulking because I opened a can of soda at my desk,” Chorus added.

“Really?” Taldas asked. “Personally, I think it purrs when I enter the room. Anyway, it’s not perfect, and I don’t think we want to be inside the CIA mainframe and have the thing decide it’s bored and start wondering what this line of code does.”

Klaussen winced, as did Evelynne, at the thought of the diplomatic repercussions of such an event. Of course, every intelligence agency in the world was constantly trying to crack the networks of its enemiesand allies, but revelation of a program that could do it this easily would frighten them, and create problems nobody needed.

“Perhaps not foreign agencies,” ab-Warat agreed reluctantly. “But we can probably use it internally, as long as we know it’s being used. I presume the program can accept search criteria.”

“It can,” Chorus said, nodding. “It takes a while, but it’s far more comprehensive than anything else I’ve seen.”

“In that case, we know the Invaders had help from someone in the Realm. If we can find information about that person in a database somewhere, we can find that person or persons. I also feel no compunction over going through the networks of criminal organisations.”

“We figured that,” Taldas said. “It takes some time for Chorus to program the search criteria, but I think we can send out a feeler almost like a worm that would go from system to system. It would only send back information it figured was appropriate, so we won’t be invading people’s privacy wholesale.” He glanced at Evelynne, who nodded firmly.

“Well, I think we have a plan there,” Ally said. “Now, how are we going to integrate this into the investigation?”

“You really don’t pull any punches, do you, Evelynne?” Chorus asked.

He and the princess were standing by a sideboard, constructing sandwiches from ingredients that had been laid out. Behind them, Ally and Taldas were intently discussing some esoteric subject, possibly related to some new discovery at the Aztlan excavation where the two had met. Neither worked there now, but Marjorie Melan, a third member of the team, was currently heading up a new “Alternative Theories Group.”

Ally was also cradling another female in her lap, scratching behind the ears as they spoke. Cassie’s eyes, set in a gray face just under those triangular ears, were slitted with pleasure. Ally had originally rescued the cat the previous year, after one of her infamous Angel raids, before Evelynne had learned of her abilities. While the pair had been in America, Chorus had taken over care of the feline, and was now returning Cassiopeia to her rightful slave. The cat had sniffed at Ally’s hand before flouncing away with distainful disinterest, but had finally been coaxed back with the liberal application of bribes in the form of smoked salmon.

“What do you mean?” Evelynne asked. “Oh, you mean the General? No, I don’t, at least where Ally is concerned.”

“That’s pretty obvious. And I don’t think he’ll make the same mistake twice.”

“Oh, I think he will, at least once. He’s used to getting his own way. The General was Commandant of Invers Base, the main Guard training facility, for about fifteen years. So he’ll try again, probably more subtly, and Ally or I will have to smack his hands again.”

“I’ll take your word for it, if you promise to let me know when you do. I’d like to be in the next county.” Chorus grinned, adding a healthy amount of hot sauce. “So how are you and Ally doing? How did the big wide world treat you when you were away?”

Evelynne’s smile faltered. “There were some parts that were not so good. Ally… Well, something happened to Ally a few months back. I think she’d prefer if we told you together, someplace safe. She… It was bad.”

“Oh. Is she okay now?” Chorus asked concernedly, casting a worried glance at his friend.

“She’s… better,” Evelynne said, shaking off the dark memories and adding more mustard to the sandwich she was constructing. “I don’t know if she’ll ever be entirely back to her old self, but we’re working on it.” She cast a quick telepathic thought to her lover, nodded at the silent reply, and began adding a generous amounts of hot peppers.

“That’s good. I thought she seemed more… solemn. I just thought it was because of her mother.”

“No, that’s just the latest. Her mother is actually doing really well, considering the way she was hurt. Refusing to just lie down and quit. She’s got this bizarre fantasy scenario where she’s going to be a one-legged pirate, eyepatch and all.”

Chorus laughed. “That sounds like the Mrs Tretiak I know.”

“Cap’n Kate now, thank you. At any rate, another few weeks and the doctors think she’ll be strong enough to be moved down here. Anyway, enough serious talk. We’re supposed to be having a bit of fun.”

“That we are. So where did you go, anyway? What were you doing?” Chorus asked, his face alight with curiosity.

In reply, Evelynne leaned on one leg and lifted a hand to shoulder height, fingers splayed as though holding a tray. “Can Ah take yer order, sir?” she said in an exaggerated but passable southern American accent.

Chorus choked. “You’re joking! Please tell me you’re joking!”

“‘Fraid not, y’all.” Evelynne grinned at her companion’s stunned expression. “Really, though, I was working in a quite pleasant restaurant. Ally was tutoring students at the local college.”

“She would,” Chorus murmured, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of the Heir to Atlantl in a restaurant. Serving, no less. “You’re kidding, right?” he pleaded again. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“I even sang karaoke.”

“No, no, no, this is just not happening.” He paused, peering at her suspiciously. “Karaoke? Really?”

Evelynne nodded. “You should have seen Ally up there on stage doing this incredible ‘Ride the Wildwind’ number. It was… wow. Everyone in the place wanted her that night, I can tell you. Of course, I got her,” she gloated smugly.

“This just isn’t right,” Chorus said flatly. “I’ve fallen into some parallel dimension. Bizarro World, that’s it. Everything backward from how it’s supposed to be. It’s the only rational explanation.”

“Whatever helps you sleep,” Evelynne allowed graciously. She picked up two plates, each bearing a sandwich like a work of art. “Come on, let’s go and Ally and I can tell you and Taldas all the naughty things we got up to.”

Chapter 8

Claire, you’re back!

A startled Claire instinctively braced herself to accept the puppy-enthusiastic greetinga very physical greetinglaunched at her by a grinning blonde woman as she walked through the doors of the Fifth Age. Jean pulled back slightly from the friendly embrace.

Still as hot as ever, I see. Claire blushed black and red before her eyes opened wide as Jean placed a firm kiss on her lips. C’mon, everyone’s waiting. The energetic woman tugged her along by the hand to where a group of people were watching indulgently. You know everyone.

Ah, yeah. Hi all. Claire waved a little bemusedly at the group.

Claire, it’s so good to see you again, a slightly older woman greeted, coming forward for a hug. Narmin was the owner and manager of the bar and restaurant, and had instantly volunteered to host the little reunion on the day the establishment was closed. How have you been? She sobered. How are Ally and Sophia?

It was a little disconcerting to hear her friends referred to by their aliases after several months of knowing their true identities. They’re… better. Ally managed to get some help, so she’s much improved. And you know that whither goest Ally…

… so goest Sophia. Narmin laughed. I know. I’m sorry they didn’t come back for a visit. Even as she said it there was the barest hint of uncertainty in her voice. The Fifth Age had been the site both of Ally’s original encounter with an experimental date rape drug, and her showdown with the woman who had been discovered to have administered the drug. Focussed by rage and pain, and heedless of spectators, Ally had literally thrown the woman across the room before telekinetically pinning her to wall. It was clear that Narmin suspected something out of the realm of the ordinary had happened, but it was likely she had tried to rationalise it in her mind.

They wanted to, Claire assured her. They did send a message, though. she held up the DVD case in her hand.

Jean brightened. Is it porn? she asked eagerly. Claire blushed and shook her head half in resignation, and the blonde woman subsided. Damn. I’d pay to see that.

Well, we’ll be sure to put that on the screen later, Narmin said. Anyway, you’ve met everyone else.

The next while was spent catching up with the staff of the Fifth Age, along with a few friends who had known both Allison and Sophia. They really hadn’t changed in the intervening months. Reggie, the head chef, was still as large and garrulous as ever, though his assistant, Henry, appeared to have gained some confidence. The way he shyly doted on Theresa made her grin. Marc, Narmin’s husband, was as quiet and reserved as ever, but he still smiled freely. Hal, Erin, Alice, and Ken were still servers, while Kelly had moved on to a job with a local advertising firm, but had returned for the party as one of the alumni. She was the target of much ribbing for a particular ad that was running in Horton City that apparently featured elderly men in their underwear. Rounding out the group were Sammy and his boyfriend Josh, who had not worked at the restaurant, but were regulars and had come to know Ally and Sophia very well.

So what can I get you? Jean asked, waving towards the bar.

What are you having? Claire asked back, peering at the glass of carbonated liquid sitting in front of Jean’s chair.

Oh, uh… Coke, Jean replied, and Claire looked at her with surprise until she shrugged. After that thing with Ally, I was, you know, kind of shook up. Started thinking and I realised I might have a problem. Claire nodded. The few times Claire had actually hung out with the other woman Jean had always been well on the way to getting drunk. So I started going to some meetings, and… She shrugged again.

You’re still working here, though?

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Temptation, right? Thing is, I’d be tempted anywhere. At least here I got people watching out for me, you know? And if I can spend a day not-drinking here, I can not-drink anywhere. Narmin lets me just work the restaurant bar, so I’m not behind the bar any more.

Okay. You know, Ally doesn’t drink anymore, either.

Really? Well, with what happened to her you can’t blame her. So anyway, what would you like? And before you get all noble, Jean said, holding up a hand, you don’t have to do some solidarity shit with me, alright? That’s your choice.

Okay. I’ll have a gin and tonic.

Claire spent the next couple of hours talking to the partiers, or more accurately, mostly listening to their conversations. She was amazed at just how strange it was to hear conversation that was so normal. There was no talk of amazing powersbeyond a rather bizarre argument on the merits of Aquaman versus the Silver Surferor conspiraciesbeyond a heated discussion on The X-Filesor anything else of world-shaking import. These were just ordinary people talking about their ordinary lives, and Claire had a long moment of disorientation to realise just how different her life had become.

What are you thinking about? Erin asked, leaning over the arm of her chair.

Oh, just… stuff. Ally and… Sophia, partly.

Oh yeah, you have a video or something from them, don’t you. She called over to Narmin. Hey, Narm! What do you think? Movie time?

A chorus of agreement drowned out Narmin’s initial response. Well, it seems I’m outvoted, she said when she could be heard again. Claire, you have that disk?

There was a sight delay as Narmin tried to set up the DVD player connected to the big TV on the wall. The bar manager was one of those unfortunate individuals who could wipe out a hard drive just by looking at it, and the work this time was tripled by the crowd of self-proclaimed techno-savvy people that crowded around her. Finally, after several false starts, the video was set up, and Narmin glared at everyone before pressing Play on the remote. Claire sat back nervously. She knew what was on the DVD, having been there for the original taping, and wondered what the reaction would be.

There was a general raising of brows as the video started, and the Atlantlan Royal coat-of-arms appeared beside Ally’s blazon on the screen. They faded to show Ally and Evelynne sitting on a couch with that universal look of slight discomfort that everyone displays while sitting and waiting for a camera. Ally was wearing a simple light blue tunic and dark blue pants, while Evelynne was in an elegant beige skirt and white blouse.

Okay, I think it’s on, came from somewhere off-camera. Although… Wait… Is it…

It’s on, Dad, Ally said. I can see the light.

Are you sure? Wait a second, I think I have to do this.

No, Dad, don’t. It’s working fine. Dad, don’t! I said it’s—

The screen went blank for a moment, and Claire buried her face in her hand. It lit again to show Evelynne sitting alone on the couch, obviously trying to contain her laughter.

—anything else and I’ll kill you. Ally’s voice sounded tinny coming from off-screen. Claire, if he touches that camera again I want you to bite his leg off.

I’d rather not. Claire heard her own voice coming from the speakers. I’ll just borrow Dicky’s sword.

Whatever. Ally reappeared, and flopped down next to her fianc?e. Anyway, are we good now?

Go, video-Claire confirmed.

Finally. Hi everyone, Ally said, waving slightly sheepishly into the camera.

Hi Narmin, hi Jean, Evelynne echoed. And Reg, and Theresa, and Erin, and Hal, and Henry, and Kelly, and Alice, and Ken, and Sammy, and Josh. She sucked in a breath. Did I get everyone? she asked her partner, who nodded. In any case, I really hope you’re all doing well. I’d love to hear from all of you one of these days.

Evelynne took another deep breath. So you’re probably wondering where we are and what we’re doing. Well, it’s a little complicated, really. We went home. Actually, it’s originally my home, although now it’s Ally’s home too. Once again Ally nodded, squeezing her partner’s hand. So, we’re back in Atlantl. That’s pretty simple. Where it gets complicated is that you’ll probably be hearing about it on the news, assuming you haven’t already. You see, this was us before we came to Horton City. The shot cut away to a now-famous video clip of Princess Evelynne deMolay announcing her engagement to Dame Alleandre Tretiak before the assembled Noble Conclave. My real name is Evelynne Sophia al-Heru deMolay, and I’m engaged to Alleandre Tiffany Tretiak. From Parksville. The shot cut back to the two women on the couch.

So that’s the big secret, Evelynne said nervously, and Claire could hear jaws hitting the floor and eyes splashing into forgotten drinks. I’m really sorry we had to lie to all of you, but we really couldn’t go about telling the truth, could we? The truth is that the very fact that you didn’t suspect anything and treated us so ordinarily is probably what kept us safe for all those months. And I really was friends with you, and that’s another truth.

So was I, Ally interjected. Well, not with Jean, but I really liked the rest of you. She was smirking as she spoke, and Jean recovered enough to blow a raspberry at the screen.

So now you know, Evelynne continued after elbowing her fianc?e in the ribs. You’re probably wondering why we’re telling you this now. Well, the fact is that Claire’s going to be rejoining us, probably in a few weeks, and sooner or laterprobably soonersomeone’s going to trace her back to Horton City. The town’s going to be crawling with reporters in a while. She winced. Sorry. Anyway, once they’re there you can bet they’re going to hear something about the ‘Lady Alleandre’ and ‘Princess Evelynne’ lookalikes that used to live there. And all of you are smart enough to put the pieces together, so you would figure it out then anyway.

Again, except for Jean, Ally said. She tapped the side of her head. You know she’s a little…

She winced but kept grinning as Evelynne backhanded her in the arm. Ally, what the blazes is your problem with Jean, anyway?

Ally grinned in triumph. Ladies and gentlemen, I present ‘what the blazes.’ You taught her that. You should be proud.

Evelynne sighed long-sufferingly. Why I didn’t leave you there I’ll never know. She addressed the camera once more. So we’re asking you not to say anything to the press. Obviously we can’t force you not to, but it would cause no end of problems if this became public knowledge.

Don’t let her fool you, Ally interjected again. Evy was all for having you all terminated with extreme prejudice, but I managed to convince her not to. Oh, uh, Jean, on a totally unrelated topic, if you could be standing at the corner of Sixth and Thurman at 2:38 PM on Friday and face south we’d really appreciate it. It would just make things a lot simpler. Pay no attention to any construction workers on any rooftops.

For that she got a backhand to the stomach. What is with you today? Ignore her, Evelynne instructed the raptly watching audience. We know that reporters could be offering you a lot of money for information. What we’re willing to do is double any offer you get from them not to say anything. Claire has all the information on contacting us to let us know. She sighed, looking troubled. I know, it sounds like bribery, or blackmail, but I also know that with the amounts of money the press is willing to spend on us, anyone would be tempted. But it doesn’t make me… us feel any more slimy for having to make this offer. We simply can’t afford to take the chance right now.

Yeah, Ally said, serious now. Believe me, the money they’ll be tossing around won’t be peanuts. You should have seen how much my ex-girlfriend was offered when I first met Evy. And that was nothingcompared to how much was on the table after Evy and I got engaged.

She took it eventually, didn’t she, though? Evelynne asked.

Yeah. Ally smirked again. Took fifteen grand for a one-hour interview and spent the time describing, in intimate detail, my recipe for macaroni and cheese. There was a laugh from the still-shellshocked viewers. Let that be a lesson, boys and girls. Get the money up front.

Good point, Evelynne said. So now you know. It’s a lot to take in, I know. Like I said, Claire has the details on how to get in contact with us. I can’t promise how direct the communication would be, but we’d still love to hear from all of you. Even… Especially as friends. She glared at her partner.

Ally sighed. Okay, okay, even Jean. Anyway, no matter what, you’re all invited to the wedding.

That’s true. So we’ll go now. I really hope things haven’t been totally wrecked between all of us. Ally nudged Evelynne and nodded towards the camera. What? Another nudge. Oh, alright. Evelynne rolled her eyes. Ally and Claire made me promise. She held out a hand, thumb and pinky extended. Dude.

There, now was that so—

The screen went blank.

Then more writing appeared in large bold lettering.

THIS DISK WILL SELF-DESTRUCT IN FIVE SECONDS.

Shit! Narmin blurted, diving for her DVD player. She hadn’t got there when a new message appeared.

PSYCH.

Son of a bitch, she breathed, screeching to a stop.

There were the clich?d few seconds of silence when it became clear that no new messages would be appearing.

Holy shit, Reggie said out loud, and then looked startled that he’d said it.

Yeah, Josh agreed fervently. He whirled to face Claire. They serious?

Claire shrugged uncomfortably. They are. I found out the night Ally… Well, you know. I was in Atlantl just before I came here. Met the King and Queen and everything.

This isn’t some kind of warped Candid Camera thing, is it? Hal demanded. ‘Cause if it is, someone’s pissing themselves laughing right now.

Nope. Ally wanted me to tape your reactions, but Evy and I talked her out of it.

Evy. You mean Sophia. You mean Evelynne? As in Princess Evelynne?

Claire shrugged again. That’s the one.

Son of a bitch, Narmin said again. A look of horror crossed her face. I complimented the next Queen of Atlantis on her hickey technique!

I know, Claire said calmly. She really was having much more fun than she thought she would. She told me.

I had Princess Evelynne of Atlantis working as a waitress in my restaurant! She cleaned up vomit! She helped me with my bookkeeping! The bar owner was sounding more and more hysterical, a drastic change from the normally in-control woman. Ha! ‘Family working for the government’ indeed!

Sammy’s soft voice cut through her rising hysteria. And here I thought I was the biggest queen in the place.

There was a brief, loaded pause, and then the entire gathering burst into gales of uncontrolled laughter. Josh actually fell out of his chair, and Narmin collapsed on the floor where she had been standing, shrieking. Hal and Erin were literally clutching each other to remain upright, and Kelly was folded completely in half, holding her stomach. The hilarity died for a moment, until everyone looked at everyone else, and then they started up again.

Oh God, Erin gasped, I told Princess Evelynne that I wanted to sleep with her fianc?e!

Oh? Alice asked, still giggling. When was this?

You were off that night, Jean told her. That was the night Ally practically did a strip-tease to Ride the Wildwind. She halted, her eyes widening. Holy shit! Dame Alleandre practically did a strip-tease in this bar!

It wasn’t really a strip-tease, Kelly said. She just took off her jacket. Actually, she borrowed yours, didn’t she, Josh? But still… I think we would have had to call in the paramedics from eight counties if she’d taken off anything more.

Damn, yes, Josh agreed vehemently. I mean, shit, I wanted her and I’m gay!

Trust me, I don’t think there was a person in here who wasn’t walking funny for the rest of the evening, Jean said, nodding. You remember her birthday party? That was tame compared to this. Suddenly an expression of abject terror crossed her face. Oh, God, her birthday! I gave the Princess of Atlantis and her Consort sex toys! she wailed, hiding her face in her hands.

Everyone winced, but Claire just grinned. Don’t worry, she said with utter calm. They quite appreciated it, really.

A look of horrified fascination passed over the whole room. Really? Jean asked in a small voice. She looked around at her companions and squirmed. Damn, now nobody’s going to be able to stand up tonight, either.

That set of another round of laughter, and when it was over a more calm rationality descended.

So what are we going to do? Narmin asked finally. If they really are who they say they are, and Claire is going back there, reporters are definitely going to be crawling around this town.

And they’re right about the money, too, Henry added softly. Reporters pay thousands just for photos of useless celebrities, and here we’re talking about actual important people.

Well, we could certainly get rich on that, Reggie said. A number of people glared at him, and he hurried to add, I’m just saying we could. Not that we should. He turned to Claire. Were they serious about doubling any offers? I’m just asking!

Claire nodded. They’ll do it. I know how you can contact them, and they’d get the money to you. How, I’m not quite sure, but they’d do it.

That’s a lot of trust, Marc said, frowning. What’s to stop us from calling and saying, ‘Hey, I got an offer for fifty thousand. I’d like a hundred grand, please.’

Claire shrugged. Nothing. It’s like you said: it’s a matter of trust.

Jean was silent, and staring into the distance with her head cocked.

Jean, what are you thinking? Narmin asked.

I’m thinking… Jean said slowly. I’m thinking that I just an invitation to the most awesome wedding in a million years. And the party afterwards. How insane would I have to be to throw that away? Besides, I’ve never met the Princess of Atlantis in my life. Oh, there was that chick that used to work here who looked like herquite a lot, actuallybut she was from… Nevada, wasn’t she? She looked around with a raised eyebrow.

No, Kelly said, equally slowly, I’m pretty sure it was a New Mexico accent. Although she could sure put on a real authentic Atlantean accent if she wanted to.

Yeah, I remember, Alice agreed nodding. Her and her girlfriend. They used to dress up and go through the whole ‘I am a lesbian’ speech like before that Noble thing. It would crack me up. I remember them saying they might actually make a show of it.

She wasn’t a natural redhead anyway, Theresa added. She looked around at the incredulous stares. What? I could see her roots, that’s all. It’s not like we made out in the bathroom. She instantly looked guilty as everyone else looked uncomfortable. That was a little too close to what had actually happened to Ally.

I remember them, Narmin said thoughtfully, taking up the thread of the story. Sophia. Good worker, but quite a mouth on her. She and Ally went back to… New Mexico when Ally was attacked. To Ally’s parents, as she told me when she handed in her letter of resignation which I shall have to, ah, dig out of my files.

You know, Reggie said mildly, but with an evil smile, I’m sure any reporter would be fascinated to hear anything we had to say about Allison and Sophia. After all, if they’re going to pay me for talking about two women who certainly have no relation to Atlantis at all, who am I to refuse?

So how did it go?

Claire smiled and relaxed, wanting to literally curl up into the voice in her ear, even if it was distant and slightly distorted by static. Amazing, actually, she said into the phone. You can tell Ally that her goofing around worked wonders.

Evelynne, a few thousand kilometres away, laughed. Really? That’s actually why I let her keep going. I figured everyone would be more receptive if they could remember us as just their friends. Ally had no idea, of course. She isn’t that devious.

Oh, I know. Claire knew that Ally was only truly capable of deliberately concealing the truth about her abilities, and little else. Even then she was, in some strange way, quite straightforward about her deception. The thought of using emotional manipulation was alien to her. In contrast, Evelynne was much more at home in adjusting the emotions of those with whom she interacted; that was a core of diplomacy, after all.

So what’s going to be happening? Or have they all decided yet?

Claire laughed. Well, they have some quite detailed stories in development about you for when the reporters arrive. You’re from New Mexico, by the way. Oh, and I’m sorry to inform you that you slept with Jean.

What?!

Oh yes. You were quite the slut, apparently.

Really. Claire could hear Evelynne trying to wrap her mind around this. So what did Ally know about all this?

Oh, she was quite okay with it, really. You two had an open relationship. Kelly’s quite sure you both took a few women home for a threesome, anyway. Claire grinned at the memory of just how creative the group had become.

Isis, Evelynne breathed. There was a pause. Do you want me to have a camera ready when I tell all this to Ally?

God, yes! Claire laughed again. She sobered a little. I’m missing you guys.

There was an audible smile in the response. We’re missing you, too, qor. Still, you’ll be here soon enough. I haven’t been able to keep hands-on control over your application process, but you should be hearing from someone in the next two weeks or so.

That’ll be good. How are you two doing, anyway?

A sigh. Alright, I suppose. Busy. I’m getting back into the swing of picking up za’s overflow, and Ally’s been spending hours working with Chorus and Taldas on the investigation. Although her mother was moved to Jamaz today. That’s where she is right now. I wanted to go, but I think they could use some time alone.

That’s good to hear. Well, I should go. The CIA bugging my phone might be wondering why I’m taking so long talking to an insurance agent. Claire shook her head.

In an arrangement straight from a spy novel, the procedure for getting in touch with her friends was to call a toll-free number that was putatively assigned to an insurance company. Upon asking to speak with either Ms. Harolds or Ms. Fane, the receptionist would transfer her to the appropriate extension. Of course, the proper extension was actually located somewhere far distant, and after several minutes of painful hold music Ally or Evelynne would reply. Claire didn’t know if Clearwater Insurance was an actual company, and only the receptionist was in on the arrangement with Atlantlan Intelligence, or whether it was just some tiny room somewhere.

I suppose so. Wouldn’t want to titillate them with stories of my indiscretions, now would we? There was no chance of that. Claire had no idea of the technicalities involved, but she knew Evelynne was confident that the CIA wouldn’t be able to hear a word of their conversations. So I’ll let you get back to whatever else you have to do.

I’m making supper. Corey should be home soon.

Alright. Tell him we said ‘hi.’ And take care of yourself, do you hear?

Yes, ma’am. Don’t let Ally work too hard.

Oh, I don’t know about that. We’ve got a lot to do if we’re going to live up to our licentious reputation. Now we just have find someone to have the threesome with!

Claire nearly swallowed her tongue.

Chapter 9

Isi and eni, could I have your attention, please?

The sudden voice, loud and commanding even without any kind of electronic augmentation, startled Yusuf Kilmarten as he sat at his desk. Looking around he saw he wasn’t the only one to jump. Heads jerked and bobbed around him as his co-workers peered to see where the order had come from. By the main doors, a number of stern men and women in Guard uniforms were spreading out through the office, even while Gretchen Hayden, the Office Manager, hurried forward to meet them. The owner of the computer engineering company, Talia Birch, was already with the Guards, and looking pale and nervous.

I would like you all to stand up immediately, and keep your hands in plain sight. Do not touch your computers, telephones, or any other object. Do not hang up any telephone calls you may be making. These orders are given under the full authority of the Thrones, the Common Guard, and Internal Security. Thank you for your cooperation. The tone made it very clear that not cooperating would be a veryunfortunate decision. The Guards were only armed with holstered sidearms, but their expressions showed they would have no compunctions about using them.

Yusuf, what’s going on? Omani Baki, who worked across from him, whispered. Her face mirrored the uncertainty and confusion around them, along with a healthy dose of fear.

Kilmarten’s own stomach was roiling with anxiety and not a little dread, although for far more reason than his co-workers. I don’t know. A raid?

His orders had him prepared for such an event, however. Ever so carefully as he slowly stood, he reached for the tiny concealed button under his desk that was certainly not part of the official company equipment. A press of that button, and…

His fingers froze, millimetres from the button. Incredulous, Kilmarten strained his muscles, seeking to cross that final minute distance, but his hand could have been encased in concrete. Panicked, but still able to hide it, he glanced around, but nobody else seemed to have noticed that he was still awkwardly half-standing over his desk. Except for one of the Guards, a tall blonde woman who was staring right at him, her own fingers splayed ever so slightly at her side. The programmer shivered. He had heard of people who could look at you as though they were reading all your secretshis own mother was quite adeptbut nothing like the piercing grey eyes which now drilled into his head and stayed there.

He was still transfixed when a large hand clamped firmly on his arm, jerking him abruptly from his daze. The invisible cement holding his hand dissolved, and Kilmarten swayed back, off-balance. He looked up, stunned, to find a massive, bland-faced Guard holding him upright securely. The chance to press the button was long gone, even had he been focussed enough to think of it again.

Yusuf Kilmarten? the huge Guard asked, and even though it was obviously a mere formality, the programmer nodded. We’d like you to come with us, Mr Kilmarten. We’d like your assistance in answering some questions regarding some unusual satellite activity. Once again, the tone clearly said that cooperation was voluntary only in the loosest sense of the word.

Kilmarten nodded again awkwardly. Alright, he said meekly.

As he was being led out, surrounded by the baffled stares of his colleagues, he heard the remaining Guards informing the office that all computers, files, and storage media were being seized under the authority of the Thrones, the Common Guard, and Internal Security.

Nomi Gurabe, Agent-Colonel with the Atlantlan Internal Security Division, watched through the mirrored glass at the events taking place in the interview room on the other side, but kept one eye constantly on the tall young woman by her side in the darkened viewing room. Freed from its hiding place under a long blonde wig, Lady Alleandre’s short brown hair was still several shades lighter and considerably longer than Gurabe’s own. She had yet to change out of her Guard uniform, but seemed to have forgotten that she was wearing it. Of course, she was entitled to wear the uniform whenever she chose, including the Corporal’s insignia, the inverted teardrop-shape that was part of the ankh which was Atlantl’s formal symbol. The Lady didn’t really have any authority in the Guard, at least officially. Instead, the Guard rank was an old tradition that allowed a Personal Guard to give orders related to safety to one who was far above them in social status.

Lady Alleandre was incredibly intriguing in Gurabe’s eyes, not least because of the abilities she had in her possession, abilities of which the Agent had only recently learned in a Pyramid-level classified briefing by the Director of Internal Security herself. The assignment as a liaison between ISD and the Lady’s team had not exactly been voluntary, but even if it had, Gurabe would have jumped at the chance. Her grandmother had immigrated to Atlantl from the heart of the Congo, and Nomi had been raised on a hundred stories of shamans and witch-doctors, men and women who could speak with the spirits and cast spells that could bring life and death, change a person’s shape, bring rain and drought. Lady Alleandre was far removed from a painted, hide-clad wise woman shaking her rattle and casting her bones, but, Gurabe thought pragmatically, even magicians had to change with the times.

Her powers were just as impressive as one of those spirit-keepers, though, even those few that the Agent had witnessed personally. The magicianthe Adept, Gurabe corrected herselfwas looking through the glass with half-closed eyes, and the Agent knew that her mind was extended and intertwining delicately with that of the man being interrogated by Lieutenant-Colonel Franz Mendez, Gurabe’s counterpart and liaison from the Common Guard.

We know you were doing something illegal, Mr Kilmarten, Mendez stated flatly, and everyone could see the other man’s flash of guilt, even though he hid it quickly.

I don’t know what you mean, Kilmarten replied defensively, and Gurabe couldn’t help but feel slightly impressed. The man was good. If she didn’t know any better, she would guess he had some kind of intelligence training. For that matter, she didn’t know any better. After all, one of the theories they were all working under was that some foreign agency had been instrumental in coordinating and planning the Invasion.

Come now, Mr Kilmarten, Mendez chided, his own expression stern but friendly. Totally innocent people don’t have emergency kill-switches hooked up to their computers, ready to fry the hard drive in an instant. Of course, some people might want that sort of thing for… certain intimate habits, I suppose. The Colonel leaned forward conspiratorially. I’ve downloaded the occasional, ah, risque picture at work myself, on occasion.

Mendez was also good, Gurabe admitted with a hint of good-natured reluctance based in inter-departmental rivalry. Not as good as an interrogator from ISD, but good enough for a dumb bodyguard. If they were actually looking for a conclusive confession of guilt, Kilmarten would eventually crack. As it was, the questions were solely a means to guide the suspect’s mind along the paths they wanted, allowing Lady Alleandre to pick out the important thoughts as they came.

I can’t go in and read someone’s memories, the Lady had said when explaining the limits of her talents. I can only feel what someone’s is thinking right at that moment. If they’re remembering, I can read that, but I can’t go digging. And it’s confusing. Everyone thinks in different ways. Some people see pictures and hear sounds in their minds. Some are very literal. Just about everyone uses symbolism. Some literally talk to themselves. A few think in pure concepts, without words or pictures. And everyone connects their thoughts separately. The links between one thought and another are unique to each person. And unless their minds are very disciplined, they jump from one topic to another almost without warning. So I need time to figure out what’s important and what’s not.

And so Mendez was doing his best to give the true interrogator that time, going back over the same topic time and again to give Lady Alleandre the chance to pick out the common threads in each thought.

Well… Kilmarten was squirming now. I… did some programming for a… friend. A friend of a friend, actually. It was outside the company, but I was using company equipment. I could get fired for that.

A soft sound from beside her drew Gurabe’s attention, and she glanced to see Lady Alleandre with her head cocked to the side, as though considering a particularly puzzling riddle. There was a new faint tension in her tall frame that made the Agent take more notice of the interrogation. Obviously something had piqued the Adept’s interest.

Well, that doesn’t sound so bad, Mendez said, still playing the friendly face. That kind of thing would be between you and your employer, wouldn’t it? In fact, unless you were doing something really illegal, I don’t think I’d even have to mention it to them. He paused, as though thinking. It’s not really illegal, is it?

There was silence, and even Gurabe could practically see the wheels turning in Kilmarten’s head, even without Lady Alleandre’s talent.

Well… it was some accounting software, Kilmarten said eventually. And they wanted some… features to make it easier to make adjustments to their records. I don’t know what for, he added quickly. They just told me what they wanted, and I put it together for them.

He’s lying, Lady Alleandre murmured. At least partly. He did send some software, but…

Mendez made no sign that he had heard the soft words coming through the tiny speaker in his ear. Accounting software doesn’t sound so bad, he commented mildly. Unless it was being used for fraud, of course. But even then, it’s hardly your fault that they were breaking the law. The relief in Kilmarten’s face was obvious. The thing that I don’t get, though, it that you sent this… program through what should be a secure military network. That you do need to explain.

Kilmarten was tense again. I swear, I didn’t know it was going through a secure network. All I was told was a series of network addresses and some passwords. I thought it was just some company server.

Where did the passwords come from? Lady Alleandre murmured, and Mendez echoed the question.

Someone from the company, I assumed, Kilmarten said. Who else would know them?

He’s lying, the Lady said again softly. What is Control-Eight-Four-Two-Seven-Omega-Blue?

This time Mendez’ eye twitched at the unusual question, but he repeated it to Kilmarten just the same.

Whatever they were expecting, it wasn’t for Kilmarten to sag back suddenly in his chair in abject relief.

He’s what?! General ab-Warat nearly shouted, surging to his feet to plant his fists on his desk and loom over those sitting in his office menacingly.

Colonel Mendez looked a little startled, but neither Gurabe nor Alleandre flinched. Kilmarten is a deep-cover Guard agent, sir, Mendez repeated, fully undertanding his superior’s shock. At least, hebelieves so. He claims to have been ‘recruited’ four years ago for something called ‘Operation Rising Land.’ An ultra-top-secret project whose ultimate goals were unknown to him. He’s been sending data packets through a number of servers and networks on a very sporadic basis ever since. Months will go by between ‘assignments.’ He doesn’t even know what’s in the data he transfers. He gets the packet, and it’s his job to put in into the right network without being traced. He’s good, too. We probably never would have found out without the Choir. The phrase Lady Alleandre… saw, ‘Control-Eight-Four-Two-Seven-Omega-Blue,’ was his ‘code word’ to let him know he could break cover.

It was a measure of ab-Warat’s shock that he didn’t even scowl at the mention of Chorus Tladi and Taldas Islin’s infiltration program. With one of its creators being Chorus it was probably inevitable that the Program would eventually be renamed the Choir. The General’s poor reception stemmed less from the name than the fact that such a powerful tool wasn’t in the Common Guard’s exclusive control.

Isis, Osiris, and Set, he breathed, sinking back down into his chair. Can we confirm it? he demanded. Is this Kilmarten a Guard agent?

I’ve taken the liberty of checking the roster of all agents below Maze-level, sir, Mendez said, and nobody with his name or vitals shows up. I don’t have the authority to check higher.

Well, I know every agent above Maze-level, and I can tell you that this man is not one of them. ab-Warat glared at the picture in the file on his desk as though staring hard enough would make it change. I’ll double-check, of course, but there are only a very small number of agents, so I doubt I’m wrong.

I was watching, sir, and I don’t think he’s a real agent. His reactions were too open. What about a second-or third-party cut-out? Gurabe asked. Could he be a contractor, rather than a direct agent?

If he is, he’s not a part of this… What was it? ‘Rising Land?’ I know for a fact that there’s no operation by that name, either on or off the books, that’s been authorised by this office.

Then we have a much more serious problem, sir, Gurabe said.

ab-Warat scowled at her. I realise that, Agent, he said quellingly. There’s a good chance that one of the big boys of international intelligence has managed to get its claws deep into our backyard. CIA, MI-5, Mossad, WADI. That’s going to make the international situation that much more delicate.

Actually, I was thinking that there might be a rogue operation, or rogue agent at the very least, at large within the Guard. Something that doesn’t even come near your office. Someone not only recruited Kilmarten, but managed to get the locations of every branch of the Geranin Protocol. That would be much easier for someone within Guard Intelligence itself.

The General looked like he wanted to hit Gurabe for suggesting it, but he mastered his reaction. You’re right, he said with manifest reluctance. I have considered the possibility. It means our internal investigation will have to be stepped up.

I would suggest, General, that there may be a problem there, the Agent said. To be blunt, any in-house investigation is going to be somewhat blinded, especially if some rogue department is muddying the waters. I would make the suggestion that having an outside agency do the digging might turn over a few more stones.

An outside agency like Internal Security, you mean, ab-Warat said bluntly, his tone flat.

Yes, sir, Gurabe said calmly. However, we also can’t dismiss the possibility that ISD is infiltrated as well. Therefore, I would propose a mirror investigation. While we’re digging into all your dirty laundry, you’ll be digging into ours.

ab-Warat was silent for a moment, obviously considering the proposal. Very well, Agent Gurabe. Have Director Klaussen give me a call, and we’ll see what we can arrange. Turning back to Colonel Mendez, he returned to the original topic. Now, Colonel, I want you to tell me everything this Kilmarten told you. After that… He faced Alleandre with grudging respect. I would appreciate it, Your Ladyship, if you could relate your… impressions of the interrogation, no matter how insignificant they might seem.

Of course, General, Lady Alleandre replied with an aplomb that Gurabe envied. It may be somewhat… confusing, however.

I understand that, Your Ladyship. Now, Mendez, do we know for sure that Kilmarten sent the signal?

Yes, sir, Mendez replied. The altered mission orders were definitely sent from Kilmarten’s home computer. He did a good job of erasing his tracks, but the Choir managed to pick up the scent. Also included were a set of passwords and a security key that overrode the satellite’s original message and replaced it with the new one. We don’t have the entire key, but we’re working on it. The problem is that Kilmarten received all the programming on a physical disk that was left in his ‘drop-box,’ so we have no direct back trail to follow. We’re working on determining the disk’s origin through investigation of the drop box. Chorus Tladi has also sent the Choir out to try to make a match with the disk image we managed to make, but the chances of that working are low, at best. On the other hand, we’ve obtained security footage from the drop area, and…

So how did it go? Evelynne asked from her place on the couch.

In response, Ally groaned wordlessly and flopped gracelessly onto the cushions beside her lover, ending up with her head face-down into Evelynne’s lap.

An eyebrow quirked, and Evelynne smiled wryly. That well, huh? She put the briefing she was reading aside on the side table.

You know, Ally mumbled, her face still buried in her partner’s lap, I thought spy stuff was supposed to be all James Bond. Nobody tells you just how tedious it can be. I haven’t seen a single laser-watch or invisible plane yet. I feel gypped.

Aww, poor Ally, Evelynne cooed, patting Ally patronisingly on the head. No supervillains to vanquish.

No, just minions. Only a stupid kid so gullible he should probably be shot for the sake of the gene pool. Ally’s head turned and peered up at her partner through one weary eye. He was the one who sent the fake message to the covert team and nearly got my mother killed. Evelynne looked shocked, and began a stroking and scratching motion of Ally’s scalp. Ally’s eyes closed again, and she arched her head into the caress. The idiot had no idea what he was sending. Thought he was part of some secret Guard operation. So instead of finding a mastermind, all we’ve got is another basically innocent pawn. Ally squirmed, her frustration manifesting even over the pleasure of Evelynne’s touch. I don’t want to talk about him, okay? I need to get him out of my mind, not let him sink in.

Alright, Evelynne agreed simply. While one hand kept up its scratching, the other went to work on Ally’s tight shoulders. I thought you might like to know that I got a call from Narmin today.

That perked Ally up. Really? What did she say?

Well, she wasn’t asking for money. I think she was just checking to see if the contact number worked.

You mean she wanted to see if we actually were who we said we were on that disk.

Evelynne chuckled. I suppose so. She was pretty sceptical. I don’t think she really believed me until I put za on speakerphone. Then she could hardly talk.

Ally smiled. Well, you’ve got to admit, your Dad can be a little intimidating the first time you talk to him. She smirked. Of course, now I know he’s just a big, fuzzy pussycat.

I’ll be sure to tell him you said that, Evelynne said wryly. She frowned as her massaging fingers barely began to make a dent in the tightness of Ally’s shoulders. Isis, you’re tense, love.

I know, Ally muttered. It’s just so…

Frustrating, I know. You’ve been restless the last couple of weeks. However, I think I have something that will help release some of that tension. The eye opened again and looked up with obvious interest. Not that, you horndog, Evelynne scolded, slapping her partner lightly on the shoulder. Or, at least, not that yet. Come on, get up. I have a surprise for you.

With some prodding and coaxing, Evelynne managed to pry Ally from her warm haven and to her feet, then tugged her towards the bedroom.

When you said, ‘Not yet,’ I didn’t realise you meant so soon, Ally teased.

Well, you can either have sex now and no present, or a present now and sex later, Evelynne said archly.

Ooh, that’s a tough one. Still, anticipation is good, isn’t it? Gimme present.

Eveynne sighed. Sometimes it’s like living with a ten-year-old.

In reality, Ally’s unpredictable playfulness was a relatively recent phenomenon. The ritual that she and her lover had participated in almost two months previously had been intended, at least in part, to break down the formidable wall that Ally’s psyche had erected around itself in response to the horrific events of her drugging. That ritual had been far more successful than any of them had imagined, smashing not only the reactive barrier, but many of the more conventional restraints built up naturally over a lifetime. The result was a woman who was being forced to relearn many of the inhibitions and restrictions that were a normal and necessary part of social interaction. Interestingly, though, these new aspects of self-control seemed to be something that the new Ally could turn on and off almost at will. She remained shy and uncertain much of the time, but whereas before her interactions in even the most comfortable of social situations had most often still been somewhat guarded, now she was practically childlike amongst those she trusted.

Alright, stand here and close your eyes, Evelynne instructed. And no looking with your eyes closed, either. Ally’s powers sometimes made much more explicit instructions necessary.

Are you sure this isn’t sex? Ally asked, obeying.

She heard Evelynne crossing the room, and then returning, this time accompanied by the very faint squeak of a wheel.

Alright, you may open your eyes.

Ally did so, and her face passed from surprise to awed delight as she looked at the object before her. Oh, wow.

It was quite an unusual garment that was hanging from the portable rack in front of her. Part of it looked like a black wetsuit, but with odd padding in places. A series of accessories hung beside it: a wide, flat belt; a pair of high black boots; a pair of supple gloves; and finally a long black hooded cloak.

Oh, wow, Ally breathed again. She reached out almost reverently and tugged one of the gloves free from its hanger. Carefully she slipped it on, holding it up to examine it closely as she flexed her fingers and twisted her hand back and forth. The material was thin and flexible, but displayed a surprising strength.

I take it you like it, Evelynne said softly with a smile in her voice.

It’s… amazing, Ally said, enraptured. You made me a Suit. She came back to herself slowly and looked down at her lover. How did you make this? Why did you make this?

The ‘how’… I told Ma?da what I wanted, drew her a few sketches, specifications. I don’t know how she did it or who she talked to, but yesterday it was ready. As for why… Evelynne looked up at her partner seriously and took her face in her hands. I’ve seen you the last while, love, how cooped up and frustrated you’ve been. I remembered how it was back in Vancouver, when you would… go out and fly over the city. And even though it was such a terrible time, I also saw how much you loved it. Whenever you came back you were always just slightly more at peace for a time. Evelynne pulled Ally’s lips to hers for an almost chaste kiss, before turning to stroke the long material of the cloak still hanging. I know you feel free when you’re up there, and that you haven’t gone out since we got back. And so I wanted to give you that opportunity. This is to say that I understand, and that you have my… not my approval, because you don’t need that, but my blessing. And, to be honest, so that when you do go out you’ll be just that much safer.

Evelynne touched the breast of the hanging bodysuit. It’s as bulletproof as we could make it without full hardshell body armour, and it’s fire-resistant. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your little stunt back in Horton City. It’s insulated so that you can keep warm, and the insulation can be removed if necessary. It’s completely waterproof. There’s a vocal disguiser built into the collar along with an encrypted two-way radio, and there’s an integrated audio enhancement system that’ll let you increase your hearing. That’s basically just a sensitive hearing aid, actually. And there are two sets of auto-polarising glasses so that your eyes will be protected from light and anything else. One is for when you’re wearing your contacts, and the other is made to your prescription. We’re working on building in some kind of heads-up display, but that’s still in the prototype stage. The glasses will also prevent the use of a retinal scanner from identifying your pattern. We know for a fact that the American military has a device that can read a retinal pattern from a range of one metre, and from what I’m told, ours are slightly better. She squeezed Ally’s waist, around which her arm was wrapped. I don’t want anyone figuring out who you are just by looking in your eyes, love. Of course, DNA is something we can’t do too much about, but since most of your body will be covered hopefully that will not be too much of an issue. The glasses also act as a somewhat limited low-light enhancer. Not quite up to full military light-enhancing goggles, but quite good for their size.

Ally just stared at the outfit with a stunned gaze as the description went on. Jesus, she muttered finally. My old suits were the product of second-hand ski outfits and multiple trips to the bargain bin of Sewing World. I got my gloves at Zellers for fifteen dollars, and the most expensive single item was my boots. They cost two hundred bucks, and I only had one pair. And they were half a size too big. I think I’ve upgraded. She managed to tear her gaze away to look down at Evelynne with an awe-struck expression. Thank you, she said with utter seriousness. I don’t know how…

Evelynne smiled back. You’re welcome. Think of it as a gift for the anniversary of the day you became my Knight. Every Knight needs a suit of armour.

Oh my God. That was nearly a year ago, wasn’t it? December twenty-first. That’s the day after tomorrow.

It’s also the first anniversary of the day we became a couple, Evelynne added. The first time I kissed you. She looked up with a mock-severe expression on her face. You didn’t forget our first anniversary, did you?

Of course not, Ally said quickly. She grinned cheekily. Not any more.

You know the second part of your present… Evelynne said threateningly.

Oh no, I remember, Ally hastened to say. I already have a gift. It’s not quite as much as… this, but I hope you like it. There was just a hint of uncertainty in her tone.

I know I will.

You realise, Ally mused, looking once more at the elaborate outfit, that Dicky is going to go into conniptions when she sees this.

That was true. No professional bodyguard wanted his charge slipping out into the night, much less deliberately putting herself in the paths of criminals, accidents, and disasters.

Evelynne grinned and released her lover, signalling for her to stay put. She disappeared once more into the room’s huge walk-in closet. In that case, she said, voice slightly muffled before she re-emerged, pulling a second rack on which hung a very similar uniform several sizes smaller, maybe we shouldn’t tell her.

Chapter 10

Arnold Schultz was not having a fun night. He was wet, and cold, and tired, and wanted nothing more than to go home to his very warm wife. The freezing rain got everywhere, even through the bright yellow rain slicker he wore, but at least he had a whole work crew sharing his misery. That was some small comfort.

“N’Tas, secure your end! I don’t want a fricking chewing gum job. Not in this fricking wind.”

The hapless Jurom N’Tas scurried to obey, arc welder at the ready. There was no complaint. The entire repair crew was saving their energy for shivering.

The repairs to this bridge over the Valassi River had been going on for a week now. It had been damaged in the spring, when a hidden explosive device somewhere in the Police Patrol shack at one end had gone off. Eight people had died when the bridge had partially collapsed, along with two police officers who had been in the shack. The bridge had been swiftly repairedit was one of the main thoroughfares linking Sennac and its sister city Olan-Tal across the riverbut later engineering inspection had shown several potentially dangerous faults in the hasty repairs.

That was the reason Schultz and his crew were out on a horrible night like this, trying to make their repairs while traffic was at its lowest. He had sworn that none of his crew were going home tonight until a set of cross-braces had been secured in place, and that was proving to be a great incentive for the workers.

“Andrews and Ombani have got number three up, Chief,” a crewmember hurried up to tell him. “They’re doing prelim tests now, but it looks good so far.”

“About fricking time,” Schultz growled, although he was quite pleased with the news. For a newbie, Ombani was proving to be a natural at joining and welding, with a near-supernatural ability to spot faults in the welds. Not that he’d ever tell her that, though. “When they’re done, tell them to get down to number six.”

The worker nodded and jogged off, leaving Schultz alone on the ground once more as he watched a crane lower the final girder into place above him. Sighing, he turned on his thankfully-waterproof electronic notepad, making a note about the latest completed tasks. Far too many still blinked up at him from his To-Do List, but a lot of those were fiddly things; most of the real work would be done once the girders were in place.

RUN.

Distracted, Schultz looked around, wondering if someone had spoken to him, but the closest was a dozen metres up, and would barely be heard over the sound of the crane. He shrugged and went back to his pad.

RUN.

This time an unexplained lash of fear, a sensation of danger, struck his mind, and seemingly of their own volition his eyes tracked upwards.

RUN.

Without another thought, Schultz dived to the side, just as a massive crack sounded across the worksite. One of the higher girders, put in place the week before, slowly and with ponderous grace, broke free from its moorings at one end. It bent, the join on the other end striving to sustain its weight, but it wasn’t designed to take such torque, and with a screeching sound gave way. The massive piece of metal dropped, narrowly missing the support currently being held in place, to crash down right where the foreman had been standing.

Yells erupted, and the emergency claxon sounded, bringing the site medic from her place in the wonderfully heated confines of the trailer. Schultz pushed himself upright, spitting mud and water.

“Roll-call!” he bellowed. “Get everyone down! Right frigging NOW!”

The crew straggled in with commendable speed. Many were shaken, and Ombani was white as a sheet. One by one they reported in, and Schultz sighed in relief when none were missing. Amistejad sported a quite spectacular bruise above his right eye, but it appeared that his was the only injury.

Things would have been very different if Schultz hadn’t experienced the strange mental impulse, but he didn’t waste time considering the fact that he was lucky to be still three-dimensional.

“What the fricking hell happened?” he shouted. “Which beam was that? Who was working it?”

Hesitantly, Jurom N’Tas raised a hand. “That was mine, sir,” he stuttered. “I was—”

“Good. You’re fired,” Schultz spat. “Get off my site. Everyone else, I want a full report of what else may have come loose. I’m suspending new construction until we go over every single fricking seam, weld and bolt on this rig. Ombani, I want you to pay special attention to everything touched by that idiot I just fired. Andrews…”

As he continued to bark orders, he completely missed seeing a dark shape detach itself from the top of one of the bridge supports and float away into the night.

Thirty metres up, Ally’s face was intent as she expanded her senses onto the scene below. Suddenly she laughed. “Good for you,” she chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Evelynne asked from her position securely tucked into the curve of her lover’s arm.

Ally’s eyes were invisible behind the glasses on her face, but amusement came through in her voice. “That foreman. He’s determined to get back to work. No thanking God for saving his life, no thought to whatever made him think to run when he did. It happened, so now he’s going on to other things. Important things.” She laughed again. “It’s kind of refreshing, seeing someone who isn’t suddenly experiencing some kind of spiritual crisis, or abruptly getting religion. Just practical.”

Evelynne smiled as well. “I suppose you’re right. Somehow I think our Mr Foreman has a hard head.” She looked up at Ally speculatively. “You know, it’s been interesting learning just how you work. Nothing big, nothing dramatic. Just little bits of luck.”

Ally shrugged in the air. “Making someone trip, a door sticks or unlocks, something moved a few inches into plain sight. After that you can usually count on people to take care of things on their own. You did well yourself. Just a simple message. Danger. Something he could easily have felt on his own, and he reacted quickly enough. No need for some glowing angel dropping down from on high.” She grinned behind the strip of cloth covering her face. “Of course, I think you’re a glowing angel anyway.”

That earned her a slap on the arm. “Flatterer. Well, this angel has had just about enough excitement tonight. Now I’m ready to head to a nice warm bed and spend some time putting other thoughts into your head.”

As Ally began to head back towards the Country House, picking up speed until the fine rain was a lashing torrent, she commented, “Have I told you yet how awesome these suits are? You have no idea how much hot water I used to go through back in Vancouver after a night flying around in the rain. I wish I’d met you years ago.”

“I notice you didn’t mention the ways in which Annie might have warmed you up. Very diplomatic of you.”

“Uh…”

“Alright, anyone want to start?” Lady Alleandre asked, leaning back in her chair, one of several occupied around the conference table. She was dressed neatly but casually in a loose-fitting blouse and slacks, and a large cup of spiced chai sat by her hand.

It was a far cry from the kind of structured, official briefings that took place in the ISA, Agent Nomi Gurabe mused, and likely just as different from a Guard meeting, if Franz Mendez’ initial expression had been anything to go by. The Lady ran these meetings with an informality that would have been stroke-inducing to someone like the Commander of the Common Guard, but Gurabe had a suspicion that Mendez’ reports back carefully edited out certain unimportant matters. Still, the Agent would have pulled the plug in a second if she had thought anyone wasn’t taking these matters seriously, but Lady Alleandre generally steered the briefings with casual efficiency. She never forgot a single detail, and had a knack for narrowing in on a point that seemed minor at the time but ultimately proved of some pertinence to their investigation.

“I can tell you that we’re narrowing in on the structure our Invisible Man must have been using within the Guard,” Mendez spoke up, looking across at Gurabe, who nodded. The two would never be the best of friends, but they were quickly developing into a devastatingly effective team. “I can’t go into details, but I can tell you there are definite signs of a shadow organisation within the Guard command structure.”

“We’re also seeing hints in the ISA,” Gurabe added. “So far we don’t think it’s as pervasive as the one inside the Guard, but there is definitely a rumour or two.”

“Does that make sense?” Lady Alleandre asked. “I would have thought that infiltrating two government organisations would be much harder than infiltrating one.” Her tone was light, a simple request for clarification.

Mendez shrugged. “Yes and no. Infiltrating a command structure as highly regimented and controlled as the Guard is definitely not something that can be done quickly or easily. On the other hand, if you’ve figured out how to do it with one, the next ones become much easier. In fact, once you’re in control of the resources of the first, utilising those resources to infiltrate the second might make it even easier.”

“So now you have to worry about moles in every majorand minor, I supposegovernment department,” Chorus Tladi said from his place next to Gurabe.

“Unfortunately so,” Gurabe said solemnly. “We’re getting the required authorisation right now to use the Choir in a wide-scale search of all government networks. Can you have it ready?”

“That’s not a problem,” Islin said, nodding. “Just get us the parameters and we’ll set her loose.”

“Good. Boss, we’d also like your talents for a series of interviews we have lined up.”

Gurabe smothered a grin at Lady Alleandre’s long-suffering sigh, as well as the baleful glare she shot at both the Agent and Taldas. It was the Lady’s former colleague who had begun using the familiar title, a holdover from their time working together on the Aztlan site, and Gurabe had picked it up along with Tladi. The only holdout so far was Mendez, who still seemed confused by the informality such a prominent figure insisted on. While Alleandre grumbled about the appellation “Boss,” she seemed to find it far better than constant repetitions of “Your Ladyship.” To Mendez’ mind, however, the Lady was a great Noble, not to mention the most powerful being on the planet, and for her to seek less attention was baffling. He was slowly coming around, though, especially after the deadly and mortified look the Lady in question had fired his way after an accidental utterance of “Ma’am.”

“How many this time?”

“Only three,” Gurabe said. “We’ve also got the recovery room set up as you requested.” That had been a requirement imposed by Princess Evelynne before she would let her Consort engage in any more extensive mind-reading: a large, soundproof room, furnished entirely to Lady Alleandre’s specifications as a place for the Adept to recover after using her telepathic talents. No fluorescent lights, minimal electronics, with a large window open to the sky, and a large selection of music, books, and art.

“Let Dicky know when you need me,” Alleandre said. “At this point she knows my schedule before I do.” She looked around the table. “Next?”

“Well, Boss,” Islin began after an exchange of glances with his companion, “Chorus and I have come up with something. It’s not anything concrete; more of a theory than anything else.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Well, it’s about this Invisible Man.” That had been the unofficial name that had become attached to the person or persons behind the Invasion. At this point, none of them knew if it really was a man, or if there was only one, or anything else, but that very lack of knowledge made the monicker somewhat appropriate. “There are just some things that don’t make sense.”

“A lot of things don’t make sense,” Gurabe said wryly.

“True, but this is more basic. Essentially, it seems like this guy has all the makings of multiple personality disorder. Things just don’t add up. Take the Invasion. It was well-planned, incredibly well-supplied, but it was also about as subtle as a sledgehammer. And since then, everything he’s done has followed suit: killing the decoys, the attack on Ally’s mother…” Islin smiled apologetically at the Lady. “It’s all been really effective, but there doesn’t seem to be a hint of restraint to it. In fact, everything after the Invasion has the feel of… desperation. Like from that point on it was all improvised. Like he really had no plans for what to do if the Invasion failed.”

“You have a point,” Mendez said. “Some of our analysts are suggesting the same thing.”

“Well then, it just seems bizarre to me. For one thing, why would anyone go to the incredible effort of planning and launching the Invasion and then have absolutely no backup plans in case everything fell apart? Unless there’s something incredibly subtle going on right now that none of us can see, it’s as though he’s dropping big rocks from the top of a cliff and hoping they hit something. That doesn’t speak very well to great planning to us. And then there are all the attacks themselves. They’ve all been big. Huge, really. Big, noisy, messy and visible. Now please tell us if we’re wrong, but I always figured you spy types hated big, noisy, messy and visible.”

“You’re not totally wrong,” Gurabe admitted. “There are times when big and noisy is necessary, but it’s usually as a last resort.” She frowned. “You’re right. To have so many… explosive operations all at once definitely isn’t the mark of a career operative. It’s practically instinctive for us ‘spy types’ to avoid linking ourselves to any operation, and the easiest way to do that is to make it so that the operation didn’t actually exist.”

“This could all be smokescreen for something else,” Mendez pointed out, although it seemed he was merely playing Devil’s Advocate. “Distraction from the real goal.”

“What real goal?” Chorus asked. “If he’s after power, all the New Blood since the Invasion must be like an apple farm to him. He has a hundred new, inexperienced Nobles he could influence in a million subtleor not-so-subtleways. And in that case, why keep going after Ally and Evy?”

“It’s personal.” Lady Alleandre broke her silence abruptly. Her gaze was intent, eyes flicking back and forth through data only she could see. “The effect was widespread, but the intent of all his operations has always been personal. The Royal family. But the King and Queen are the two most heavily protected people in the Realm, so he had to go after Evelynne. Now he’s obsessed. She’s escaped him at least twice so far from attacks that should have been fatal. The question is, what were his plans before it became a vendetta? The Invasion means it’s political, and that means power. However, a part of the Invasion plan was specifically an attack on the Royal family. That means he wants the head cut off, and the only reason he would want that is if he has some means of filling the power vacuum that he assumes will appear. Perhaps himself, or perhaps some other figurehead. I heard someone suggest that the reason behind the Invasion was to destroy the aristocracy and install a ‘democracy’ in its place. There’s no easier system for an unscrupulous person to gain political power, and then keep it, than a democracy.” The Lady shook her head briskly. “It’s not clear. So, perhaps a figurehead, or maybe direct assumption of authority.

“You’re also right about the methods. For all his resources, he’s clumsy. He spent immense amounts of time, effort, and money preparing for the Invasion, but he was also either arrogant or naive enough not to even consider it might not succeed. So he’s had no contingency plans, and all his efforts since have been playing catch-up, trying to force matters to the conclusion he wants. No professional in the intelligence community is going to be so… limited in his planning. I don’t know a huge amount about espionage, but I know that it involved plans, upon plans, upon plans. Contingency planning as far as humanly possible. So there’s a dichotomy: someone with all the resources of at least one major intelligence agency to draw upon, but without any of the training or mindset. That means that whoever is in charge is not in the Guard, or the ISA, or even any foreign agency. What it does mean is that he has practically infinite access to at least one of them. Somehow, he can get them to do what he wants, with enough authority to cover his tracks very effectively behind himself.” She paused, eyes still flashing back and forth in her faraway stare. “Or maybe not covering his tracks,” she murmured. “What if, instead, he’s using someone else’s authority? Using the authority of a perfectly legitimate figure, someone who is expected to be involved in the intelligence community, albeit from a civilian standpoint. The operations continue with all the efficiency and strength of the Guard, say, but they’re being ultimately run by someone who is an amateur, at best. A two-year-old at a supercomputer.”

Suddenly coming back to herself, Alleandre shook her head, smiling sheepishly around at all the stares being directed her way. “Sorry,” she said. “One of the people you had me scan last week was an analyst, and I think bits of her are still running around in here somewhere.” She tapped the side of her head with a knuckle.

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” Gurabe said, shaking herself out of her fascinated daze. “I definitely think you’re on to something.”

“Taldas and Chorus came up with it,” Ally objected. “I could just see some of the spaces around the shapes.”

“That’s what half of intelligence analysis is,” the Agent said. “Just seeing the shapes that should fit in the blank spaces.” She looked at Mendez. “You know what this means.”

The Guard nodded unhappily. “If this person really is just using the Guard, or the ISA, we’re not going to find him through our direct investigations.”

“Not necessarily. He’s communicating with them somehow. Once again, we just need to look for the pieces that fit in the blanks.”

Matthew James Johnson had prayed more in the past nine months than he had in his entire previous life, and that was saying something. Born in Alabama, Matthew Johnson had been raised as a devout Baptist, he had paid far more than lip service to the teachings of his Church. He had believed, not blindly, but with the true devotion that can come only with constant introspection and questioning. He had believed not just in his God and his Saviour, but also that America truly was God’s country, the greatest of nations, tasked with standing up to evil and tyranny around the world. And so, after still more soul-searching, Matthew had joined the Light of Truth, a fellowship of like-minded individuals who had chosen to take up arms against the Devil’s Own.

Interestingly, that vigilance had not involved taking battle to the enemy, slaughtering the unbelievers in God’s Name. Instead, the Light of Truth offered their services as a kind of religious security force, protecting churches and parishioners in some of the most Hell-born places on Earth. It had been important work, and Johnson knew he had found his calling. However, it seemed that no matter how hard Matthew and his brothers fought, there was always evil, still entire nations that had forsaken the Truth, not just spiritual, but moral and ethical.

Places like the Realm of Atlantis.

The place actually still sanctioned religious prostitution in their Enneadic Temples, and that was nothing to the fact that prostitution in general was not merely legal, but unionised. They still practiced slavery, as well, although they were careful to cloak it in propaganda about “indentured servitude as punishment for crimes.” And, of course, such a nation naturally steadfastly refused to allow the rule of true democracy. It was an unrepentant dictatorship, a “monarchy,” the people wholly under the thumbs of a feudal system that should have died in the Dark Ages. The mere fact that so many of them worshipped pagan gods was disturbing, but Johnson was less militant about converting the heathens through fire and the sword than many of his brethren. Once freedom reigned in Atlantis there would be time to slowly and gently bring God’s True Word to her people.

So when word had quietly spread that the Light of Truth was considering aiding in an operation to bring the rule of God and the people to those benighted isles, Matthew had hesitated only an instant.

It had become more difficult upon actually arriving at Atlantis, after being smuggled in on a pleasure yacht. Not all of his fellow liberatorsvery few of them, actuallyhad shared his vision of God’s Plan. Far too many were motivated only by greed and a lust for destruction. However, Matthew had told himself, sometimes God needed to use the crudest of tools to enact His work. Vigilance would be required once Atlantis was freed to guard against this new corruption.

He had been isolated in the months leading up to the actual Liberation. All that time had been spent training and practicing in a remote mountain base along with the true Atlantean patriots who had originally formed the Hy Braseal Liberation Organisation. At first, Johnson had been leery about integrating into another organisation, but he eventually realised that it really would be important for Atlantean citizens to know that this was actually an army of liberation, under their own flag, not a group of invaders.

Then the day had arrived and everything had changed.

Matthew’s blossoming skill and discipline earned him a place with one of the squads tasked with deep infiltration of the Royal Palace itself. It was at that time that he learned that secret operatives were planning to capture the entire Royal family, so that they could be turned over to a legitimate authority and tried for their crimes. A coded frequency was provided in the event that those operatives required assistance to subdue their targets.

The squad encountered only light resistance on the way through the Palace, most of the Guards uncertain and confused when men wearing Atlantean Army uniforms suddenly began their assault, having already penetrated deep into the building with the help of stolen security codes. They fought well, defending their rulers with admirable, if misguided, loyalty, and succeeded in killing two of the members of Johnson’s squad. However, the Guards were too surprised, taken unawares, and fell quickly.

Then, by some miracle, the Army of Liberation received the signal that the Royal family was captured, and that the operative was holding them not a hundred metres away. They marched quickly, ordering the operative to show himself and the prisoners to surrender. Nobody could hide their shock when only a single young woman stalked towards them along the corridor like a predator.

Johnson himself ordered her to halt, to surrender herself, but she came on. Adrenaline and nervousness rattled him, and almost without his conscious thought he fired a single round from near point-blank range.

And missed.

As though his own shot was a signal, the rest of his squad opened fire, filling the air with so many bullets that the woman should have ended up as a gory paste on the floor. But she merely stood there, untouched.

The guns fell silent, incredulous shock stilling even the most bloodthirsty soldier, and the woman raised her arms. Johnson took a step back as a single finger flicked, impossibly summoning a small statue to hover above her left palm. Eyes that could see into his very soul flicked his way, and the statue leapt like some obedient living creature to strike between his eyes. Matthew fell to the floor instantly, stunned but not quite unconscious, so he was able to see what the woman did to the rest of the soldiers.

The very Palace itself came alive at her bidding, hurling decorations, tapestries, statues and vases at her enemies, while she stood there, directing their wrath like an avenging angel. Nobody could stand against such power, and the squad tried to escape, all thoughts of attack forgotten, but she tore their own weapons from them with contemptible ease, clubbing man after man unconscious.

When Matthew Johnson had finally awoken, he had been stunned to find that not a single member of his squad had actually been killed. The woman, whoever she was, had shown them all far more mercy than they perhaps deserved. Instead, the twenty-eight survivors were currently locked up in a massively secure facility somewhere on one of the three isles. Despite the security, the facilities were clean, adequately comfortable, and the Guards had never once tried to abuse or denigrate their prisoners. They had been forced to subdue at least three Invaderstheir name for what Johnson had called the Liberators, and he was beginning to see whybut that had been in response to unmistakeable threats of violence. The Guards didn’t pull any punches, but they didn’t go any further than necessary, either.

However, the prisoners had also not been allowed visitors or legal counsel of any sort, and Matthew could even understand why. After all, with someoneor somethingwho could do what that woman could, there was no way anyone was going to allow a prisoner to open his big mouth and blab it to the world.

And that woman was also the cause of Matthew’s nearly continuous prayer. He had learned enough to guess that she was actually Alleandre Tretiak, the Canadian who had saved the Princess of Atlantis once before. She was also that same Princess’ fianc?e, something that Johnson found almost as hard to believe as her impossible abilities.

Ezekiel Masterson, who had also been with the Light of God prior to Atlantis, and had been present during that fateful encounter, had made his own opinions known concerning Alleandre Tretiak. The prisoners were not kept in total isolation from each other, and he had not been shy to speak up during their exercise periods. To him, she was, without question, an agent of the Devil. Her perverted so-called relationship with another Godless woman was proof enough for him that Satan himself had granted her infernal abilities far beyond any that were meant to be possessed by man. She was, in fact, probably the very Antichrist of Revelations, and a sure sign that Armageddon was upon the world.

Matthew Johnson was far less sure. Only God could grant powers like those He had bestowed upon His only Son. The Devil was forced to work in secret, in the shadows, carefully spreading corruption and evil. To be too obvious was foolish, risking attracting the attention of the Light to shine down upon his foul works. And while the actions in that hallway were far more violent than the conversion of water to wine, there had also been something ineffably… Divine. And the fact that Lady Alleandre, as she was now known to the Atlanteans, had also shown mercy, another of the gifts God gave to His children, was another weight on the side of good.

Yet on the other side, why would God bestow such gifts on a woman who sinned against His Word every time she shared her bed with her female lover? How could He overlook such a failing if she was indeed one of His servants? Was His Word wrong? Had He changed His mind? Was she a new message to His people? Was it even possibleMatthew could barely think itthat she was His Child, returned as promised, yet in the body of a woman? The very questions were blasphemous, but that didn’t stop him from thinking on them nearly every waking moment.

Was Alleandre Tretiak the Christ, the Antichrist, or something… Other?

His eyes closed, kneeling by his small bed in his equally small cell, Matthew James Johnson prayed for some answer.

Chapter 11

There was an air of nervous anticipation permeating the air of the room, despite the occupants’ efforts to appear calm and unruffled. It had the feeling of waiting backstage at some performance, each participant terrified of falling on their face, but grimly determined to press on, since for many this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

Even Claire, who probably had the very least reason to feel uncertain, felt it. There were six other generally young-looking women in the room, each of them clutching a folder and displaying their nervous twitches for everyone else to see. Some tapped their toes, or wiggled their feet. One was absently scraping a tooth with a fingernail, until she realised what she was doing and jerked her hand away from her face until she got distracted and began rubbing again.

The only good thing about the others’ distraction, Claire mused, was that they didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the most unusual-looking woman in the room. Or perhaps it wasn’t so much nervousness as lack of surprise; one stocky young woman that Claire thought was from New Zealand bore an extensive tattoo covering half her face in fascinating patterns. It was possible that everyone else thought Claire’s strange colouring was just another form of body decoration.

In many ways, Claire felt sorry for all these women, who had come so far in their quests to gain a position as Page to Princess Evelynne and Lady Alleandre. The knowledge that the upcoming interview was really just a smokescreen for her gave Claire the guilty feeling that she was cheating. It’s not like this is the only chance they’re going to get, she rationalised. Even if they’re not going to get the job with Ally and Evy, the fact that they’ve got this far means that they stand a really good chance to find work as a Page with some of the other Nobles. The Dukes, even. The thought only made her only feel a little better.

“Ms Bethany Millman.”

The door at the far end of the sumptiously furnished waiting room had opened, and a man in full Guard attire whom Claire vaguely recognised as one of Evelynne’s Personal Guard called out the name of the next candidate to be interviewed. The tooth-tapper stood, and in a remarkable display of aplomb, her nervous demeanour vanished and she was suddenly a very professional young woman walking confidently towards the open doorway. She held up the pass around her neck for the Guard’s examination, and disappeared through the doorway at his nod. The door closed once again, and then there were six.

Claire wondered at her anxiety as she was led down the corridor towards the room where, she assumed her friendsher qor’imaewere waiting. It wasn’t as though she was really competing for this job, or that Ally and Evy were going to be unhappy to see her. For that matter, she even knew the Guard who was escorting her. She had spoken with Corporal Te’Inti Li-He several times before she had left for the States, and had found the young woman friendly and reassuring. Perhaps it was that old learned response that had taught her not to expect stability and continuity in any aspect of her life.

And, true, this newest… career move was hardly the mark of stability, but at least two parts of it would continue.

Those two parts were the source of the frisson of happiness/nervousness that shivered through her as Li-He opened the door at the end of the hall without knocking.

“Ms. Claire Jones, Your Highness,” the Corporal said formally. “My Lady.”

The anxiety peaked as Ally and Evelynnealthough the way they were dressed they were unmistakeably Crown Princess Evelynne deMolay and Lady Dame Alleandre Tretiaklooked up from a folder they were jointly studying with grave and solemn expressions.

“Ah, yes, Ms. Jones,” Evelynne said soberly. “Please, come in.” As Claire did so, beginning to wonder if she’d done something wrong, the Princess addressed her Consort. “What can you tell me about Ms. Jones, My Lady?”

“She comes very well recommended,” Ally replied in the same tone. “I happen to be personally acquainted with those who suggested her. A Ms. Sophia Doherty and a Ms. Allison Parks. Not a very bright couple, but quite pleasant on the eyes.”

“I see,” Evelynne said, and now Claire was beginning to catch the joke that was being played on her. The Princess leaned over to look at the file resting in Ally’s lap. “Claire Jones, no middle name. Twenty-two years old. Quite impressive marks in college.” Suddenly her eyes widened. “Oh my. She’s one of them?”

Ally nodded unhappily. “I’m afraid so. It’s quite clear.”

“Oh dear. You know what those people are like.”

“Yes. Freaks and perverts, the lot of them. Not fit for decent society.”

“Indeed.”

Evelynne shuddered, and she and her lover spoke in unison. “Americans.”

“Ha, ha, guys,” Claire said dryly. “Very funny. If you’d like, I can take my American ass back home.”

Evelynne looked at Ally. “What do you think?”

Her fianc?e thought for a moment. “Oh, let’s keep her. She does have a quite nice American ass.”

Claire’s white patches reddened. “Fine. You win.”

Grinning, Evelynne stood, Ally a moment behind her. “Hi, Claire.” She walked forward, to wrap her friend in a hug. “How are you?”

“Hey, Evy.” Claire sighed in satisfaction as Ally wrapped her long arms around them both. “Better now. I missed you two.”

“We missed you,” Ally said. “It’s good to have you back.”

With another squeeze, Evelynne released her embrace. She tugged Claire over to the couch, she and Ally flanking the newcomer. “So how was the trip?”

“It was… interesting,” Claire admitted. “I’m not sorry to be here, you know, but leaving was…” She didn’t know how to describe it. There was definitely no doubt in her mind that her place was here, in Atlantl with Ally and Evy, but it was still… strange to be leaving the U.S. for what was for all practical purposes forever. Oh, she might return, but if she did so she would do so as an Atlantlan Royal Page, or possibly, eventually, as an Atlantlan citizen.

“I know exactly how you feel,” Ally mumured, and there was a bittersweet edge to her tone.

Claire looked at her friend consideringly. “Yeah, I guess you do, huh?” Like her, Ally would only officially return to her homeland as someone far different from the person who had left. In fact, it was probably harder on Ally. While, eventually, Claire would probably have the option to return to the United States in relative anonymity, Ally would never even be able to walk down the streets of her home town without being surrounded by Guards, fans, and the press. Add in the fact that Claire didn’t actually have any real emotional ties to any of the places she had lived, and the depth of the homesickness Ally must regularly feel was poignant.

“So everyone says, ‘Hi,’” Claire said, changing the subject. “Erin wants to know what she should wear to the wedding, and Jean wanted me to steal some towels with the Royal Blazon on them.”

Evelynne laughed. “Just don’t tell Sir Arthur.”

“So what’s this I hear about Evy and me being the biggest sluts in Pennsylvania?” Ally demanded.

Claire blushed. “I had nothing to do with that, I swear. That was all Jean and Erin. Although I think Sammy was getting more into it than I think he should have been.”

“Bitches,” Ally muttered good-naturedly.

“So they’re alright with how things have turned out?” Evelynne asked. Although she didn’t say anything, Claire could tell that the potential for the whole situation in America to blow wide open was truly worrying her.

“It’s kind of strange,” Claire admitted. “They were a little hysterical at first, and then they were really freaked out, but now they’re… cohesive. It’s almost like they all feel they’re in some kind of exclusive club now. They all get together at least once a week to make sure their stories are straight and think up new stuff to tell the reporters when they come.”

“They’re not getting too creative, are they?” Evelynne asked. “If things get too unbelievable even tabloid reporters might catch something.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that. You wouldn’t believe how devious Narmin can be when she puts her mind to it. She’s made sure that the core stories are all the same, but that each one of them has just enough difference to make them appear like they haven’t all been cooked up. They’ve also toned it down a lot from some of the things that they were coming up with before. Now you were just kind of normal, funny people, with just enough flaws to make you believeable. Jean’s going to be insisting that she slept with you, Evy, but nobody else is going to ‘believe’ her.”

“Jesus,” Ally said in a slightly stunned voice. “‘Oh, what a tangled web…’”

“No kidding,” Claire agreed. “I think the whole point of the exercise is to make something so incredibly boring that the press has no reason to dig further, but not so dull that they might suspect the gang’s hiding something.”

“That’s good,” Evelynne murmured. “And I think I can add some verisimilitude. Guard Intelligence is setting up ‘Allison’ and ‘Sophia’ in Vancouver, just in case someone decides to go that far. They’re actually Guard operatives, and their features are similar to ours, but not exact. Just close enough to make the lookalike theory plausible.”

“Ally, how’s your Mom?” Claire asked suddenly. It was far too easy to get completely caught up in simply being around Ally and Evelynne again, that half-longing, half-belonging sensation that she had missed like an addiction for the past few months.

Ally sighed, but didn’t seem as upset as she could have been. “Not too bad, considering. She’s starting some physical therapy, and has to learn how to get by with just one leg, but she’d got the bit between her teeth now and she’s having a blast terrorising the doctors. Her eye isn’t quite as bad as they feared, but it’s still really messed up. At best she’ll be able to see vague shapes. Although the opthalmologist says that when everything heals they might be able to do something with lasers and artificial lenses. They’re going to wait at least a year for that, though.” She smiled. “Mom did say that she wanted to meet you properly when you got back.”

“I’d like that.”

“How is Corey doing in the apartment?” Evelynne asked. “Has he painted the whole thing purple like he threatened?”

Claire laughed. “No. He’s barely touched it, actually. He says he’s preserving it just how you left it so that fifty years from now, when they want to turn the place into a museum, people will be able to see just how Empress Evelynne and Empress Alleandre lived when they were slumming with the plebes.”

“Empress Evelynne?”

Claire shrugged. “He figures that between the two of you, you’ll be taking over the entire world within a few decades.”

“Well, you tell Pinky that the Brain here and I will get right to work on that,” Ally smirked.

Evelynne looked blank. “Who?”

Agent Calvin Rolston of the FBI peered through his night-vision binoculars at the erratically lit compound several hundred metres away. Little in the way of activity was visible, but somewhere out there in the New Mexico desert at least three full action teams from the DEA, reinforced with a full platoon of troops from the Army base near Albequerque, were slowly surrounding the innocuous-looking settlement. It looked like a perfectly unassuming collection of buildings, something that might have been a farm work camp, if there had been any agriculture within a hundred miles. It was an open secret to those in the law enforcement community, however, that this particular compound was a training camp of the American Freedom Brigade, an organisation far more sophisticated than the many and varied ragtag militias, fundamentalist groups and “survivalists” which could be found right across America.

While the less evolved rabble of fringe militants were a constant, low-grade worry to every even moderately intelligent legal agent, they tended to be disorganised and largely ineffectual, constantly hamstringing themselves with infighting between factions and a quite appalling ignorance of the basics of economics, strategy, tactics, and even literacy. Most law enforcement agencies were quite willing to let them quietly exist in a state of perpetual meltdown, except when they started to become a real threat to the more mainstream of America’s citizens. Or when some idiot politician decided it was time to boost his poll numbers by proving that he was tough on dangerous fringe groups.

Unfortunately, all of the incompetent groups were fertile recruiting grounds for a much smaller number of true threats. Those organisations with the funding, efficiency, and intelligence to be truly effectual were also, probably inevitably, the ones which managed to remain out of sight of the media and public knowledge. Particularly promising candidates from the lesser splinter groups were regularly enticed into organisations that could make good use of theirusually dangerousknowledge.

Like the American Freedom Brigade.

The AFB was a mercenary company, although it was officially on the government’s books as a “political action organisation.” That the limit of their politics was the fact that most of their employers were a variety of third-world dictatorsand wannabe dictatorswas something that was certainly never mentioned. They kept the governement off their backs by regularly and scrupulously paying their taxes and carefully following the strict letter of the law, or at least ensuring that any breaches were very comprehensively cleaned up. It was frustating to those officers of the law with a modicum of conscience and moral standards, but in many cases their hands were tied.

Now, however, a small but growing number of agents from a variety of agencies was beginning to stir restlessly. It had begun with the failed “Rebellion” in Atlantis. It was interesting that the American media was still using that termalthough that was beginning to change as wellwith its implications that it had been a popular uprising, rather than the far more accurate “Invasion” by which it was referred to by the rest of the world. In any case, once it had been released that almost all the Invaders had been mercenaries from a number of countries around the world, those who had been tasked with monitoring those groups’ activities had experienced a collective shock. It was hardly the first time the United States had been involved in the overthrow of foreign governmentsthe coup which had ousted the democratically elected President of Chile and installed a brutal military dictatorship came to mindbut this time something had struck a nerve. Nobody could quite say what it was, but there was a dangerously growing groundswell of anger rising in the intelligence and law community, and there were hints that an equal undercurrent was beginning to flow through the civilian populace as well.

That made it all the more frustrating when the current administration continued to drag its feet by insisting on very cautious investigations that amounted to little more than newspaper interviews. Tabloid newspapers, at that. There was something political at work behind the scenes, and many were now beginning to wonder just how much in the way of campaign contributions the companies fronting for the mercenaries had donated.

Calvin Rolston was one of those who had been growing increasingly disenchanted, and he had started from a more fragile place to begin with. His aunt, uncle and cousin had been visiting Atlantis when the Invasion ahd occurred, and the bomb that had been hidden within the Army-surplus refrigeration unit in the kitchen of their hotel had been strong enough to knock out two structural supports. A third of the building had collapsed into rubble, and among the dead had been Rolston’s relatives.

When the President had renewed his demand two weeks ago for the extradition of any American citizens among the Invadersgiven the way his government had been fumbling its own internal investigations, the trials of those “soldiers,” assuming there were any, would take a decadeRolston’s mind had become very clear. He was quite happy to let the Anties deal with that scum on their owneven better, they had the death penaltybut he would no longer sit idly by and watch their compatriots in groups like the AFB sit in his own country with impunity.

It had not taken long to put together the tools he needed. With no direct evidence of wrongdoing on American soil, the FBI was unable to take official action. In fact, the local regional Director, a particularly ambitious and toad-like unfortunate specimen of humanity, had specifically forbidden all the Agents under his command from taking any action against the compound. Turning to other resources, Rolston had “just happened” to meet up with the local second-in-command of the DEAand a onetime roommate at collegeat a bar and, in the course of casual conversation had mentioned his suspicions that that AFB compound was a central staging area for much of the cocaine smuggling on its way north. Agent Sam Novak had been shocked, of course, and had promised to investigate further. Rolston didn’t know the exact chain of events after that, but he would be willing to bet that a number of “anonymous sources” and “deep cover agents” had put forth corroborating evidence. With admirable diligence, the DEA had decided that a more direct examination of the property in question was absolutely essential. However, the ever-underfunded agency had nowhere near enough manpower to serve a warrantobtained from a surprisingly agreeable State Supreme Court Judge with the last name Novak-Stylesand whatever their determination, Agent Novak was not about to endanger his agents unduly. By another amazing coincidence, the Commandant of one of the State’s Army bases, in town to visit his old high-school friend Calvin Rolston, had accidentally let slip that a platoon of soldiers, who had all volunteered to give up their Friday night leave, would be engaged in unscheduled war games no more than a few miles from the compound on a certain night. If they were to hear unidentified gunfire out in the desert at some point they would quite naturally be forced to investigate.

Upon consideration, Agent Novak had decided that his duty to protect his country from the scourge of cocaine outweighed the possible danger of injury to his all-volunteer teams, and had scheduled the serving of the warrant on a certain Friday night.

So now Agent Rolston was watching the area from some distance away. He couldn’t help but feel guilty that he wasn’t more directly involved in the operation. However, if his involvement in this little conspiracy was widely known he would be looking at charges of disobeying a direct order, at best, and treason, at worst. If and when the time came he would be perfectly willing to stand and face judgement, and he would take full responsibility for his actions, but until then there were too many other operations he was quietly arranging with interested officials who had also lost their patience.

“Very well, I’ll make the Proclamation on Wednesday,” King Jad said, looking around the table at the Nobles and their Advisors who were present. “What did we say? Four-point-five per cent?”

“For six months,” Lord Emil agreed. “After that it will drop by point-five per cent per quarter, Sire.”

Despite being, in theory, a meeting between all three Atlantlan Dukes and their King, only two of the Nobles were actually physically present. The first was the King himself, of course, and Lord Marsden Hallack, Duke Hy Braseal, was the second. Lord Emil el-Shahir, Duke Lyonesse, was attending only virtually, through a secure video link, and Lord Thomas Baker, Duke Avalon, was in no condition to attend anything.

In fact, Lord Marsden was the only one of the penultimate order of aristocracy to have survived the Invasion nearly unharmed. He had suffered a serious arm wound during the fighting in the Palace, but had somehow survived the attack which had left nearly all his peers dead. One of those peers had been Lord Hassan el-Shahir, the previous Duke Lyonesse, and it was his son and Heir who was present this day.

And the third casualty had been Lord Thomas, who had been seriously wounded by the assassin attempting to kill the Royal family. The Duke currently remained in a coma, and although his condition had improved enough for the elderly gentleman to be taken off full life support, his place had to be taken by his Advisory Council.

Dawn Rousseau, the Speaker for that Council, nodded at Lord Emil’s recitation. “It’s lower than we were hoping for, Your Majesty, but still high enough that Velez will agree with it, Your Majesty,” she said. Hugo Velez was Avalon’s Economic Advisor. “Frankly, I think any tax reduction will help stimulate some more foreign investment.”

“Gods know we could use it,” Lord Emil muttered, and despite the informality of his tone everyone nodded.

Atlantl’s economy had nearly always been immensely strong, easily dwarfing that of almost every other nation of comparable population. Only two or three Middle Eastern oil nations boasted a larger per capita income. A large percentage of the Realm’s wealth came from taxes, tariffs, and fees on shipping passing between four continents. It was possible for cargo vessels to avoid Atlantlan water and fees, but such a long extension of their route around the islands made it far easier and cheaper to simply pay the tolls. As well, its location at such a major crossroads had led to the development of a massive warehousing and transshipping infrastructure, the taxes from which also flowed into Atlantl’s coffers.

However, that same volume of shipping put a huge strain on departments like the Royal Atlantlan Customs Agency, one of the few organisations in the Realm’s government which was constantly stretched to the limit, despite the vast sums of money and manpower poured into its operation. Still, RACA had performed with well-known efficiency, catching a large fraction of the illicit trade that plagued every trade route. Their greatest failure to date was allowing so many weapons and people to be smuggled into the country, which had then been used to stage the Invasion. It was now becoming more clear that such a failure reflected less on the Agency’s part and more on the existence of some conspiracy to deliberately blind the Customs command structure.

That, however, did not make the current situation any easier. The government had been forced to spend even more time and energy on searching shipping since the Invasion, with predictable results. There were few companies who appreciated the delays and additional scrutiny of their shipping that had become necessary. Even the ones without any illicit leanings whatsoeverand, amazingly, there were a few of thosecertainly didn’t like the way that spending additional time in Customs meant paying additional money for that time.

Added to perfectly justified uncertainty over the actual security of the Realm, as evidenced by the Invasion and exacerbated by the recent attack on a civilian research vessel, the result was a slight but measureable decrease in investment in Atlantlan-based companies and businesses. It was very small as of yet, and the Realm was nowhere close to sustaining major, permanent damage economically, but one of the reason the nation had been able to be so successful had always been to be very cautious in their economic policies. The best way to maintain a healthy economy was to monitor it growth very carefully, minimising both the sudden jumps and sharp drops that could bring the whole thing crashing down.

So, despite the additional cost, Atlantl’s rulers had already initiated a decrease in the shipping tariffs, and were now going to create a short-term tax cut to encourage new foreign investment. Everyone present was well aware of the repercussions, however, so nobody bothered bringing them up.

“Are there any other concerns?” King Jad asked, looking around the table.

“Actually—” “Yes, Sire—”

Lord Emil Hassan and Dawn Rousseau spoke at the same time. There was a brief moment where each wasn’t sure who would speak, and then the Duke gestured for Rousseau to continue. The Speaker nodded her thanks.

“Thank you, Your Grace. Sire, I hate to bring it up, but I think we need to begin seriously considering who is going to Succeed Lord Thomas as Duke Avalon.”

The King’s face was stony, but not completely shut, while the others present looked uncomfortable. “Has there been a change in his condition?”

Rousseau shook her head. “No, Sire. His Grace’s health has not deteriorated. However, by the same token, neither has it improved. In fact, his doctors claim that even if he emerges from the coma, they are frankly highly doubtful as to whether he will be able to withstand the rigours of the office. And while we on the Advisory Council have been successful acting as regent so far, there are… stresses forming. I won’t say we’re become polarisedyetbut we need a strong leader to keep us focussed and coherent.”

The King clearly wanted to argue, but the situation was far too important to allow purely emotional attachments to overrule practicality. “You have suggestions?”

“Yes, Sire. We have located a blood relative, a second cousin, who could be considered eligible, but to be blunt she really wouldn’t be qualified. She is herself retired, and the full extent of her political experience seems to be as casual leader of her lawn bowling team.” The Speaker shrugged. “The analysis suggests that she would also be highly uninterested in the role of Duchess, even if we were to offer her the Duchy.”

“I’ll want to see your analysis before Cleo and I make any final decisions, both for your estimate of this candidate’s abilities and her desire for the job. If she is actually qualified I’m quite willing to urge her to accept the Duchy, whether she wants to or not.” The King looked at the Speaker. “However, since it sounds like this candidate is questionable, I assume you wouldn’t have brought it up unless you have another suggestion.”

“Yes, Sire. I’m afraid the other option is simply to replace Lord Thomas by promoting one of his Counts.”

A year before the suggestion would have brought great scepticism, since displacing an aristocratic dynasty was usually the last resort. However, with the massacre of the Nobility, more than one lower Noble had been raised in the intervening months to fill a vacancy in an upper tier. Only a half-dozen, perhaps, but that was more than the previous hundred years put together. Therefore, Rousseau’s statement was met only with raised eyebrows.

“You’re sure?” King Jad asked, although his tone wasn’t dismissive or even sceptical. “Thomas might have something to say about it when he wakes up.”

Rousseau shrugged. “I’m afraid so, Sire. We could make the appointment provisional, but we think it’ll create more stability in the long run to officially establish a new Ducal dynasty. We need leadership with indisputable authority, especially now.”

The King grunted softly, turning to Lord Emil and Lord Marsden. “Thoughts?”

“I’d like to see Speaker Rousseau’s reports and analyses myself before committing fully, Sire,” el-Shahir said, nodding, “but I already have faith in her Advisory Council. If they honestly feel this is the best route, I’ll back it.”

“Marsden?”

Hallack took a little longer to speak. “I don’t really see a problem with the concept itself, Sire,” he said finally. “My main concern is with the timing. Shaking up the Nobility again, especially on such a high level, is something I don’t think we can take lightly. That said, would it be better to do it now, while everyone is still settling into place, and hope the splash is buffered by the already unsettled waters? Or should we wait until our new Nobles have their feet under them so that the structure is more secure when we start changing bricks?”

“A good point,” Jad noted. “Dawn? How long can you hold things together?”

“For a while yet, Sire,” Rousseau said promptly. “We’re nowhere near to fracturing or factionalising. I only brought it up because the signs for that potential are there. It’s still in the realm of abstract policy disagreements, but I want to head it off before cliques actually start forming in the Advisory Council and departments.” She shrugged, waving to herself. “I’ll admit that I have my own biases and ideas on how things should be run, which is why we need a ruler above us to provide unequivocal direction.”

“Very well. I will definitely sit down with Cleo and discuss it. In the meantime, I want all of you to start taking the measure of your Nobles. How they’re going to react, how a change might affect policies, everything you can. Dawn, keep an ear out for who your Counts might elevate from their number. And discreetly, of course. I can handle all of this being a vague rumourGods, it’s already at that point!—but I don’t want to have a power-struggle in the Nobility at this point.”

There were murmurs of agreement from those present, both physically and virtually.

“Good. Now, Emil, you had something.”

“Yes, Sire. In fact, it is vaguely related to Speaker Rousseau’s topic.” The Duke nodded towards the Advisor. “Not about the Ducal succession, but… about the Royal succession.”

“Oh?” King Jad’s brows lowered, but his voice remained mild, something that nobody present found reassuring in the least. The King was known for remaining calm and level until a certain point was reached, whereupon he tended to explode in ways unfortunate to those around him. Such as when he had broken his Legal Advisor’s nose during a discussion concerning Princess Evelynne’s right to marry a woman.

In addition, Lord Emil’s father, the previous Duke Lyonesse, had been the first public opponent to the engagement between the Heir and Lady Alleandre, and while his initial attempt to block the union had been defeated, his Heir had made his own discomfort with the situation known.

“Yes, Sire,” Lord Emil repeated, and he was young enough that his concealment of his apprehension was imperfectly hidden. “First, let me say that I am in no way questioning Princess Evelynne’s right to ascend the Throne. She is the Heir to full extent of the law, no matter what… other circumstances may exist.” There was a slight thawing of the King’s expression, which increased as the Duke continued. “I have also chosen, with the support of my Council, to remove my objections to the… marriage between Her Highness and Lady Alleandre.” That had Marsden blinking in surprise and Rousseau gaping in open shock. “For the next years we will need to work together far more closely than in the past, and I cannot allow my own biases to jeopardise our political security.” He suddenly smiled ruefully. “Polls are also showing an ever-increasing level of support for the union, even in my own Duchy. In some ways, the mere fact that they and their… relationship have remained so strong in acting as a rallying point to keep the Realm together.”

That was true. The political and social leanings of the three islands tended to follow those of their Dukes surprisingly closely, which meant that Lyonesse was by far the most conservative of the three. While support for Evelynne and Alleandre’s engagement had always been high in Avalon, and moderate in Hy Braseal, the fact that approval had recently actually exceeded fifty per cent in Lyonesse had been a shock to everyone.

“I should also say that I am not giving up my reservations about Lady Alleandre become the next King… Queen… whichever.”

King Jad chuckled. “Let me inform you that Lady Alleandre’s reservations about becoming King are twenty times as great as yours.”

“Indeed. In any case, that is a discussion for the future.”

“As Her Majesty is wont to say, ‘I hear a “but” coming,’” Marsden said wryly.

“There is,” el-Shahir said simply. “Whether there is the chance for this discussion in the future depends on having a viable line of succession. To simplify, while Princess Evelynne is the Heir, she has already survived two assassination attempts so far. While I am honestly distressed by the possibility, I have to wonder what happens if she does not survive the next one. She is, as far as any of us know, the last in the al-Heru-deMolay dynasty.” His last statement had the barest hint of a question.

The King picked up on it. “No, there are no ‘bastard Princes’ waiting in the shadows,” he said, again with that menacing calm.

Lord Emil looked a little startled to have it denied so quickly. “Ah, as you say, Sire. However, at the risk of being indelicate, it would be simpler if there were. As it stands, the situation is precarious. There are the cadet branches of the family, but they are so convoluted that we’re looking at massive strife if two or more competing claims choose to stake their positions vehemently. I, myself, have some vague connection, but so do Lord Marsden and a quarter of the Nobility.”

“If necessary, one of the Dukes could be raised,” Marsden pointed out. “It’s how the al-Heru line was established in the first place.”

“True, but then we’re just looking at the some problem we have now with Lord Thomas’ succession.” Lord Emil smiled apologetically at Rousseau and shrugged. “Only on an even larger scale.”

King Jad was impressed, and a glance at Lord Marsden showed that the older Duke was as well. For a Noble who had been abruptly installed less than a year before, el-Shahir was showing a good grasp of the political realities. His father had been a strong, canny ruler, for all his cautious conservatism, but the new Duke Lyonesse was shaping up to be even more impressive.

“I presume that, like Speaker Rousseau, you would not have brought up the subject if you didn’t feel you had a solution.” King Jad cocked a bushy red eyebrow.

“Not solutions, as such, Sire. More along the lines of… ideas. Suggestions.” Despite his admirable attempts to hide it, Lord Emil was obviously struggling with his own discomfort.

By this point, however, the King was losing patience. “And these suggestions are…?”

The young Duke took a deep, fortifying breath. “We need another Heir, Sire,” he said with commendable firmness. “Either a child of your body, or…” Here he lost some of his confidence. “Or a child of Princess Evelynne’s.” He seemed almost relieved to have got it out.

Dawn Rousseau cringed, but Lord Marsden looked almost bland. It was obviously not the first time the idea had crossed his mind.

The King, however, was not so sanguine. “Are you suggesting that Evelynne have a child, at this time, in the middle of this crisis, with all of the other responsibilities she is carrying, simply to… to…”

Now that he’d thrown himself into the pit, el-Shahir seemed to have decided that there was no way out other than facing the lion. “To provide a lifeline of stability and continuity so that our nation does not get thrown into chaos or possible civil war should the worst happen? Yes.”

“And the legitimacy of this hypothetical child? I highly doubt that my daughter will be willing to marry the father, even at a time like this. She does happen to be engaged already, and, as your own father pointed out, neither she nor Alleandre are equipped to properly reproduce on their own.”

“Actually, Sire, I do think that, if there were no other option, Her Highness would be prepared to do her duty and perform whatever task was required in order to safeguard the security and society of her people. However, I do not think proper marriage is strictly necessary. Though I find it personally unfortunate, illegitimate children have inherited their parents’ titles, even the Throne, on several occasions in the past, with, I might add, very little stress on the Realm as a whole.”

“And the father? The laws are quite explicit in that an Heir, even an illegitimate one, may only inherit if his or her complete parentage is fully known. That means no anonymous ‘donors.’ And even if it was fully known who this father was, there are at least two potential pitfalls waiting to happen. One, this father, whoever he may be, is hardly going to sit idly by while his own offspring is raised to a position of such power. We fought a three-year civil war in the 1200s because Prince Rasa’s father wanted him on the Throne, rather than his younger, legitimate brother.

“And the second has to do with this very stability Evelynne’s and Alleandre’s relationship seems to be providing. How long do you think that will last once Evelynne is forced to be ‘unfaithful’ to her fianc?e, no matter the necessity? Even assuming that the stress of this situation doesn’t destroy their relationship on its own?”

Lord Emil looked ready to rebut, when Lord Marsden cleared his throat gently. “I believe that I might have a compromise, one that may satisfy all our requirements, though I’m sure none of us will be truly pleased.”

Chapter 12

You’re loud tonight, Evy, Ally said, looking down the length of the couch at the woman in whose lap her feet were resting. Not talking, but… up here. She tapped her head.

Sorry, love. Inside, Evelynne thought wryly that having intimate knowledge of what your partner was truly feeling added a whole new dynamic to a relationship. Fake smiles simply didn’t work.

Was it something your father said? You were talking to him for quite a while.

Evelynne couldn’t control the surge of anxiety and knew Ally had felt it when her fianc?e frowned. It’s…

When Evelynne didn’t continued, Ally put aside her book and scooted closer, concerned. Evy, are you okay?

The other woman smiled shakily. Define ‘okay’, she said, deliberately using one of Ally’s own phrases. She took a deep breath. I’mI should have talked to you about it right afterwards, but I really needed time to get my head around it.

So that’s what that was, Ally replied with somewhat forced humour. I thought you might be solving economics equations, your mind was so busy.

I wish, Evelynne said, looking down.

Hey, Ally said, tipping up her partner’s chin before kissing her lightly. What’s wrong?

It wasZa and the Dukes have come up with a possible solution to the whole question of continuing the Dynasty. The princess heard her fianc?e’s sudden intake of breath and felt the answering surge of fear and uncertainty over their Link.

Oh, Ally said, her voice strained. Do they want you to…

No, Evelynne said firmly. I will flatly refuse to marry anyone else, and they know that. And za and Aunt Cleo would veto that idea in any case. They like you, love. Ally’s answering smile was warm but slightly shaky. No, it wasn’t that. It has to do with… children.

They want you to have a baby? Ally asked, half-incredulous. Now?

No, no, no, Evelynne hurried to deny. It’s more… She firmly took the bull by the horns. They want to have a new Heir ready just in case something happens to us. To me.

I don’t understand.

What they want to do is have some of your ova extracted and preserved, along with Patrick’s sperm, in order to create an Heir of Royal blood if the need should arise.

What?!

Evelynne shook her head, knowing that Ally really had heard and understood. The Dukes are prepared to unanimously support a Royal decree stating that such an child exists in potentia as the legitimate Heir to the Thrones in this instance only. They don’t want this to become a precedent for future generations. It’s breaking about a dozen rules of Succession as it is.

The Dukes of Atlantland let’s not forget the King and Queenwant me to submit to an invasive and intimate procedure in order to have insurance against the possibility that you and I, and Patrick, and your father, are all going to die without someone to sit in the Big Chair? Ally’s voice was flat and painfully controlled. And they were planning on asking my opinion on this stellar plan… when? Or do I have a choice in the matter? Am I going to wake up one day with a couple of holes in my stomach?

No! Evelynne said emphatically, reaching out for her lover, but Ally pulled away and paced stiffly to the large glass doors leading outside. You know that if they ever tried to do anything like that I would fight them with everything at my disposal, including teeth and nails. You do know that, don’t you?

Ally sighed, leaning her head forward onto the cold glass. Yes. Her answer was more felt than heard.

Good. Ally, love, nobody is going to force you to agree to anything. If youIf we say no, we’ll come up with something else.

Like what? The only clear bloodline is through you, Patrick, or your father. I don’t think za and Meghan are going to be having any children any time soon, and I’d say the chances of Patrick donating to anyone other than me are slim to none. That leaves you, and if I don’t do it, I really don’t want the same thing happening to you. Ally shook her head. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, she whispered.

I know, love, Eveynne said, padding up behind her lover and wrapping warm arms around her. And it might all be unnecessary.

Do you think I should do it? Ally’s tone made it clear that she was asking for an honest response.

Do I want you to have to do it? Evelynne asked. No. Do I think it’s a legitimate option? She sighed, burying her face in Ally’s back. Yes. It’s my duty to protect the Realm, and I know how much strife would come from an unclear Succession. We must have an Heir. Her next words were quiet. I also like the idea that if… something were to happen to you, some part of you would still be around.

Ally obviously felt the guilt in the quiet admission, because she turned around at last and drew Evelynne into a deep, reaffirming kiss. When she finally pulled back, she rested her forehead on her partner’s. I need to go… out for a while.

Evelynne nodded in understanding. Alright. She kissed her lover once more. Be safe.

I will, Ally said, moving towards the bedroom and her new Suit. She paused at the doorway. And Evy? She looked back. Wait for me?

Always.

They did what?!

Queen Cleo’s exclamation was all the more shocking because she was normally so calm and controlled.

I said that the DEA and US Army hit the AFB base in New Mexico, Colonel Dame Grace Al’Tryg began, but her Queen’s impatiently waved hand cut her off.

I know what you said, the Queen told her Intelligence Advisor with some irritationat herself, most likely, for reacting with such incredulity. I just can’t believe they finally did something.

Oh, it certainly seems like they did something, Madam, Al’Tryg confirmed. At the moment the only solid data we have is coming from media sources, but I have all the broadcasts we could find right here for you. She held out a sealed DVD, which Queen Cleo leaned across her desk to take automatically. We’re working our sources for more detailed information, but we have not received much as of yet. The Advisor frowned. What we are picking up is… troubling, however.

Troubling? We’ve been on the damned Americans for months to do something about the terrorist bases on their soil, and they finally do something? ‘Troubling’ isn’t the word I would have chosen.

I would agree with you, Madam, but surely we would have caught a hint of their intentions before this if they had finally chosen to act. Al’Tryg shook her head. This comes as a total reversal of their policy up to this point. Ambassador Wilkins is pulling in every political contact he has, but there’s not much he’s coming up with.

That’s true. It’s why I was so shocked. The Queen’s brows contracted, her mind racing. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

If you’re considering that this sounds like a total senek’et-fest on someone’s part, then yes, Madam.

Oh true, someone could have fucked up, but I can’t believe that so many coincidences were all, well, coincidental. You said Drug Enforcement Agency and US Army? Al’Tryg nodded. That kind of confluence doesn’t happen by accident. No, somebody’s been pulling strings. The question is who.

I considered that, Madam. So far my analysts have decided that if it goes very high it can’t be very wide at the top. We think the highest ranking official is no more than the Governor, or possibly a Senator or two. Anything larger would have leaked by now. Even that is mere speculation. If the entire operation was deliberately planned, the local DEA and someone pretty high up at the Army base have to be in on it.

The Queen looked at her quizzically. You don’t think this was an official operation? Her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

Not likely. It is quite possible that the official agencies could have planned and executed it without us knowing about it, but there’s been too long a delay between the events themselves and the official government’s response. They’re passing it off as the end result of a long-term plan to curtail trafficking through the state, by the way. One way or another, they should have been milking this for all they’ve got the instant the story broke. The fact that they have not tells me that they were taken by surprise as much as we were.

I agree. Well, I know I don’t need to tell you, but do everything you can to identify those responsible. As much as American policy frustrates the hell out of me, I don’t like the idea of any sort of… shadow organisation at the helm of a nation that powerful. Sighing, the Queen leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. In any case, this was the AFB compound we were looking at as a financial nexus for the Invaders.

That is a windfall, the Advisor admitted. From what we can tell, the fighting still left all their records almost completely intact. You can rest assured that we’ll be sparing no effort to obtain copies of all those records.

Good. Queen Cleo shook her head, this time in near-wonderment. Osiris and Set, the chance to finally find a solid link between the Invaders’ funding and whoever was providing that funding. There’s no way it’ll be a direct connection, of course, but it will be another piece in the puzzle. After a final sigh, she sat up briskly. Well, I won’t keep you any longer, Grace. You have a lot to do, and I don’t envy you any of it. And I have a feeling I’m going to be spending several long hours with the American Ambassador later today. Although it might actually be more useful if they sent Deputy Ambassador Weintraub instead.

It was a very carefully concealed secret that the Deputy Ambassador had actually been working for Guard Intelligence for over a year and a half.

That would be nice, Madam.

How did she take it? King Jad was sitting in his private office in Jamaz, watching through a video link as his daughter paced angrily back and forth in her own office and the Winter House.

Evelynne turned on him, eyes flashing. How do you think she took it? she spat. Godsdamnit, za, she’s freaked out, confused, mortified, and terrified, all at the same time. Right now she’s probably over the ocean somewhere, making big splashes, and I wasn’t about to stop her. And thank you so very much for letting me be the one to tell her this absolutely amazing plan you have.

Evy, I knew you were the best person to break it to her. Do you really think it would have been better for me to explain? Jad shook his head. No, you were the only person who could ask Alleandre to consider something this radical.

Evelynne glared at him as though she really wanted to argue, but knew he was correct. Sagging abruptly, she flopped ungracefully into her desk chair, and the smart software driving the camera that tracked her face almost sighed in relief.

No, I would want to be the only one to tell her. But… Osiris Damn it to the Duat, za, she’s hurt, and scared, and angry… and, quite frankly, so am I.

The alternative—

No! Not even for Atlantl. I am not sleeping with anyone else, even by proxy. She sighed, looking defeated, and rubbed her eyes. No, you’re right. This is the best of a lot of bad choices we could have right now. At least it’s something we were sort of planning, anyway. Another sigh. Just how safe is it?

Even though he had told her at least four times already, and Evelynne had carefully read the full report on the medical aspects of the proposal, the King had no qualms about reassuring her once more. Alleandre will have to take a number of drugs which are a cocktail of various hormones and other compounds to induce ova production. We will be putting the best doctors in the country on determining and monitoring the dosages and her ongoing condition.

Wonderful; she’ll love more doctors, Evelynne muttered.

The King decided not to hear the comment, since there was nothing he could say that would make it any better. Once they determine the optimal time,he continued, a long probe will be inserted in order to extract several of Alleandre’s ova. He smiled sadly in sympathy for his daughter’s wince. The eggs will then be cryogenically stored, along with Patrick’s… contribution, until such time as they are required. Which we hope is not until it becomes a matter of choice, rather than necessity.

So even if we both die, or at least if I do, the damned Dynasty will continue, Evelynne said, but her voice had lost much of its heat, turning dull and resigned. This absolutely sucks, za. Jad’s brows rose, but he was becoming used to a few of Evelynne’s new Americanisms. We’ve talked about when we have children. A long time from now. When we feel it’s the right time, we were going to choose to do it. We’ve even been arguing about names already. Brief humour flashed across her face. What’s wrong with Olgarina, anyway? She’s going to be a great mother, you know. You’ve seen how she is around little kids. The King nodded. Ally always wore an expression of unsurpassed terrified fascination around children under three years of age.

Evelynne sighed again. But this… Now you’rewe’re taking away all of that choice. Damnit, za, we’ve already taken away her home, her privacy… She nearly died when she jumped in front of a bullet. We’ve very nearly taken away her mother’s life. And for what? A very public marriage and a possible Kingship she will absolutely loathe?

She loves you, Evy.

I know. I just sometimes wonder if I’m worth it.

She doesn’t.

Lieutenant George Jaqamelalthough for the last few months his rank, not to mention his legal status, had existed in some kind of limbostared at the wall of his cell and tried to convince himself, for the hundredth time that day and the two thousandth time that month, that he was calm, relaxed, and prepared to face whatever his fate was ultimately decided to be. That fate was entirely out of his hands, resting instead, most probably, in the large, capable, but not particularly merciful hands of his liege Lord, King Jad Richard ibn Jad DeMolay.

In reality, he was about a third accurate in his mantra; calmness and relaxation were completely out of his possible mental grasp, but he was truly willing to face any consequences for his actions, and those of his team. The Lieutenant had made that point quite emphatically to every investigator with whom he had spoken. As squad commander, the actions of the soldiers under his command were entirely his responsibility, and he had been the one who had given the final order to fire on the target ship that had, in reality, been carrying the mother of Lady Alleandre, and her entire research team. Corporal Murthi may have actually pulled the trigger, but only on his final instructions.

That morning, Jaqamel’s mess dress uniform had been delivered to his cellhis secure accomodations within the Senet Military basewith the terse order to have himself ready by 1100 hours. Since more questions would not have merited a formal uniform, that could only mean one thing: Judgement Day. To say that the Lieutenant was existing in a mix of relief and dread would be an understatement.

The click of the door opening was very loud in the room and Jaqamel surged to his feet, coming to parade rest beside his bunk. The Sergeant waiting for him saluted briskly. Lieutenant? If you could come with me, please, Sir?

Of course, Sergeant, the Lieutenant replied, nodding with equal formality.

On stepping out into the hall, he found another soldier waiting to escort him, an honour guard which underscored his suspect circumstances. Of course, if he had really been charged with a crime, shackles would have been waiting as well, so their absence was a relief.

The march through the corridors was silent except for the clicking of their boots, their progress unremarked until they came to an anteroom before one of the facility’s meeting rooms. It was one which was commonly used as a courtroom, confirming to Jaqamel that some kind of judgement would be forthcoming. The fact that every other member of his erstwhile team were also present only underscored it.

Jaqamel had not been given permission to speak with his people, so he remained silent, saluting each of them in turn. They remained equally taciturn, returning his salute. Thankfully, they didn’t have to wait long before the door to the courtroom opened, and Jaqamel and his team saluted once more to the Colonel who appeared.

The Colonel nodded, waving them through the open doorway. Lieutenant.

Inside, two long tables had been set before the judges’ bench, enough for his whole team to sit. They waited, however, and a few minutes later those officiating entered. He knew two of them personally. General Mia Harrison, second-in-command of the Military Investigations Division, had been heading the inquiry. And given those involved, it was no surprise that Colonel Theodora Nixon had been deeply involved as well, given her position as the Master of the Consort’s Guard. The Lieutenant had been interviewed by the Colonel twice, and neither experience had been particularly pleasant.

The third person was in a wheelchair, and it took a moment for the lightning bolt of recognition to set in. When it did, the Lieutenant pulled himself up even further to attention.

Squad! he barked. Full honours! Salute!

Despite their own sure shock, the entire team pulled off a simultaneous salute that set new standards for preciseness and vigour. Six arms were held vertically utterly unmoving before six soldiers, who stood to attention with almost painful stiffness. It was only when Catherine Tretiak had been installed respectfully at the bench and the General spoke that they relaxed in the slightest.

Please be seated, General Harrison said, and Jaqamel and his team did so. The General, unmistakeably a bureaucrat, engaged in the obligatory shuffling of files and papers, while Colonel Nixon looked on with the faintest hint of amusement. However, any urge Jaqamel may have felt to laugh was instantly quelled when Harrison spoke again.

This inquiry is now in closed session. Lieutenant, please sound off your squad for the record.

Yes, Ma’am. George Jaqamel, Lieutenant, Royal Atlantlan Army.

On cue, his second picked up. Eileen Hansen, Lieutenant, Royal Atlantlan Army.

Fariq Chaisson, Sergeant, Royal Atlantlan Army.

Hamal al-Terriq, Sergeant, Royal Atlantlan Army.

Holland Llammados, Sergeant, Royal Atlantlan Army.

Monika Murthi, Corporal, Royal Atlantlan Army.

Harrison nodded. You are all here because a finding has been made on the inquiry into the incident which took place on or about November 19th of last year.

Somehow, Jaqamel sat up even straighter, and felt his squad do the same.

It is the finding of the inquiry that you did receive training orders which you felt were legitimate, and were acting to carry out those orders. Therefore, you are cleared of suspicion of intent to harm others.However, the General went on just as the Lieutenant felt himself relaxing slightly, it is also the finding of the inquiry that you acted with gross negligence in failing to conclusively determine that your supposed target was free of other civilian and/or military personnel. This applies most directly to you, Lieutenant Jaqamel, and to a lesser extent to Corporal Murthi. It was your responsibility to ensure that your target was fully green, and you failed to do so. Harrison frowned. You did come forth about your error at the earliest possible circumstance and accepted full responsibility. This is admirable, and has been taken into consideration.

Jaqamel couldn’t help but swallow, and out of the corner of his eye he saw that Murthi was practically grey.

It was therefore the position of the inquiry to recommend that you, Lieutenant Jaqamel, and you, Lieutenant Murthi, be prosecuted for dereliction of duty, gross negligence causing death, gross negligence causing grievous bodily harm, and failure to follow regulations concerning Class Two training missions. Lieutenant Hansen and Sergeants al-Terriq, Chaisson, and Llammalos were recommended to be cleared on all counts. Harrison took a breath, while Jaqamel wondered if he’d even breath again. While it was a relief to know that four of his squad were off the hook, he also knew that a conviction of gross negligence causing death could draw him twenty years hard labour, even without the other charges.

However, this recommendation has been conditionally suspended at the request of Nebet Catherine Tretiak, as well as the families of those who died in the incident. The General glanced at the small woman in the wheelchair, whose eyepatch seemed to glare at Jaqamel accusingly, even though her good eye was shockingly free of condemnation, just as he could swear he could see the stump of her leg even behind the concealment of the bench. General Harrison smiled thinly and without humour. Nebet Tretiak and her family have chosen to give you a chance to redeem yourselves, Lieutenant, Corporal. She turned her head and nodded respectfully to Catherine Tretiak.

Nebet Tretiak looked at each of them in turn for a moment, and in that instant Jaqamel knew where her daughter had acquired her incredibly penetrating gaze. It was as though every one of his motives was effortlessly stripped and dissected, all in the space of an eyeblink.

Lieutenant, Corporal, she said, and Jaqamel almost blinked at the calmness in her tone. I wanted to meet with you, considering the circumstances. The slightest crack appeared in her fa?ade. I’m sure you’ll understand that this is a little hard for me.

Yes, Ma’am, Jaqamel said, though without the crispness he might have used in replying to a senior officer. Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to use such harsh forcefulness to this small woman.

I wish I could say I totally forgive you for what you did, but I’m afraid human emotions are not that easy to control. This applies even more to the families of those who were killed in… on that night. Mrs Tretiak took a deep breath. However, my daughter and husband have convinced me, and the rest of the families, to give all of you the chance to earn that forgiveness. We’ve seen your records, at least the parts that aren’t classified, and while I admit there was a lot I didn’t understand, I’ve been assured that it’s all very impressive. You can also thank my daughter; she has a knack for seeing the potential in people. And that potential will not be fulfilled in a prison labour camp. Her eyes sharpened, sweeping across all of them. So here’s what you’re going to do, Mr Jaqamel and Ms Murthi: you’re going to serve by giving your lives to Alleandre. You’re going to join her Guard detail, and, if the time ever comes, you are going to give your lives for hers. Jaqamel gaped. My daughter suggested that you join my own Guard, but I can’t work with you. Not yet. Catherine Tretiak shook her head. That is the price of our forgiveness. She looked over to Colonel Nixon. Theodora has the details.

The sharp-faced Guard Colonel was impassive. In exchange for this leniency, you will transfer services to the Atlantlan Guard, where you will undergo training sufficient to assume roles as members of the Personal Guard assigned to the Heir Consort. As payment for nearly ending her mother’s life, you will be tasked with defending hers, even at the possible expense of your own.

Jaqamel couldn’t believe his ears, and judging by the expressions on the faces of his squad, neither could they. After a screw-up as massive as his, they were going to transfer him and Murthi to the Guard?! The Personal Guard of the Heir consort, no less?! Nebet Tretiak was either insane or a saint, and the Lieutenant very nearly said so out loud.

Thankfully, he didn’t as Colonel Nixon continued. In addition, you, Lieutenant Jaqamel, and you, Corporal Murthi, will both be stripped of one grade in rank. You will also be docked half your salary for a period of not less than ten years, those funds going instead to support those who were injured by your actions, and the families of those who were killed. However, this demotion is without prejudice, and you will be eligible for regular promotion and advancement for the duration of your service. The Colonel looked at the other members of the team. These are the terms of this agreement, and they are wholly non-negotiable for Lieutenant Jaqamel and Corporal Murthi. Should you refuse, you will be charged as recommended by the inquiry. For the rest of you, you are given the opportunity to transfer to the Guard as well, for consideration to postings yet to be determined. Well, Lieutenant? What do you choose?

Was the Colonel insane? I cannot speak for Corporal Murthi, Ma’am, but for myself I would like to take the opportunity to redeem my errors in the service of Lady Alleandre. What else could he say?

Corporal?

Uhhh… Yes, Ma’am, Murthi stammered, obviously just as shellshocked. That is, I would choose to serve as well, Ma’am.

Good, Colonel Nixon said, and then her smile was feral. No matter how good you think you are, at times you will wish you had taken the other option during your Guard training. Her teeth glinted. I plan to see to it personally.

Are you well, Catherine? Colonel Nixon asked with a softness that would have shocked many who knew her.

Catherine Tretiak sat for a moment lost in thought. The two of them were in a comfortable waiting room, awaiting General Harrison to return from other duties. Pardon? Oh, yes, I’m fine. She raised a hand to massage her forehead, seemingly surprised when it shook visibly. Perhaps some water?

Of course. Nixon hurried to the sideboard, where a carafe and glasses had been provided. Here you go.

Catherine drank thirstily. Thank you, Dora.

Nixon rolled her eyes, and Catherine grinned with more vigour. Nobody had dared to call the Colonel by that diminutive since her grandmother, but Catherine had appropriated the shortening of her name without a qualm, flatly refusing to call her by her more common nickname of Dicky.

You’re welcome… Cat, the Colonel replied, smiling at Catherine’s eyeroll. Nobody had been more surprised than her that she and Lady Alleandre’s mother had actually become friends since the incident.

How do you feel now that you’ve met Jaqamel and Murthi?

That is a bit more tricky, Catherine said wryly. She shook her head. There’s still a part of me that wants to see them in prison, but… She shook her head. They’re both punishing themselves more than enough with the amount of guilt running through them.

Colonel Nixon just nodded, unsurprised. Only a few people knew that Lady Alleandre’s mother was also an empath. She had nowhere near the power or skill of her daughter, but it was still well in the paranormal realm.

Still, somehow I’m glad that Ally convinced me to give them that chance. Ally really does see potential in them both, you know. Especially Jaqamel.

Oh? Nixon asked. Psychogenic potential? It was a question that would never even have crossed her mind a year before. That had been before she had been personally pinned to the wall with psychokinetic force.

Catherine shook her said. I don’t think even she knows. It could just be that spark that can turn ‘good’ into ‘great.’

Well, if anyone can bring out that potential, whatever it is, your daughter can, Nixon mused. Have I told you just how impressed I am with how well she’s been handling her ‘team?’

Catherine smiled. Arthur was saying the same thing.

It’s true. She’s been breaking just about every ‘rule’ of investigation there is, and she’s already beginning to pull ahead of the Guard agencies. She’s totally squashed any power struggles and rivalries on her team, as well.

I know. Catherine sighed. I just wish she didn’t have to do it, though. She would much rather be using the same team and same resources to be doing something more… positive. Discovering cold fusion, or some such thing.

Nixon laughed. I don’t doubt that she will one day. Her intelligence is… beyond impressive. You know, I had an analysis done on her. Purely for my own interest, she hurried to add. And nothing official. I know a psychological analyst in the Guard who owed me a favour, and he looked over some of the more… open parts of her file. He said he wouldn’t be surprised if her I.Q. measured at least 200.

It’s a good thing Evelynne’s no slouch when it comes to intelligence, either. In fact, I think Ally’s rubbing off on her somehow. And vice versa.

I wouldn’t be at all surprised. And Her Highness is ‘rubbing off,’ as you say, on Alleandre as well. She is no longer quite so… introverted as she once was.

Mmm. There was silence for a moment. Dora, how is Ally really doing? I worry about her, and you actually see her so much more than I do.

Nixon hesitated, torn. On the one hand, Alleandre was her charge, and there were strict regulations concerning privacy and disclosure. On the other, this was a mother worried about her child.

She’s… tired, Catherine. She’s thrown herself into this job and this investigation with so much energy, and she is, as we’ve said, very good at it. But it isn’t what she wants to be doing, and it’s beginning to show. She’s nowhere near ‘burning out,’ as I think you put it, but she’s tiring.

And Evelynne?

I believe Evelynne is much the same, although she has a lifetime of training in her duties to draw from. More than once I’ve actually overheard them talking about the ‘good old days’ when they were away. Always as a jest, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness to it. Nixon smiled wryly. I am actually quite grateful for the presence of Claire Jones. She is a very good stabilising influence.

That’s good, Catherine said, smiling. I like her. She paused. I don’t want to stick my nose in, but… hell, that’s what mothers do. Do you know anything about the… personal relationship the three of them have?

Nixon hesitated again. What do you mean? she asked carefully.

I’ve seen how Claire looks at both Ally and Evelynne, and I know you have, too. And I do know that Ally, at least, is far more affectionate towards her than she’s ever been towards other friends. I just want to know that nobody’s going to get hurt, including Claire.

I’m quite sure there’s nothing… intimate going on, the Colonel said slowly. I would imagine that the closeness they share is more due to their shared experiences in America and Canada. From what I understand, they all bonded quite strongly. And if you’ll pardon my frankness, with the… abilities each of them possesses, that bonding takes on a far deeper possibility.

That’s true. I know that Ally and Evy are linked, so I suppose it’s not out of the question that some other kind of bond could have formed. Especially after… Catherine trailed off and when she spoke again she was very quiet. Does Ally ever mention… that night. At that bar?

Nixon shook her head. She had been given a very basic description of the events which had nearly shattered her ward’s psyche, and the knowledge of it still filled her with rage and professional guilt. Even though Alleandre had been technically out of her jurisdiction at the time, the Colonel still harboured a Guardsman’s typical fury when her charge was threatened or harmed.

Not in my hearing. She has… changed, however, as I’m sure you’ve seen. Her abstinence from alcohol is only the most visible indicator. She is also very wary of being alone with anyone but Her Highness, Claire, and Chorus Tladi. Nixon paused. I did a little… investigation, and found out the condition of the woman who… assaulted Alleandre.

Oh?

Eileen Swanson pleaded guilty to charges of manufacturing and trafficking in an illegal substance, and of reckless endangerment through her actions in ‘testing’ new product on unsuspecting individuals. She received eight years in prison, and is also helping police investigate other manufacturers and distributors in the area. She is also taking part in a state-wide anti-drug campaign from her prison cell. Apparently she’ll even be in a public service commercial in several months. Nixon looked vaguely appeased. I’m still not sure what Alleandre did to her, but it was certainly effective.

It wasn’t Ally, Catherine murmured. It was Evelynne. She made the woman feel everything Ally was going through.

Really? Nixon asked, surprised. That is a rather pure form of justice, isn’t it?

Yes. I just wish it hadn’t been necessary.

Chapter 12

The soft knock at the door just barely distracted Claire’s attention from the spectacle that had her enthralled. Still more than half-mesmerised, she edged towards the door to the nearly deserted gymnasium. She managed to get there after tripping over a bench only once, but it still took another discreet knock to draw her focus enough to actually manipulate the door handle.

“Ah

yes?” she asked distractedly through the crack she had opened the door.

Corporal Te’Inti Li-He looked back at her with slight surprise. “Good afternoon, Ma’am. I’m sorry to disturb you and Her Ladyship, but Her Highness should be returning within the half-hour.”

Despite her distraction, Claire smiled. She and Te’Inti had somehow struck up an easy nascent rapport since her return from the States. Perhaps it was the fact that they were close in age, or perhaps that each in her own way was uncertain and possessed less than full confidence in her new position. Te’Inti had been a Guard for four years already, since just after her twentieth birthday, but in a more conventional situation it would have been at least ten years before she even began to consider making the transition from Common to Personal Guard. She was adapting amazingly well, considering the circumstances, but the ease and self-confidence that marked Colonel Nixon or Sir Arthur, or even most of the rest of her unit, had not had nearly enough time to take root. She was also a solidly muscled woman, with the almost exaggerated carefulness in her interactions with other people that was common in the very strong.

“Oh, thank you,” Claire replied. Evelynne had been off to the capital city of Jamaz for the day for consultations with the Queen and a few of the Nobles. Strictly speaking, as the Page to the Princess, Claire should have accompanied her “mistress”and didn’t that title bring strange and wonderful images to Claire’s mindbut Evelynne had asked her to remain behind and keep an eye on Ally for the day. For her part, Claire was more than happy to acquiesce. Not only was she nowhere near confident enough to try practicing her very real duties among Atlantl’s aristocracy, but the show that she had been privy to when Ally had announced her desire to “work out” was something she was not about to pass up for any reason.

“Thank you,” she said again. “I’ll let Ally” She broke off when she realised that Corporal Li-He was no longer paying even the slightest attention to her. Instead the Guard’s gaze was riveted on the small slice of gym visible through the space between door and frame, and even before she looked over her shoulder Claire had some inkling of what had caught Li-He’s attention. “Ah

come on in,” she urged, and it was a measure of the young Guard’s rapture that she allowed herself to be ushered in with a hand to the elbow. It was possible that a far more experienced Guard, like Colonel Nixon or Sir Arthur, would have been able to shrug off that fascination, but Te’Inti Li-He youthfulness gave her all the appearance of a child gawking at a fireworks display, and Claire couldn’t help a wry smile of complete understanding.

With the Corporal now inside the gym, Claire turned back to the scene which had both of them staring.

Ally was performing acrobatics. However, the young woman’s version of acrobatics was one for which Mary Lou Retton would have instantly given her left eye, at least four fingers of her right hand, a kidney, and a large chunk of large intestine.

It really puts the “acro” in acrobatics when the gymnast can treat certain laws of physics, like gravity, as mere suggestions, Claire thought to herself.

Ally’s “routine” had just launched her from a pommel-horsethe gymnasium at the Winter House was equipped with enough hardware to hold its very own Olympicsto leap three metres and land lightly on the top of the higher of a set of uneven bars. Without a hint that she was unbalanced, Ally ran across the bar with short steps and then leapt again. This time she twisted as she jumped, her entire body spinning with her arms directly outwards like the blades of a helicopter. Spinning so fast Claire imagined she could hear a whir, she seemed to float across another seven or eight metres. Her course took her directly towards a floor-to-ceiling rope used for climbing practice, and Te’Inti sucked in a quick breath when it looked like Ally was about to collide directly with the rope. Claire couldn’t entirely blame the Guard, but she herself had long since given up worrying about Ally’s impossible manoeuvres. Sure enough, before she could tangle herself dangerously in the rope, one of Ally’s outstretched spinning hands smacked into the rough surface and gripped it. Momentumanother of the principles of physics Ally could take or leave as she chosespun her around the thick cable. Twisting her body, she got another hand on the rope and pulled her feet up sharply so that she was effectively crouching horizontally on the cord. Even as she did so, the momentum she had allowed through had the rope stretching like a bowstring, and as it snapped back Ally used it to fire herself almost the way she had come like an arrow. This time her flight was over ten metres, ten metres of soaring through the air before she dropped, directly on target for the balance beam in the centre of the gym. There was another indrawn hiss from Te’Inti as Ally’s hands, outstretched above her head, found purchase on the smooth wood. For an instant she was in a perfect handstand before her legs and body arched over and she pushed off, continuing through a forward flip. Her bare feet hit the beam, absorbing all forward momentum and she bounced up. And instant later she had shot straight up, heading for the angled glass ceiling more than fifteen metres overhead. On the way she turned in the airThat violates conservation of angular momentum, Claire thoughtso that her feet, rather than her hands, pushed off the window far overhead.

So how do we explain the footprints on the inside of the windows to the people who clean them? Claire asked herself.

“Ma’at sen, det ma’at rennet ka sen. Pelet to sen da ma’at

“

The constant muttering drew Claire’s attention, and she looked to the side to see Corporal Li-He murmuring under her breath as the Guard watched the superhuman display raptly. Currently, Ally was engaged in a series of manoeuvres among the ceiling beams overhead that would have made an orang-utan give up the jungle and decide to try its hand at an ocean-going existence instead. Claire couldn’t understand the words, but the tone was very familiar from her own reactions to her friend’s blatant flaunting of universal laws.

“Amen, sister,” she murmured.

Te’Inti looked at her, apparently startled that there really was anyone else in the room. “Excuse me, Ma’am?” The sheepish, but still stunned look on her face was endearing, and Claire felt a flicker of surprise at the thought.

Mentally shaking her head, Claire jerked a thumb to the woman above them. “I said I understand completely. You don’t want to know what I said the first time she

well

“

“Uh, yes, Ma’am. It’s rather

“

“It is, isn’t it?” Claire kept her eyes aimed at the ceiling. “By the way, Ally’s said something to you about how she doesn’t want to be called ‘Ma’am?’”

“Yes, Ma’am. As I recall, she threatened to have me beheaded.”

Claire nodded. “Sounds about right. Just so you know, she and I are like that.” She held up her hand, first and second fingers intertwined. “Well, maybe not. Only she and Evy are like that. I’m like this.” She managed to touch her first and third fingers together. “So

“

“Ah. I understand, MaMisClaire.”

“Good.” Claire smiled at the young Guard. “Now, do you prefer Corporal, or…?”

Ah, while on duty I think Corporal or Guard would be most appropriate, MaClaire. The other woman smiled shyly. When I’m off duty I’d be honoured if you’d call me Te’Inti.

Deal. Claire was silent for a moment, distracted from the sights above her, impossible as that might seem. Te’inti. Does that mean something? In Lantlan, I mean.

Not in Lantlan, but in Ysan it means ‘Diamond Star’. The Guard blushed. It’s another name for the Dog Star.

Ysan? What— Oh, that’s the language they speak on Ys, isn’t it?

Yes, MClaire. I’m from there originally.

Claire smiled wryly. You know, maybe I should let you call me ‘Ma’am’ after all. I wouldn’t want you to sprain your tongue on my account.

The expression of relief on Te’Inti’s face was almost comical. If you don’t mind… Ma’am. She hesitated. Off duty I’d be happy to address you by your given name.

Deal, Claire said again, smiling. It was amazing how un-selfconscious she felt. You know, I’d really like to—

“Whoa!”

The shout had both Claire’s and Te’Inti’s gazed moving upwards. Somehow, Ally had missed a grab on her intended beam and was plummeting floorwards. Claire froze for an instant, but Li-He was already moving towards her charge’s point of impact.

Theoretical point of impact, at any rate. Before she could hit the floor with enough force to seriously injure herself at the very least, Ally’s destructive plunge had halted a meter from the ground. For all that the fact that she was floating in the air without any support other than her own mind should have been awe-inspiring, she looked anything but elegant. Her arms and legs were akimbo, and one track suit leg had ridden up to bare a calf, and her T-shirt was likewise exposing a fair amount of smooth back. Smooth, at any rate, except for the starburst scar in the middle of her lower spine.

Li-He had halted the instant it became clear that she would not be scraping her charge off the floor with a spatula, but it was clear that the reality hadn’t sunk in. Nobody in the world would blame her. It was a frozen tableau for several seconds as all three of them stared at each other, and then Ally spoke.

“If you laugh, I will kill you.”

Twenty minutes later, Claire was wandering the gymnasium, idly inspecting the equipment, while she waited for Ally to finish her shower. She shook her head bemusedly as she ran her fingers over the climbing rope, remembering when Ally had used it as a bowstring with such casual ease. It takes a bit of getting used to, having a superhero for a best friend, she mused. Of course, Evelynne and I would probably also be considered superheroes. I think we’re more the information broker in the shadows type, though. Ally would go out and do the actual ass-kicking, and we’d be in the Batcave giving her directions.

As if on cue, Ally emerged from the gym’s changing area, finger-combing her hair, which had grown even more in the past months. You know, I never really appreciated how easy short hair was, she commented. She pulled a still-wet, shoulder-length handful of tresses around and glared at it balefully. Maybe I should cut it again.

Don’t do that, Claire said quickly. It looks good.

Ally sighed. That’s what Evy said. She smiled. She should be back any moment now.

Claire nodded, and the two of them stepped out of the gym, Claire with a last glance back at the now mundane equipment, and headed down the corridor.

Te’Inti is nice, Ally said suddenly, and Claire looked over in surprise. I like her.

So do I, Claire replied, smiling. So do I. She terrified of you, by the way.

What? Because of that beheading thing? Well… okay, maybe I was a little… emphatic when I said it, but…

No, not that, although I’m not sure how certain she is about how serious you were. It’s more from what you did during the Invasion. Claire had heard the various perspectives about that day, from Ally’s expected self-deprecation to Chorus’ enthusiastic tale-telling, and half of her would have given anything to be present, while the other half was unimaginably happy to have missed the incident. And then this little demonstration just now in the gym…

Oh. Ally flushed lightly. Heh. Oops. She was quiet for a few more moments. She likes you, too, you know.

Again Claire smiled, slightly embarrassed. She told you?

Ally shook her head. No. And I don’t just mean she likes you, I mean she’s attracted to you. There was something a little uncertain in her tone.

That made Claire slam to a halt in the middle of the hallway. What?! How do you know? Her tone was accusing.

I wasn’t scanning her, I promise, Ally hurried to reassure her friend. I’ve just caught a few flashes. I really can’t help it. She smirked wryly. What do you think distracted me back in there? The mind-reader’s face fell. I shouldn’t have said anything. I try not to say anything about things I pick up… you know.

No… no, Claire said, shaking her head slowly while she forced her legs to begin moving again. That’s okay. Although, maybe you shouldn’t have, because… awkward! But then, she is rather pretty, even I noticed— Once more Claire screeched to a stop, bicoloured eyes widening. Whatever Te’Inti’s emotions at the time, they had been strong enough to penetrate Ally’s mind and concentration to such an extent that the Adept had nearly plunged from the ceiling, which meant that they had to go far beyond simple aesthetic appreciation. OH!

To nobody’s surprise, the courtroom was packed. Perhaps not as crowded as a similar court in another country, but that was only because Atlantlan law stipulated that no court of law was permitted to have more spectators than available seats. Standing while court was in session for any reason, other than to immediately and quietly leave the room, was forbidden. Likewise, Atlantl was among several countries which banned television camerasin fact, unofficial electronic recording of any kindfrom the courtroom.

Nevertheless, this courtroom was filled to utter capacity with spectators who were stretching the definition of “available seating” to the limit. It was quite possible that some of the benches were so tightly packed that their occupants would remain stuck long after the trial had ended.

Like sheep. Major Allen Wright carefully kept the sneer off his face, maintaining a bland expression. Ghouls awaiting their chance to watch the wolf in their midst be taken down by the dogs.

At one point Major Wright had actually been a real military officer. He had solemnly sworn to defend the United Kingdom of Great Britain, and had risen to a rank comparable to the one he now styled himself through perseverance and an undeniable confidence. However, when the chance came to utilise that confidence in more active roles than insipid peacekeeping, and for an infinitely larger reward, he had simply disappeared from his post. Ten years later, with successfully fulfilled contracts with a number of South American businessmen and at least two East African despots, he was completely convinced he had found his true calling.

Then the opportunity had arisen to undertake a contract far more challenging than protecting drug shipments, training enforcers, or pacifying poorly armed and untrained villages. It had come through a middleman, as such things always did. An actual, full-strength military invasion of a nation known for producing some of the best soldiers in the world, an attack designed to decapitate that country’s government in a stroke.

The details of just what was supposed to happen after this strike had always been rather vague, but the onetime “Major” hadn’t particularly cared. To kill not just another man, or even a dozen other men; to kill an entire nation! That was a feat worthy of a war-god of his stature.

And it had almost succeeded, too. It had been swift, sure, completely unexpected. Nearly every Lannie Noble killed within a half-hour of fighting, a stroke that had nearly severed the head. It had been the battle he had been waiting for all his life, and there had been surprises as well. Prior to the attack, Wright’s image of the Nobility was a bunch of fat, arrogant popinjays, the very definition of blasphemy as the weak ruling over the strong. However, far more Nobles than he had ever even begun to consider had fought directly beside their bodyguards, exacting a grim ferryman’s toll from the men who had killed them. Women, too! One of Wright’s most vivid memories was of a small old woman firing back at his squad with a submachine gun that was almost as large as she was, taken off one of her fallen protectors. She had died, but her aggression, and that of her compatriots, had held off the attackers long enough for reinforcements from the Army and Guard to catch them from behind.

Worthy enemies, in Wright’s opinion, and even then they had earned his grudging respect. He had been fully prepared, eager even, to go down fighting, his teeth at the throat of his foes, and when he felt the breath knocked out of him by the three bullets to the chest he had been satisfied.

What they did next was something for which he would hate them with every fibre of his being for the rest of his life.

They had saved him. He had awoken some weeks later in a prison hospital, strapped to the bed, his wounds treated, a predator robbed of his great death. No war-god’s end to usher him into Olympus. No, his end was to be killed like a sheep, executed for his “crimes” like a common murderer. But at least he could make them kill him in the end.

The three red-robed Justicars at the bench at the front of the room finished their little discussion, and one tapped the small gong before her.

“Allen William Wright, you are called to answer before the Realm’s justice, here in the bodies of these Justicars,” the hawk-faced woman intoned. “Stand and be known.”

Wright didn’t move. There was no way he was going to dignify this farce.

“Allen William Wright, stand and be known,” the woman repeated. Still no movement. “Allen William Wright, be aware that failure to follow the lawful directions of any member of this Tribunal will result in further charges laid against your person.” She waited another moment, and then shrugged, and Wright bristled at the gesture, one of total indifference to his lack of actions. “Watcher of the Court, is Allen William Wright present?”

The Watcherthe equivalent of the bailiff in other nationswas a massively muscled man, and his voice was equally solid. “He is, Your Justice. Allen William Wright sits at the Defendant’s Table.”

The female Justicar nodded. “Very well.” She looked down at the stack of papers in front of her and frowned. “Allen William Wright, you stand charged before the Realm with the following crimes, as summarised: one count of unlawful immigration; one count of the unlawful importation of illegal weapons; two counts of conspiracy to regicide; nineteen counts of murder; and twenty four thousand eight hundred fifty seven counts of conspiracy to commit murder.” There was a mixed gasp of surprise and low growl of anger from the spectators, and even Wright couldn’t help but feel surprise at that huge number. “The specific counts of these charges being far too numerous to mention, these summaries will stand in their stead, unless you specifically request their recitation. Do you so wish?”

It took a moment for Wright to understand what the woman was saying, and when he did he felt a moment of temptation for the court to be forced to read out the names of all twenty four thousand eight hundred fifty seven people who had been killed in the explosions which had accompanied his attack, but it passed quickly. However satisfying it might have been, none of them had actually died by his hand. There was no way he was going to take credit for any kill he had not performed himself. “No.”

Another nod, and Wright was irritated that none of the Justicars were reacting with the kind of awe, horror or revulsion he felt was appropriate. Instead it was as though he was in court on a rather minor traffic violation, and that was maddening.

“Very well. You are entitled to legal counsel from the Realm as well as your nation of citizenship, and have been informed of this right. Throughout these proceedings you have consistently rejected any and all legal counsel, and have said nothing in you own defence. Is this correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you wish to reverse your decision at this time?”

Wright sneered. “I don’t need anyone to hold my hand.”

Frustratingly, his stab at their precious dignity just seemed to be swallowed up without the flicker of an eyelid. “The court will consider the defendant’s statement to be a negative response, and Allen William Wright is hereby acknowledged to be acting without counsel through his own free choice. In that case, Allen William Wright, on the charges here brought before you, how do you plead?”

Wright smirked again. “Guilty.” He basked in the renewed anger from the gallery.

“Allen William Wright, do you understand the consequences of entering this guilty plea, including the penalties which this court may apply?”

Wright barked a laugh. Weeks before, when the sheep had been urging him to retain counsel, some Lannie pencil-fucker had tried to explain to him the possible punishments to which he could be sentenced. The erstwhile Major had ignored the bleating. He would be executed; there was no doubt of that. The manner of his death

He gave a mental shrug. They were pretty much the same around the world. Hanging, the chair, lethal injection, firing squad, beheading. In every one of them he could look his killers in the eye as he died. “I was told.”

“Allen William Wright, are you sure of your answer?” This time the Justicar on the woman’s right, a short, balding man, spoke. “Will you willingly submit to the judgement of this court in the matter of your punishment?”

“I submit to nothing. Do what you want. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

The three Justicars glanced at each other. “The court recognises and acknowledges the plea of Guilty on all charges by Allen William Wright, and notes that the defendant has knowledge of the potential consequences by his own admission. This plea is accepted, and this court judges Allen William Wright to be guilty on all counts. This Tribunal will now recess and consider sentencing.” The chief Justicar tapped her chime again and the trio filed out through a door at the side of the room.

Behind them, Allen William Wright sat back in his chair and fed on the rage and hatred flowing from the gallery.

“Oh, Mary, Mother of Christ, I need a drink.” Jeremiah Atkinson, Justicar Second, crossed himself before scrubbing his hands over his face.

“No alcohol on duty, I afraid, Jerry,” Maureen al-Nar, Justicar First of the trial said. “Soda?”

“Bless you,” Atkinson breathed. “And as many antacids as you can find.”

The chief Justicar tried to smile at him reassuringly, but her own hands were somewhat shaky as she poured the drink before handing it to Atkinson, along with an entire bottle of antacid tablets from the bottom drawer of her desk.

Atkinson cocked an eyebrow. “Use these yourself, do you?”

“Like candy,” al-Nar confirmed. “Save me half the bottle, will you?” She turned to Mbebe So, the most junior and, by far, the youngest of this Tribunal. “Mbebe?”

So’s normally night-black skin was grey. “I don’t suppose you have a shower in here, do you?”

“I wish.”

“In that case, just water. And if you could spare me a third of those tablets I’d appreciate it.”

The Justicar First nodded and handed the glass over before pouring herself her own tumbler of lime and tonic water. She sank into her own deep chair, rubbing her forehead. “So what do we do with Mr Wright?”

“Personally, I see only one option,” Atkinson replied after a moment. “You know I believe that God forgives all things, but I think even He will have a challenge with this one.”

“Amen,” al-Nar breathed. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my years on the Tripod, and Wright easily ranks up there with the worst. I’ll second your judgement.” She glanced at So. The younger man’s agreement wasn’t guaranteed, as he shown a distinct aversion to the death penalty in the past.

“I kept hoping the Prosecutor’s statement was exaggerated,” the Justicar Third murmured. “I read the report and I thought, ‘Nobody can be this

evil.’” He shuddered and took a long drink of water. “I hoped that there was some chance that he could be rehabilitated, made into a

a human being again.” So sighed. “I was wrong.” He looked up again. “I’ll confirm the sentence. Do you think your God will forgive me, Jeremiah?”

Atkinson looked at his colleague sadly. “That, I think, He will find no challenge at all.”

The Justicars’ deliberations didn’t take long, and Wright wasn’t surprised. There wasn’t much for them to decide after all. Whether to hang me or fry me. What fun!

The woman and two men filed back in and took their places at the bench in silence, and the entire courtroom seemed to be holding its breath. The Justicar First looked at her two colleagues, receiving subtle nods from both.

“Allen William Wright,” she said, looking down at him with an impassive expression, “you have pleaded Guilty to the charges previously read to you by this court. We hereby confirm that plea, and judge you Guilty. You will thereby be punished according to the Laws of the Realm of Atlantl. Do you wish to make a statement before the court proclaims your sentence?”

Wright smiled up at her, showing all his teeth. “Baaaa.”

Once again he was frustrated as his insult evinced nothing more than a raised eyebrow. “We will assume that concludes your statement. Very well.” The Justicar sat up straighter. “Allen William Wright, you have shown not the slightest hint of remorse for your crimes. Not a touch of humanity, morality or conscience has been demonstrated in any of your actions or statements. Furthermore, three registered psychiatric professionals have submitted that you are fully cognisant and aware of the consequences of your actions. Therefore, the court has unanimously proclaimed the following sentence: you will be transported to a medical facility to be chosen at the convenience of the Realm. You will be placed into a medically induced coma. Upon confirmation of brain-death, those organs of your body which give you life will be removed at need for the benefit of those who require them, until such time as your body can no longer sustain life. This sentence will be carried out within ninety days of this date. In this way it may be possible that you will give life for that you have taken away. May the Universal have mercy on your being.”

Wright was stunned, awash in a sea of rage and terror. No! They couldn’t do this! Not to be shot, not to be hung, not to be electrocuted. No, these sheep were condemning him to die in his sleep, sliced up like some pig!

“No!” he tried to shout, but his voice was almost drowned out in the satisfied growl from the gallery behind him. A very predatory growl, he suddenly realised with a shiver.

The Justicar First didn’t even try to subdue the noise, only raising her own voice. “This is the Realm’s judgement. This case is concluded.”

“Once again I must state my Government’s objection to these proceedings, Your Majesty. Many of those you plan to put on trial are American citizens, and they deserve the right to the legal protections provided by the Constitution of the United States. I have to renew my request to have all our citizens extradited to the American authorities. In addition, my government protests and condemns in the strongest terms the sentences which have so far been passed on three of those whom you have convicted of their alleged crimes.”

The American Ambassador’s words held just the right balance of forcefulness and respect, and Queen Cleo couldn’t help but admire the man. It helped that The Honourable Nicholas Holt, United States Ambassador to the Realm of Atlantl, was at heart a truly honourable man. In fact, the Queen had her suspicions that his personal views were far more similar to those held by most Atlantlans in this matter, but it was his responsibility to speak for the American government, whatever those personal opinions might be, and he discharged those responsibilities with the utmost seriousness. For that matter, he was far more honourable than his deputy, who had been suborned by Guard Intelligence with surprising ease, and not for the first time Cleo regretted the fact that her nation was being assisted at times by the unscrupulous and opposed by the honest.

“I understand your concerns, Mr Ambassador, but once again I have to refuse your request. Your citizens were arrested while on Atlantlan soil for crimes committed against the Realm, and are being charged as such, with the benefit of all the rights and privileges given to foreign nationals tried in Atlantlan courts. As for the punishment of those found guilty, so far only three of the thirty-eight sentences handed down have included the death penalty, for actions that would be considered so unconscionably egregious that no lesser punishment would suffice. The remaining thirty-five have been assigned far lesser sentences, which are, in fact, unquestionably lenient considering the crimes for which they were found guilty.”

“Yet you have permitted several nations to reclaim their citizens for trial in their own courts, Ma’am,” Holt pointed out.

“We have,” the Queen admitted. “However, Germany, Nigeria, Congo, Brazil, Cuba, India, and South Africa have all given guarantees that the accused we have handed over will be prosecuted rigorously, fully, and fairly. They have also submitted to our requestslet us be blunt and call them demandsfor oversight, consultation and scrutiny by members of our foreign office. Britain, France, Canada, Israel, China, and a vast number of the rest have all agreed to completely surrender all right to prosecution and punishment into our hands, and it is the onetime citizens of those countries whom we are trying first. Most of the remainder we are still negotiating with over either oversight by their officials of the trials here, or the details of prosecution in their own countries.”

“I’d like to point out that many of the countries you’ve listed are close allies of your own nation.”

Cleo laughed. “I’m sorry, but it’s quite amusing to hear that China, Sudan, Israel, and Turkey are our allies. Or any of a half-dozen other countries who have recognised our right to prosecute criminals who have attempted to destroy our Realm. Israel is far further inside your sphere than ours, and even your diplomatic relations with China are more positive.”

Holt nodded in acknowledgement. “True, Your Majesty. But whatever other nations decide, the United States must act in its own best interest. And we feel that our sovereignty is threatened by allowing a large number of American citizens to be tried by a undemocratic government over whose legitimacy we still have grave concerns.”

The Queen’s eyes went hard. “I would advise you, Mr Ambassador, not to cast aspersions on our own democratic processes when your own voter turnout is consistently less than forty per cent.”

The Ambassador nodded his head. “I apologise, Your Majesty. I was just expressing the viewpoint of the American leadership.”

Cleo relaxed. “I understand, Mr Ambassador.” She noticed that he hadn’t said he was representing the American people, or even his own opinion.

The calm tone had a surprising effect, and Holt suddenly sagged back into his chair showing every minute of his abruptly obvious exhaustion. He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “Ma’am, may I be frank with you

off the record?”

Now this was interesting, and the Queen sat upright. “If you’d like

Nicholas.”

That surprised him, but drew out a grateful smile at the same time. “Thank you. I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but there are signs in Washington that the President is considering renewing the blockade and using Navy vessels to stop and search all shipping which has made or will make landfall with an Atlantlan port, and using military escorts for our shipping through the Triangle if you don’t hand over the criminals you’ve captured.”

The Queen was stunned by the statement. On one level, it was a complete break with the way in which Holt had always conducted diplomacy in the past, always careful to represent his lawful superiors rather than his own mind. This is what happens when you keep forcing an honourable man to act against his own personal honour. The second aspect was the sheer brashness of the move the American leadership was contemplating.

“Are they insane?” she blurted. “Do they know how we’ll have to retaliate if they do something like that? They start harrassing our shipping, and that of our allies, and we’ll be forced to send along ships from our own Navy to protect them, and if they start using warships to escort their ships through, and we’ll have to send our own in an attempt to intercept them. You know your government’s never dissolved the Atlantic Waters Act from 1971! Officially, they still don’t recognise our unilateral claim to the Timaean Triangle, never mind that it runs right between all three of our Isles! Sending warships through there will be like us sending the entire Atlantlan Guard marching through Washington right across to San Francisco and expecting you to just watch us go by! We’d do our very best to keep confrontations to a minimum, and I know your ship captains would do the same, out of simple self-preservation if nothing else, but sooner or later someone will snap under stress and a shot will be fired, and at that point it won’t matter whose side shot first. We’ll be at war, and if your President thinks it’ll just stay between us, he’s

We’ll have France, Portugal, Spain, MoroccoHells, most of the Mediterranean!on our side, but the rest of Europe will split like an orange. Even if they don’t join in the actual fighting, the League of West African Nations will inevitably be strengthening their militaries, and they have more than enough instability along their eastern borders to cause an explosion somewhere, and that will send all of Africa up in smoke.” The Queen slouched back in her chair, her eyes wide. “Do you know what that means?”

“World War Three,” Holt murmured quietly.

“Damned straight, to use one of your own expressions, and damned is what we’d all be. Drop a nuke on Iran. It’ll be quicker.” Cleo leaned forward once more, staring at the Ambassador intently. “Just how likely is this?”

Holt sighed. “At the moment all I know is that it’s a ‘contingency plan,’ and that ‘nothing has been ruled out.’ From what I can gather, he seems to believe that some conflict will actually raise his poll numbers.” He shrugged. “There are some

concerned public servants who are doing all they can to keep it nothing more than a ‘contingency.’ I wish I could be certain how the House or Senate would vote on something like this, but things are crazy after all the, ah, unexpected police raids on some of our more isolated communities. Crazier than usual, anyway. What we need to do is just hold on eighteen months until the next Presidential election. The polls we get these days are just as unreliable, but the data we had before suggests that a change in administration is more than likely.” Another shrug. “I can’t promise our next President will be any more sympathetic to the Atlantlan cause, but

I am an American, Your Majesty, and I love my country, and I’ll admit I don’t agree with every policy your own nation espouses. Some of them trouble me deeply, and I will do everything in my power diplomatically to defend my nation’s interests. I am a patriot, but no true patriot drops his country into a war unless there is no other possible alternative.”

“Gods of the Duat,” Cleo breathed, pressing her fingers to her forehead. She didn’t know if she was more stunned by Holt’s revelations, or the fact that he had revealed them in the first place. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the Ambassador once more. “Thank you for telling me,” she said, and held up a hand as he was about to speak. “And don’t worry; to those outside this room you have said nothing beyond your government’s official statements. I can promise you that I will be doing everything in my power to lessen the tensions between our two nations, but like you I am a patriot, and I have a responsibility to put Atlantl’s citizens first.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Holt said, standing as the Queen did and taking her hand without hesitation.

He was a tall man, and Cleo looked up at him with interest.

“You know,” she said, “I think you might be someone I would feel comfortable with, sitting in your Oval Office.” She smirked at his look of shock. “Think about it.”

Chapter 14

“Your Ladyship.”

“Your Ladyship.”

Two women smiled wryly, clearly amused by the obviously silliness of the exchange. Of course, they were new enough to their titles so that they still couldn’t really take such accolades seriously. Each in their own way, they were both outsiders of a sort in the ballroom where a large number of fellow Nobles were gathered, engaged in the constant dance of politics on which the Realm was run.

Lady Artemisia Masters, Baroness Vascha, had held her title for less than a year. In fact, she held the dubious distinction of being the very last Noble to take her place prior to the Invasion and massacre of her peers almost a year before. It had been only a day after she had made her first Oath of Allegiance to her Diarchs that the Invaders had struck. The Lady had seen half her Personal Guard die that day, and remembered little of the battle afterwards, although her surviving armsmen had reported that she had picked up the sidearm of one of her fallen protectors and forced the attackers to keep to cover, although admittedly her aim had been more courageous and enthusiastic than precise. When the smoke had cleared, Lady Artemisia had found herself among the mere ten per cent of the Nobility who had survived, part of the “Old Guard”, rather than the “New Blood” who had inherited their predecessors’ titles en masse. However, with her true assumption of duties only a day old at the time, most of the “Old Guard” considered her to be part of the new rabble of Nobility who were unconcernedly breaking old alliances and traditional understandings in favour of their own goals. There was definitely a line drawn between the two factions, although it was nowhere near becoming true ideological fracturing.

Lady Rafiqa Ilham was, on the surface, about as different from Lady Artemisia as it was possible to get: sixty-eight years old to Artemisia’s twenty-seven, nearly two metres tall to her peer’s one and a half, and as dark as Masters was pale. And where the Masters bloodline had ruled the Barony of Vascha for nearly six hundred years, Lady Rafiqa was the very first of a new family now occupying the Barony of Narbos. Not all of the Nobles who had died in the Invasion had possessed legitimate Heirs to their peerages, leaving an untenable situation distressingly similar to that on which the Royal family itself was near to occupying. Fortunately, the Constitution and Ithikan Compact provided for just this circumstance, although their drafters would never have imagined the solution being applied so many times in such a short period. If a Noble died without Heirsor was deposed, as in the case of ex-Lord Bransena member of his or her immediate vassals would be elected by their peers to be raised to the higher level of aristocracy. The practice had been applied a few times since the Compact’s signing, but the recent attacks had forced seven elevations within the space of a year. And, as one Noble moved up, his previous seat was left empty, resulting in a need to be filled. This ultimately left a Barony without a Lord, and no lower lever of aristocracy to be raised to it. In such a case, it was up to the Freeman citizens of that Barony to nominate and elect one of their own to the empty seat.

Prior to the Invasion, Rafiqa Ilham had been a member of the Council of Aldermen of the city of Benu, capital of Narbos, a position she had held for twenty-four years, and one which she had no intention or ambition of rising above. Unfortunately for her, the nomination of a candidate for elevation to the Barony did not require that candidate’s consent or approval. Neither of which were forthcoming when the Alderwoman was informed of the decision. She had protested loudly, publicly and, at times, violently, but the citizens of Narbos were particularly stubborn believers in a peculiar rule of democracy: “Any person who is capable of getting themselves elected should under no circumstances whatsoever be given the job.” Anyone who actually sought public office was immediately held suspect, and the elected officials of the Barony tended to be those who had to be forced to take the position.

And so Alderwoman Rafiqa Ilham had become Lady Rafiqa Ilham, Baroness Narbos, and first of the new bloodline for the Barony, much to her dismay. Thankfully, she had six other peers who had been newly raised from the ranks of the Commonersat least two of whom were just as disgruntled by their sudden change in statusand they had, perhaps inevitably, coalesced into a small faction of their own, one that enjoyed nearly unprecedented support from their citizenry. The press had yet to think up some semi-clever name for this group, but that was only a matter of time. And, somehow, Baroness Vascha had migrated into the newest of Atlantl’s political alliances, where, given that every single one of the new Nobles were older than her, most by decades, she had been adopted as a sort of prodigal daughter, and ambassador of sorts to the established families of the Nobility.

“I saw you speaking to His Majesty,” Lady Rafiqa noted, absently running a finger around the edge of her wine glass, “and the Royal Consort.”

“Teyu,” Masters replied, nodding. “I must admit I was… hemem… uncertain about how to address Lady Meghan.”

“Believe me, I think she feels a lot like I do,” Ilham replied wryly. “Just wanting to run away and hide from this bunch of stuffed-up popinjays.”

Lady Artemisia giggled. “K!ayet,” she said. “This is true.”

The King’s announcement that he had taken a Consort had surprised nearly all of Atlantl, and when it had been revealed that this Consort was a mere servant, the surprise had been complete. Even so, acceptance from the general populace had come with remarkable speed. After all, if the Heir to the Throne could take a foreign, Commoner woman as a Consort, who could get upset simply because the King’s choice used to clean his office? This gathering of the Nobles, the first large-scale one since the Invasion, had been intended partially as a chance for the Nobility to get to know this woman who was inevitably going to be part of social life at the court in the future. So far the King had been reticent to confirm marriage plans, but had been quick to state that nothing would jeopardise his daughter’s right to rule.

“And speaking of wanting to run away and hide, I notice that Lady Alleandre is holding herself remarkably well.”

That was true as well. The Heir Consort was dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, with her tabard bearing her coat of arms as the only real indication of her Knightly status. Of course, few other people would ever have the Heir’s arm tucked comfortably into the crook of her left elbow. What was surprising was that Lady Alleandre was once more relying on a cane, leaving many wondering if the rumours of her intense involvement into the investigation of the Invasion were true. It was quite obvious that something was wearing deeply on the young woman’s reserves. It was hardly surprising, considering the Consort’s temporary exile with her Royal fianc?e, her mother’s grave injury, and the events of the Invasion itself.

Also present, and nearly as intriguing as the Heir and her Consort, was Princess Evelynne’s new personal Page, Claire Jones. The mere fact that an American had been chosen had been shocking enough to citizens of both Atlantl and the United States, especially considering the recent tensions between the two nations, but her unique appearance was also a source of immense fascination. However, neither Princess Evelynne nor Lady Alleandre had made any comment whatsoever to the young Page’s variegated albinism and shocking bicoloured eyes, and nobody else, in Atlantl at least, had quite built up the courage to make any comments of their own. It made the rumour that Page Jones was also a lesbian practically irrelevant.

It was with some surprise that the two newly-made Baronesses realised that the Princess’ personal assistant was walking in their direction, and if Lady Artemisia was too young to notice the almost painfully careful way the strikingly coloured woman was carrying herself, Lady Rafiqa could spot it instantly. The Page was quite clearly ill-at-ease in the gathering, and the older Baroness wondered again just what skills and personality traits had convinced Her Highness to choose the woman. Regardless, the clothiers had been exceptional in choosing a simple purple and gold uniform that turned her appearance from strange to exotic.

“Baroness Vascha, Baroness Narbos, I bring Princess Evelynne’s compliments, and her request for several moments of your time in private.” Page Jones’ speech was careful and precise, as was her bow, although the hint of uncertainty in her tone betrayed her unfamiliarity with the setting and terms of address. “Her Highness wishes to ask you about the challenges and opportunities of being the Realm’s newest Nobility.”

And that was a half-truth at best, Lady Rafiqa realised, and saw by her companion’s expression that Lady Artemisia knew it as well. Had it truly been a request for nothing more than a friendly chat, Page Jones would not have used the formality of their peerage titles. The fact that she had done so told them both that whatever this discussion would be about would have some bearing on their official standing in the Nobility.

However, one did not refuse a request by the Heir to the Realm without incredibly good reasons, so Lady Rafiqa bowed in return to the Princess’ representative, a fraction of a second behind Lady Artemisia. “Certainly, Mistress Claire,” she said. “I’m sure we would be delighted.”

Evelynne turned as she sensed the presence at her elbow, after an apologetic glance at Lord Larrel, who was also a cousin, though one not in the Royal Line, and therefore ineligible for the thronea fact for which he was consistently and loudly grateful. The Lord just nodded and grinned. He and Evelynne had been close before the Invasion, and the princess felt a lingering sadness that the Invasion seemed to have curbed the Lord’s exuberance to some degree. He had been notorious throughout the Nobility and beyond for his unashamedly hedonistic and promiscuous lifestyle, so much so that his truly impressive ability as ruler of his County was often overlooked.

“I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but the message you were waiting for has arrived,” Claire murmured with a small, perfectly-correct bow.

“Thank you, Claire,” Evelynne said, smiling. The near-terror rolling off her friend reminded her a lot of how Ally had acted when she had attended her first Noble gathering. How are you holding up? she asked silently.

I’m doing okay, Claire replied, although I’ll be really glad when this is over.

Won’t we all? Evelynne said wryly. “Have you told Alleandre yet?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Her Ladyship said that she would meet you there.”

It was still strange to have such a close friend acting so very formally and with such deference, and Ally and Evelynne had taken great pains to make sure that when they were among those who knew the true relationship they had they treated Claire as the friend she was. In time it would be possible for the American woman to relax some of her formality in public, as it was hardly unknown for close relationships to develop between Pages and their Lords, so few would take notice.

“Thank you. If you’ll excuse me, Larrel, I have to take this.”

“Of course, Evy. My regards to your gorgeous Consort.” Larrel grinned as Evelynne rolled her eyes.

On the way out of the crowded ballroom, Evelynne maintained her smile, nodding and exchanging greetings with those she passed. Her grin turned genuine as she saw her father’s new official Consort at the centre of a group of older Ladies, where they all seemed to have thrown off their airs of aristocracy and were gossiping and laughing together like fishwives. There were those who were quite put out with the King’s choice, feeling that it was somehow demeaning to take a servant as a companion, but they had learned to keep their opinions to themselves. On the other hand, there was at least one woman who thought that it was the King who was the questionable choice, and Evelynne’s mind flickered back to her first meeting with Meghan’s daughter.

“Your Highness, Your Ladyship, I present Ms Eustace Frances-Doherty.” Sir Arthur’s formal introduction ushered the short, brown-haired woman into the room. She was older than Evelynne by some ten years, and her resemblance to her mother was easily apparent. Curly brown ringlets framed a carefully bland face, but the woman’s sharp brown eyes radiated enough suspicion and barely-concealed uncertainty that Evelynne didn’t even need Ally’s empathic talent to read it.

Nonetheless, Meghan’s daughter made a perfectly correct bow before her princess. “Good evening, Your Highness,” she said, and the almost-hostility could be heard in her voice as well.

“Please, call me Evelynne,” the princess encouraged, smiling, while a quick glance showed that her Consort was just as aware of the odd undercurrents in Frances-Doherty’s manner. “Considering the circumstances. We’re almost step-sisters. May I call you Eustace?”

“If you wish, YourEvelynne.” There was only the slightest thaw in the woman’s tension.

Evelynne wasn’t about to be put off. She had tamed far more formidable foes than Eustace Frances-Doherty, if not in quite the same unusual circumstances. “Excellent. And, of course, this is my fianc?e, Ally.”

“Hi,” Ally greeted, and Evelynne could tell she was being as casual as possible, providing possibly more familiar social cues. “It’s good to meet you at last. Your mother’s said a lot about you.”

“Thank you, ah… Alleandre. Only good things, I hope.”

Ally sighed theatrically. “You know mothers.”

That brought a crack in Eustace’s icy armour, and she even smiled. “I’m afraid so. My condolences on your own mother’s… condition.”

“Thank you. I’ll tell her.”

“Well, I don’t know mothers like you do,” Evelynne said, “but if Ma?da is anything like that, I have a pretty good idea.”

Ally laughed, but, oddly, Eustace’s face closed down a bit more once again. “As you say.”

So it’s something about me specifically, Evelynne thought while gesturing her guest towards the chairs set up in front of the fire and ordering tea brought in. She seems fine with Ally. So it’s probably not anything to do with our engagement. It had been a worry, that Meghan’s daughter might not accept the relationship between the Princess and her Consort, as apparently she was more at home among the more conservative elements of Atlantlan society. Of course, it is my father who’s in a relationship with her mother, and I know how strange that’s making me feel.

“I’d like to offer my personal congratulations on your engagement,” their guest said. “Although I wish you could be enjoying it in happier circumstances.” Whatever her internal struggles, Frances-Doherty was obviously trying to overcome them.

“Thank you,” Evelynne said, taking Ally’s hand in her own and pressing a kiss to its back.

“Evy thought you might not like having a step-sister-in-law quite the way we have it now.” Evelynne was shocked by her fianc?e’s bluntness, but a quick glance at Eustace showed an expression of respect that was somewhat unexpected. However, it was quite possible that the other woman was one of those who appreciated plain, forthright speech, and that Ally had picked up on it either empathically or subconsciously.

“You’re correct,” Frances-Doherty said, “although maybe not in the way you think. I’ll admit I was… disgruntled when Her Highness… Evelynne proposed to you, and I still don’t know whether your relationship will be good for Atlantl. However, given everything that has happened, I think there are far more important issues to address right now. M!a!a bek!a bek!a ne. The future will take care of itself.” The woman hesitated. “May I be blunt?”

“You mean you haven’t been so far?” Evelynne asked incredulously, which brought a grudging smile to her possible step-sister’s face.

“Evelynne… I am far less concerned about what you might get up to in the privacy of your own bedroom, or the fact that I may be gaining a step-sister, than I am about the fact that you are that step-sister. That your father might become my mother’s new husband. I’m not na?ve, and I know just what kinds of pressures those of the Nobility can apply to those who serve them. Given that your father is the very highest level of the Nobility makes his influence so much the greater.”

It took only a moment for Evelynne to understand what Frances-Doherty was saying. “You think my father is forcing Meghan to be with him?!” she asked incredulously.

Eustace shrugged, but didn’t look away. “I don’t know, but it’s a possibility I can’t ignore. King Jad literally holds the power of life and death over all his subjects, and while I think that he’s been a very good Diarch, I just don’t know how far his professional integrity extends into his personal life. There have certainly been instances in the past where less honourable Nobles have abused their power for personal gain.”

Evelynne was stunned to near silence. Finally, she managed to grind out, her tone ice-cold, “I can assure you that—”

Frances-Doherty shook her head forcefully and interrupted. “No… Evelynne, I’m sorry, but you can’t assure me. I honestly hope I am wrong, because I respect His Majesty a great deal, and if this is truly what my mother wants I will support her utterly. But for now, the only person who can assure me of anything is my mother herself, and I am going to withhold judgement until she does so.”

“Your Highness. Mistress Claire.” Corporal Li-He nodded with utter formality as she held open the door to the small sitting room, and her face was bland and professional, but Claire still felt her own face heating up as she avoided looking at the young Guard.

Even since Ally had revealed Li-He found Claire attractive, the new Page had been trying to figure out just what to do about it. With her unusual appearance, Claire wasn’t used to the idea that anyone found her attractive, so she had minimal experience to draw upon. It also hadn’t helped that the Corporal had maintained a friendly presence, but no more than that, with not a flicker to indicate that she actually was interested. Claire had found herself wondering if Ally had been teasing her, but had dismissed the thought instantly; Ally would never lie to her about anything emotional. On the other hand, it was possible that the mind-reader was simply mistaken, and that was something Claire took very seriously. Ally’s mental state had been shaky enough over the past months, a condition not soothed by the seemingly unending scans she was performing in the investigations. On the third hand, Claire reluctantly admitted to herself, it was possible that Li-He was just as uncertain. After all, the Pages’ Handbook she had been supplied with had stated quite clearly that relationships between Pages and any security personnel were to be strongly discouraged, though it stopped short of banning them outright. Presumably the Corporal had a similar section in whatever Guards’ Handbook she used, and Claire could certainly understand any trepidation she might feel about trying to explain a relationship with her charge’s personal Page to Colonel Nixon.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Claire forced herself to focus on her nominal duties, remaining close by Evelynne’s elbow as the princess walked forward to greet the three Nobles who were waiting to meet her. With Lady Artemisia and Lady Rafiqa was Lady Lois Nunanje, Baroness Hemet-Ankh, who was one of the few Nobles who had survived the massacre the previous year. Always patriotic, Nunanje had emerged from the Invasion with a devotion to her Realm and Rulers that just barely stopped short of fanatical. Her Barony had been at the forefront of those who had begun their own professionally-trained militias. Though she had been energetic in encouraging and funding them, she had also shown the ability to quickly and ruthlessly disband any which showed any signs of slipping out of the government’s oversight.

“Lady Rafiqa, Lady Lois, Lady Artemisia, I’m very pleased you agreed to speak with me,” Evelynne was saying, as though any of the Baronesses would have even considered refusing her request. “Now if my Consort would arrive we can begin our discussion.” The princess looked back at Claire. “She is coming, correct?” There was a faintly humorous undertone to her question that covered up an even deeper worry; the meeting they were about to have was one that Ally would have gratefully avoided if at all possible.

Claire had a sudden flash, as though she was floating behind and just above Ally as her friend walked down the same hallway she and Evelynne had just traversed. Mentally shaking away the unexpected flicker of remote viewing, the Page murmured, “She’s here right now, My Lady.”

Evelynne nodded, accepting the information without a hint of questioning, though the other Ladies showed vague surprise when Corporal Li-He opened the door once more, ushering in the wayward Consort.

Ally was wearing her blue and silver trousers and tunic, complete with tabard that had become her customary uniform to official events, no matter how Evelynne tried to convince her to wear a gown. At first, Claire had been with Evelynne in urging Ally to wear something more feminine, but after a few weeks as Page, and wearing somewhat similar livery, albeit in the princess’ colours of purple and gold, Claire had realised just how much a uniform helped the wearer blend into the background, no matter who they were and what they looked like.

Ally herself could almost hear Claire’s thoughts as she limped closer, and shot a friendly smile in the other woman’s direction. Then she turned her attention to Evelynne, who hurried forward to grab her elbowAlly didn’t even bother trying not to accept the support gracefullyand lead her forward to introduce her. Then they were sitting, she and her fianc?e together on a couch, and Ally could barely suppress the groan of relief as her aching back muscles released their load. Still, her companion felt it, and sent a wordless surge of love and support through their Link.

“Well, I would like to begin immediately, if you don’t mind,” Evelynne said once everyone else was settled, and Claire was standing behind the couch in her proper position as Page. She would have far preferred to have her friend with them on the sofa, knowing that Allyand herselfcould use all the support they could get right now, but there were proprieties to consider. “As you might have guessed, we’re not here to talk to you about being the new rulers of Baronies.”

Lady Rafiqa glanced sideways at each of her peers. “I think that’s a safe enough bet, Your Highness,” she replied. “A casual discussion does not usually require the formal presence of Baroness Narbos, or Hemet-Ankh, or Vascha.” She hesitated. “I find it quite interesting that each of us is from a different Island, as well.”

“You’re correct,” Evelynne said plainly, and Ally knew neither of them was surprised. One didn’t becomeor at least remainone of Atlantl’s Nobles without a high level of intelligence, and the machinations of Court ensured that one quickly learned to look for the true intention behind every statement. “You are here as representatives, not only of your own Baronies, but as personal witnesses and representatives of each of your Dukes and Duchies as well.”

That brought varying expressions of surprise to the Ladies’ faces, and Ally could almost feel it as well, even though her mental shields were up with every bit of strength she could muster behind them. Lady Rafiqa’s brows rose, and Lady Lois looked speculative, while Lady Artemisia was plainly rattled at being thrust into such an important position.

“You are further enjoined, by Royal and Ducal Decree, to a Vow of Silence concerning the words that will be spoken here tonight, and the events which may arise from it. Breaking this Vow will be considered an act of Treason against the Realm. Do you so swear?”

Lady Lois’ agreement was instantaneous, followed a moment later by her peers.

“Good,” Evelynne said, smiling. “Those Guards now present, and Page Jones, do so witness this Vow.

“Now,” she continued, “you should know that a decision has been made that will, hopefully, stabilise the al-Heru-deMolay Dynasty by providing for the possibility of a fully legitimate Heir, should something unfortunate occur to the current Heirthat is, myself.” Ally squeezed her partner’s hands tightly. “The King and Queen, along with the Dukes of Hy Braseal, Avalon, and Lyonesse, and the Heir and Heir Consort, have chosen a… novel course of action. By the end of the month, arrangements will be made for Lady Alleandre to undergo ova extraction at a secure medical facility. At the same time, Brother Patrick, onetime Heir to the Throne, shall… perform a sperm deposit at a similar secure location, with the permission of his Abbott. These sperm and ova will be cryogenically preserved until such time as they may be required. The offspring of this process shall be considered to be the fully legitimate Heir Apparent to the Realm, until and unless such time as an Heir is produced in a more… conventional manner.” Evelynne leaned forward to hand across three leather folders, each bearing five seals, to the now-stunned Nobles. “The specific legal and Dynastic details are provided herein. It should be noted that this procedure is being approved without precedent or prejudice for any future situations which may arise.”

Lady Rafiqa’s hands were actually shaking lightly as she flipped through the papers within her folder. “You say the Dukes have agreed to this… proposal.”

“Yes.” Evelynne nodded. “Documents stating as much can be found within the legal material.”

“So… mer yeb en !anek, Ur-Mata,” Artemisia stuttered. “What is our place in this plan?” She gestured to herself and her peers.

“Obviously, such an unprecedented plan is going to be vulnerable to attacks by those who question its legitimacy. Even those with no ill intent could have grave doubts about the veracity of any donated material, should it ever be used, and therefore the status of any Heir would be in question, and we would find ourselves back where we are now. In order to minimise that doubt, steps are being taken. To begin with, witnesses shall be present at all medical procedures. At Alleandre’s procedure will be present myself, her mother, and Mistress Claire.” Ally didn’t have to look to know that Claire was blushing at the surprised looks she was receiving. “The three of you will also be present.” That quickly brought the Ladies’ attention back to Evelynne. Before they could comment, the princess continued, “The ova that are extracted will be divided into four portions; Mr. and Mrs. Tretiak will receive one set, and the remaining three will become yours to safeguard until such time as all three Dukes, in accord, determine that they should be used.” Evelynne smiled thinly. “We anticipate that if such an event comes to pass, neither the King, Queen, nor myself will be in a position to make such a decision. You should also know that Patrick’s… contribution will be treated in a similar manner, and kept in the care of three male Nobles whose identities you are not required to know.”

“So, how’re we supposed to take care of… the material?” Lady Lois asked in her low drawl.

“That is entirely up to you to determine. The only requirement is that it be completely secure. Whether that means hiding it in plain sight at a public cryogenic facility, or locking it in a vault in your Manor, or some other option, is your choice. Although obviously we’d like you to be able to remember where you put it should it be needed.” Nobody smiled at the weak attempt at humour.

“Ah… Your Highness?” Artemisia looked as though she was a hesitant student trying to get the teacher’s attention. “I am, of course, honoured to be chosen for this task… yem!akhi yeden, Ur-Mata. But… may I ask why… we have been chosen?” Lois and Rafiqa nodded, and Ally silently applauded the younger Lady’s courage in asking the question.

“Needless to say, this course of action is laden with political and social nuances,” Evelynne replied. “It’s possible that whoever finally controlled the conception of the next Heir, should the worst happen, would be tempted to use the opportunity to increase their personal power. Whoever ultimately completes the genesis will be, in effect, a kind of foster-parent. To be blunt, you have been chosen because every psychological profile we have been able to run on you has shown that none of you are at all interested in power for power’s sake.” Not only that, but Ally had spent some time over the past weeks surreptitiously scanning each of the women in the room, and the final decision had only been made after her ultimate choice. “Lady Rafiqa, you had to be forced into your Barony practically at knifepoint, and Lady Lois is, if you’ll pardon me, so dedicated to the continuity of the Royal Dynasty that it borders on obsession. And Lady Artemisia, we’ve found, actually has a near phobia of the political power she wields, which is why she is so careful in its use, and why I’m confident she will ultimately make a great Noble.

“The other reason,” the princess continued, while the three Nobles looked at each other speculatively, Artemisia flushing redly, “arises, in a sense, from the first one. Each of you is, for your own reasons, far less tied to any outstanding alliances with others who might in turn attempt to use your power to their own advantage. You are all, in a sense, outsiders to the mainstream Atlantlan aristocratic framework, even the new one that has been forming since the Invasion.” Evelynne half-smiled. “It’s certainly not fair, but its quite important that the task we’re asking you to perform be a lonely one.”

Later that night, Ally felt cold, even though she was lying in bed, under warm blankets, with her even warmer lover wrapped around her. She could sense that she was nowhere near sleep, and the faint tension in Evelynne’s body told her that her partner was still awake as well.

Silence remained for a long time before Evelynne finally broke it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Silence again, but Ally knew her partner could feel the whirring of her mind through their Link, even if she couldn’t sense specifics, and was patient enough to wait it out.

“I don’t want to do this any more,” Ally said finally, and a deeper meaning resonated through the same mental bond, ensuring that Evelynne understood far more than the harsh words.

Still, the bond gave only vague impulses, not specifics, so she had to ask, “Which part?”

“All of it,” Ally said without hesitation. “I don’t want to have this procedure, I don’t want to be tramping through strangers’ minds all the time, I don’t want to be in charge of this investigation… all of it.”

“And me?” Evelynne whispered.

Despite everything, Ally tightened her grip almost painfully. “You are the only thing I do want.” She swallowed, and there were tears hiding just behind her words. “Do you know what it was like this evening, telling these people what I was going to have done to myself? And… all anyone could say was the ‘material’. The ‘donation’. The ‘specimens’. That’s all part of me! They’re going to be sticking things into me and taking out little bits, and giving them to strangers. But it’s not even that. That I could handle. But if my… material,” she spat out the word, “is ever actually used, do you know what that’ll mean? It means you’ll be dead! And probably Patrick, and your Aunt and Father, and God knows how many others. And maybe me as well, but I almost think I’d rather be dead than to have to live in the aftermath of that.” She was crying openly now. “And I know I’ve been taking hormones, and I’m probably hysterical, but all I could hear any time anyone said, ‘the potential Heir,’ was: Evelynne is dead. And I don’t want to think that any more!”

Chapter 15

Your Majesty, you asked me to inform you… Mohammed al-Shan, King Jad’s personal secretary, waited in front of his Diarch’s desk for the King to look up.

King Jad raised his head from the latest of the endless stream of reports that were the lifeblood of running any nation, his gaze concerned. They’re on the ground?

Yes, Sire. Her Highness’ and Her Ladyship’s Personal Guards have just reported. Her Ladyship is about to begin the procedure.

Ah. And have you arranged for—

Appropriate flowers have already been delivered to the Winter House for Lady Alleandre’s return, Sire. I have also taken the liberty of ordering several other gifts. I hope I have caused no offence by submitting my own personal wishes for Her Ladyship’s well-being as well.

The King leaned back in his chair, a mingled expression of amusement and affection on his face. Ah, Mohammed J?sus al-Shan, whatever would I do without you? Sometimes I think you would do so much better in this chair than I would.

The secretary’s face remained typically grave. I can assure you, Your Majesty, that I have no intention whatsoever of taking your Throne for myself. I would be, I think, far underqualified when compared to those who shall rightfully wear the Crowns.

Jad smiled again. You don’t know how glad I am to know that my daughter and Alleandre have your support.

Mohammed bowed. Indeed, Your Majesty.

How are you doing, love? Evelynne asked softly. She was standing by her partner’s bed, stroking back hair that was damp from sweat, and rubbing her thumb across the back of a hand that was gripping her own almost painfully.

Can we go home yet? Ally asked plaintively, her eyes somewhat glassy from more than the sedative the doctor had given her a short time before. I don’t like this any more.

For one of the only times in her life, Evelynne hated her country, her Dynasty, and her duty for what they were forcing her lover to go through. Ally, love. She bent down even closer. If you really want to stop then tell me and we’ll find something else. I promise.

Ally closed her eyes and swallowed convulsively. No. You need to do this. We need to do this. Her eyes opened again, staring dazedly up at her partner. I just… I can’t think properly, and I should be able to think properly, and I can see how I should be thinking, but I’m… not. The young woman blinked rapidly. I don’t like not being able to think because the last time…

The last time her mental facilities had been compromised, Ally had almost had sex with a total stranger, which had led to the darkest emotional period in her life, Evelynne’s mind completed. Her stomach clenched, and she leaned down to press a lingering kiss on Ally’s forehead. The doctor had applied the sedative when it had become clear that Ally’s anxiety was doing unfortunate things to her blood pressure and tension. It had been successful at controlling those more physical symptoms, but a side effect appeared to be the heightened confusion that the doctor had assured Evelynne was a rare but documented reaction to the drug in extreme cases.

I’m going to be right here the whole time, Evelynne promised. I’m going to make sure nothing happens to you. Then, knowing one of Ally’s real fears, I’m going to make sure you don’t do anything.

Ally’s smile was shaky. Promise?

I promise. And when we’re all done, I’m going to take you home and put you to bed and treat you how a Princess should really be treated.

Ally was relaxing slowly, and Evelynne wasn’t sure if it was the sedative taking effect as it should, or this was simply another ebb in her lover’s wildly swinging emotions.

The woman in the hospital bed smiled sleepily. May as well get some good use out of these hormones while I still have them, huh?

Evelynne chuckled. The past weeks had been… memorable, as Ally’s artificially influenced moods had displayed a marked tendency towards the amorous, although there had been times when she had been more than willing to pull the entire Winter House down around their heads over some minor irritation. Those uncontrolled emotions had played their part in contributing to her fear and confusion, as a part of her remained clear and rational throughout, able to witness her lack of control while largely unable to stop it. After the events in America, it was actually the lust which had Ally frightened the most, and Evelynne had learned to remain nearby as often as possible in order both to calm Ally’s fears and… alleviate her symptoms should the need arise. While it had been inconvenient at times, Evelynne certainly wasn’t complaining.

There was a hesitant knock at the door, and then Claire’s familiar face peeked in. Ally, Evelynne, they said it’ll just be a few more minutes, she said softly.

Evelynne smiled and Ally managed a shaky grin. Thanks, Claire, Evelynne said, beckoning the other woman farther into the room.

Gingerly, as though afraid she was going to break something, the exotic woman closed the door behind her and shuffled closer. Hey, Ally. You’ve probably been asked this a lot lately, but how are you doing?

Amazingly, Ally chuckled. You know, Evy just asked me that exact thing. The laugh faded, but a degree of renewed calm remained behind, much to Evelynne’s gratitude. I wanna go home.

Claire’s eyes flickered to Evelynne, who gave a barely seen nod. Y’know, if I could I’d be the one going through this for you, right? But somehow I think it might raise questions when the kid’s born and she turns out to be a zebra, huh?

A few months before Claire would never even have considered making light fun of her own unusual appearance, but the time spent among people who accepted her, for the most part, for who and what shewas had brought out a wryly self-deprecating humour that signalled her own acceptance of her bicoloured looks.

Ally laughed again. Not a zebra, she objected, shaking her head. What do you think, Evy? Maybe a Siberian white tiger? All sleek and prowly?

On cue, Claire flushed deeply, leaving Evelynne to giggle as well. What’s black and white and red all over? she asked, grinning.

Claire rolled her eyes. Gee, I’ve never heard that one before.

Ally’s relatively calm state managed to last until the medical staff who would be performing the procedure actually entered the room. Then she was forced to allow her legs to be placed within the stirrups provided, and only the crushing grips of Evelynne and Claire on each hand kept her from screaming. The nurses and doctor tried their best to give her as much modesty and dignity as possible, but such things were in short supply.

Then the witnesses were allowed in, each of the Ladies appearing almost as anxious as the patient, and Ally squeezed her eyes tight as Evelynne kept up a constant, soothing stream of near-wordless comfort into her mind, and Claire’s friendly presence glowed nearby in her awareness. It was only when she felt a light touch in the middle of her forehead, and the presence of new but familiar minds that she opened them again, looking up dazedly to see her father’s face hovering over head, smiling at her encouragingly. Turning her head, she confirmed that she was now flanked by her mother, leaning against the bed and standing on her one leg, and Black Crow, whose mind she could feel oh-so-subtly soothing her fears within her own. None of them said anything, but the emotions Ally could feel coming from all of them were a balm to her distressed soul, and she was able to close her eyes again with a measure of peace.

She clung to the minds of her friends and family, and even the uncomfortable but supportive thoughts of Ladies Artemisia, Rafiqa, and Lois, as the gel for the ultrasound equipment was applied to her lower belly, and then the discomfort, bordering on pain, as her body was invaded with utter professionalism.

Endless eons later, Ally was vaguely aware that she was being covered once more, and looked around in a near-stupor to see the three Baronesses escorting the equipment out of the lab. They would stay with her ova through every step of the process as they underwent preservation, and then all of the potential Heirs would be secreted away in locations only known to them.

Dreamlike, Evelynne’s face floated above her. Ally, love? We’re all done now. The doctor is going to give you something to let you sleep, alright? Don’t worry, we’ll be here when you wake up.

It was with extreme gratitude that Ally finally allowed her mind to shut down.

It’s finished, za, Evelynne said, her own exhaustion evident even to her father, who was on the other end of the secure line. Slumping down against the wall, she couldn’t have cared less about how undignified the position made her look. She rubbed one hand over her drawn face and through dishevelled hair as the other held the phone to her ear. A few feet away, Sir Arthur stood guarding the door to the office the princess had commandeered.

How did it go? Jad asked, his love apparent in his voice.

Evelynne shrugged, and her tone echoed the motion. As well as could be expected, I suppose. There were no complications, and the doctor was excellent. Ally… she survived. She sighed. She doesn’t deserve this, za.

Nobody deserves exactly this, Evelynne, her father said resignedly.

Don’t I know it. Evelynne pinched her nose between her fingers. She’s resting now. I almost want her to stay sleeping until we get back to the Winter House so that she doesn’t have to see this place ever again. She looked around the room with something akin to hatred. It wasn’t really the building’s fault, she knew. It was actually a military facility, often used by the Guard for some of its less-publicised procedures, which made it about as secure as any building could be. Her parents are with her now.

That’s good. There was a pause. I know that there’s nothing that can truly be enough to thank Alleandre for everything she’s done, but I wanted you to know that I’m speaking with the Dukes about making her the primary Charter holder of her own Order.

Evelynne closed her eyes shut, tears leaking out between the lids. Ally was already a Paladin in her own right, a Knight Errant sworn not to an established Order, but to Evelynne herself. Now the King was proposing that Ally be given the privilege of founding her own Knightly Order, its Charter drafted and authorised, the Nomination of new Supplicants under the sole authority of its Grand Dame. It was an honour bestowed very rarely, in recognition of service to the Realm of Atlantl as a whole, and not merely to a particular Noble or fief. As such, it required the support of the Citizenry of the Realm, in a nation-wide referendum. Such support had been given sporadically in the past, though it was hardly unknown. There were several dozen Orders already under Charter to the Realm, though only a handful had any significant membership. The Templars, the Mohammedans, the Eye, the Broken Chain, and the Steersmen were among the largest, while there were in fact a few that consistently retained only a single member, chosen carefully by the previous Knight so that particular Order could continue.

If anyone deserves it, it’s Ally, Evelynne said roughly. Although I don’t know if she’s going to even think about accepting. She doesn’t want to be in the centre of anything, za.

I know. But she needs to know it’s being offered. It is entirely her decision as to whether she accepts.

After all this is over, Ally is going to do anything she wants to, Evelynne said firmly. Nobody is going to be telling her what to do, or make ‘suggestions’ that might even slightly resemble orders. Nobody,za. Not me, not you, and if the entire Hall of Nobles so much as wants her toto open a shopping mall, I’m going to cheerfully tell them exactly where they can shove it.

I’m sure you will, her father said with combination of wry amusement and total understanding.

Just so long as everyone else—

Evelynne’s forceful statement was interrupted as Sir Arthur’s voice suddenly echoed through the room. Phoenix One to Sorceress One, he barked into his collar-mounted microphone, and Evelynne’s blood chilled. She had glimpsed the half-dazed look in her bodyguard’s eyes twice before, and knew what it meant: Sir Arthur knew something was about to happen, or had already happened, that nobody without his paracognitive ability yet knew. Priority Status Check! Condition and location of Sorceress Actual!

The princess stared at him, the phone in her hand forgotten, as the Guard listened intently to his earbud for several long seconds, unsure whether her heart was actually beating. Her own Guard designation was Phoenix, or more fully Phoenix Actual, while Ally had been assigned the apt code-name of Sorceress. If Sir Arthur suddenly had a burning desire to know where Sorceress Actual was, and what her condition was, Evelynne wanted to know even more. She felt suddenly dizzy with near-panic, but shoved it aside, diving into her mind, feeling for the Link that bound her to Ally, and nearly fainting when she found it still present. A part of her responded instantly by attempting to surge up from her seat, but Sir Arthur’s immovable hand instinctively held her in place.

It took her a moment to speak, but by then the senior Guard was broadcasting to the entire unit. Phoenix Team, Condition White! Quartz-Two-Sorceress! Yellow-Four! Sound-off!

Most of the code went over Evelynne’s head, but she understood at least one of the phrases from her own security training, and she was suddenly light-headed. The next thing she knew, Sir Arthur was plucking the telephone from her nerveless hand. Apologies, Sire, he said to his ruler quickly. We have a White Condition. I urge you to alert Sir Adun and the Common Guard. Then, without waiting for a reply, he pressed the disconnect button in what would have been a disastrously disrespectful move under any other circumstances.

Then he pressed the button on the phone which connected him directly to the facility’s control centre. Control, this is General Ramirez. I am hereby taking control of this facility under authority of a known Condition White. I am ordering an immediate lockdown. Nothing is getting in or out of here until I personally say so. There was a moment as Evelynne strained to hear the obviously startled voice on the other end, but Sir Arthur cut off the unfortunate speaker. Lieutenant, I now have the authority to do anything I want in this facility. You will contact Commandant Stable and inform him that he is to report to me immediately in the Command Centre. You will then perform a roll-call of every Guard, soldier, officer, technician and janitor in this base. Every person will be ordered to remain at his or her present location. Persons found within the corridors who are not lying down with their hands behind their heads will risk being neutralised by members of Phoenix and Sorceress Teams, up to and including the application of lethal force. You will arrange an immediate check of the vehicle pool, and provide an accounting for every vehicle or aircraft which has entered or left within the past forty-eight hours. You will do the same for any personnel who have arrived or departed on foot within the same time period. You will also arrange to have all video surveillance from the last twenty-four hours available for immediate review by either Colonel Nixon or myself. I will be there in five minutes, Lieutenant. I’d suggest you hurry. Without waiting for a response, Sir Arthur placed the phone down firmly.

What’s happening? Evelynne was finally able to demand, coming out of her stunned daze. Where’s Ally? She wasn’t terribly surprised to hear her own voice breaking under her strain and confusion.

The Guard looked at her, and she was distantly gratified that he didn’t even consider not telling her. Lady Alleandre’s location is unknown at this time, as well as the locations of two of her protective detail, he said bluntly, and Evelynne sagged back into her chair. Condition White. They are not answering signals from Colonel Nixon. I have ordered this facility sealed until the situation is understood. He hesitated. It could be that Captain Benson and Corporal Li-He are simply within a shielded area of the hospital with Lady Alleandre for medical reasons, but…

But if it wasn’t a crisis you wouldn’t have known something was wrong, Evelynne whispered. She’s still alive, she said, gaze turning inward once more. And she’s not in pain, or afraid. Although there’s… A long pause. She’s still sedated. The princess looked up. She’s… dormant. But I don’t know where she is. Ally can always tell where I am, at least the direction, but all I can do is feel her.

It’s a good thing to know, Evelynne, Sir Arthur said, relaxing his professionalism for a moment to become the almost-Uncle he had been for so long. Keep her in your mind, and let me know the instant you… feel anything different. With an almost painful expression of relief, Evelynne nodded, glad to be able to contribute something to the situation, and firmly locked her sense of Ally’s soul into her consciousness, quashing her instinct to panic at the same time.

As she did so, Sir Arthur spoke into his mike again. Phoenix confirms Sorceress remains viable. I say again, Sorceress is viable. Any other protection detail would have questioned such knowledge, but these teams had been working with a telepath, a clairvoyant, and an Adept for months.

What about Catherine and William? the princess asked. And Claire?

The Guard listened to his earbud for a moment. The senior Tretiaks are unharmed, he reported after a few seconds. Mistress Claire’s location is also unknown. He broke off, listening again, and then nodded. Sir Arthur held out a hand to his charge. I would like us to go immediately to the Command Centre, so that the situation may be analysed.

Squaring her shoulders, holding firmly onto her lover’s soul within her mind, Evelynne stood. Screaming would have to wait.

Chapter 16

It took almost no time at all to reach the facility’s Command Centre. Nobody impeded their progress, largely since the regular personnel were lying face down in the corridors, obedient to the orders which had echoed over the PA system in the surprisingly fluid tones of Commandant Stable. Anyone who might have objected to the orders quickly rethought their resistance when Princess Evelynne’s team came into sight, fully alert with submachine gunsand one full assault rifleready to defend their charge from anyone who even appeared to hint at a threat.

The Command Centre was a scene of controlled frantic activity when they entered. Four soldiers in Army uniforms were speaking urgently into headsets, performing the ordered roll-call of the base’s personnel while a fifth desperately tried to keep up by continuously updating a list and schematic of every person’s location on a large computer monitor. More officers were busy confirming the lockdown of every entrance and exit to the facility, while the unfortunate Lieutenant Akad was visually correlating the images of the vehicle bays on his monitors with the counts being given by the Vehicle Oversight Officers.

The bustle faltered momentarily as the Heir’s Guard entered the room, Guards peeling off to take up defensive positions around the walls where they could see everything happening within the room. The noise quickly started up again when the tall, older gentleman with the Commandant’s insignia cleared his throat loudly and glared. Satisfied, he nodded before walking briskly towards Evelynne and the core of Guards who remained close by their charge. He stopped a distance away that might have been considered rude had he not been so aware of the need to avoid even the appearance of a threat.

Your Highness, Commandant Stable greeted, his smooth, almost musical accent at odds with his brusque speech. General. What is the situation?

We cannot confirm Lady Alleandre’s location at this time, Sir Arthur replied, his eyes flicking around the room, taking in the activity with a barely perceptible nod. Colonel Nixon has also lost contact with two of her people, who were Lady Alleandre’s primaries as of the most recent Guard change, and Claire Jones, Her Highness’ Page, is also unaccounted for. I’ve initiated Condition White. Status report?

Stable’s face showed complete acceptance of Sir Arthur’s assumption of command. General, we have confirmed Stage Two lockdown of the base. All internal tactical doors have been sealed. All entrances and exits to this building have been sealed. All elevators have been shut down. All perimeter gates have been locked, all perimeter patrols are on heightened alert. I have three men using available surveillance cameras to scan for possible breaches. We are currently administering a full head-count, and I anticipate its completion within— He paused, peering at a monitor. —four minutes. The Commandant looked back. I have also ordered that all aircraft within a fifty kilometre radius be grounded immediately, and local Guard posts are coordinating with police to set up roadblocks.

Good. Video surveillance logs?

Major Sabah and Lieutenant Delmonte are performing a preliminary scan of the tapes now for any obvious suspicious activity, but I know you will want to go over everything with you own people.

I will. What about any anomalies?

Stable shook his head. Nothing so far, General. All perimeter and internal sensors read active, all video cameras are functioning, and all locks appear sealed on our end. However, I would like your permission to detail several units to perform visual on-site inspections of all doors.

Sir Arthur looked at the Commandant shrewdly. Are you thinking what I am, Commandant?

I’m thinking that if this really is a Condition White, then someone on the inside is involved, General, Stable said bluntly. While I can safely say that I trust my officers, I simply cannot vouch for every single person on this base. If Lady Alleandre has been… apprehended, particularly if nobody saw the incident take place, then they have a planned escape route, and would not count on being able to escape before a lockdown was imposed. Perhaps they did, but no professional operative would stake the operation on it.

Sir Arthur nodded, while Evelynne listened to everything in a kind of distant daze. Ally had been taken. By whom and for what specific purpose she didn’t know, and all she could do was hold onto her knowledge of her lover’s soul within her own and take what comfort she could from the fact that it remained strong and stable. She had been sending her thoughts in her partner’s direction since hearing the news, but Ally remained stubbornly unresponsive.

Permission granted, Commandant. No more than two-man units, no more than three units per floor. Also have four-man units check the perimeter fences for breaches.

Yes, General. And—

Sir! I have a possible surveillance anomaly!

The young Sergeant’s call drew both officers’ attention. In a moment, Sir Arthur and Stable were by his side, looking over his shoulder at the monitor he was examining. Explain, Matheson, the Commandant ordered.

Yes, Sir. Sir, this is the current feed we’re receiving from one of the cameras in the north-west elevator. The monitor showed an empty elevator car, apparently locked down with the rest of the base.

And?

Sir, the time is off. The Sergeant tapped the screen where the current time slowly marched onwards. 17:45: 09… 10… 11… 12… This is the current base time controlled by the central computers. Next to the image a second clock appeared. Evelynne peered at it, seeing nothing at first… and then she saw that the seconds were ticking along almost three seconds faster than the video.

It isn’t just a glitch? Sir Arthur asked.

Matheson shook his head. Not like this, Sir. All surveillance cameras are tied into the central surveillance computer, which has its own independent clock. Every camera records the time within a 7.5 millisecond discrepancy of the others. This discrepancy is over two and a half seconds, Sir. The Sergeant hesitated. In my opinion, Sir, this is some kind of external feed.

Good work, Sergeant, Sir Arthur said, straightening. Turning slightly, he activated his collar microphone. Sorceress One, this is Phoenix One. Possible surveillance anomaly in the north-west elevator. Proceed with caution.

The wait was nerve-wracking for Evelynne, and she couldn’t help feeling an unjustified resentment that Sir Arthur and Commandant Stable appeared to be taking the situation with alert calm. That apparent relaxed state was a mask, she knew, created by years of training and utmost professionalism, but some part of her would have been reassured if they were both panicking as much as she was. On the other hand, Evelynne’s demeanour was probably as stone-faced as theirs her self-control trained and honed by the very woman she was anxious for.

Where are Ally’s parents? she asked in a low voice, hoping she wasn’t disturbing her Guard’s concentration.

They are all being held in a secure room near Lady Alleandre’s ward, Sir Arthur replied. Until we are clearer on the situation I feel it best to keep them as secure as possible.

Evelynne nodded, even as she was stretching out with another part of her mind, painfully careful not to lose her grip on the link joining her to Ally.

Mrs Tretiak? Are you both alright? As much as she wanted to, she didn’t attempt to contact Ally’s father, as he had proven to be utterly impervious to any external psychic impulse.

We’re both fine, Catherine Tretiak’s mental voice replied, with only a hint that suddenly hearing a voice in her head was in any way unusual. Evelynne, where is my daughter? That voice was possessed of a firm, uncompromising tone audible to mental ears just as it was to physical ones.

We don’t know where Ally is, Evelynne said bluntly, knowing that the other woman would not appreciate otherwise. Or Claire. Captain Benson and Sergeant Gyrus are out of contact, too. She felt Catherine’s take quick intake of breath over her link to them, and the anxiety doubled. What happened down there?

A couple of nurses came by, Catherine Tretiak explained. They said they wanted to take Ally for a sonogram to check out some things they noticed during the procedure. Nothing serious, they said, but they wanted to make sure. Claire, Amanda and Rupert went with them, and that’s the last I know.

Evelynne was about to reply when her more mundane senses showed her that Sir Arthur was listening intently to his earbud. Confirmed, Sorceress One. Evacuate to Beta. Yellow-Four still in effect. Without further ado, he turned to his avidly listening audience. Colonel Nixon managed to get inside the elevator. She found the two medical personnel. They are alive and essentially unharmed, he hastened to add at Evelynne’s terrified expression, but the Colonel suspects that a gas was introduced into the elevator which forced them all into unconsciousness. She is evacuating them back to the location of Mr and Mrs Tretiak. He hesitated uncharacteristically. Neither Lady Alleandre, Mistress Claire, nor her Guards were on scene.

It was dark.

Drifting in Limbo, her only companions were her own slow heartbeat, and the background hum of thoughts, though whether the latter were hers or not was difficult to tell. It was warm, and there was no pain, but there was something… wrong as well.

I apologise most sincerely, Your Ladyship, a new voice said, slipping into her consciousness quietly. I truly wish this was not necessary. You have suffered as only the innocent can in this struggle to gain our potential. However, the destiny of my nation requires that I do this. I bear you no ill will, yet… Uresh senebu nu peter.

Confusion rippled across the surface of her mind, and she tried to ask the voice what it meant, but she could make no sound, and then the voice was gone. After an eternity of consideration, she turned to the background thoughts.

Perhaps they could explain if she asked them.

Martina Lowes sighed in frustration, barely restraining herself from slamming down her phone. Leaning back in her chair, she rubbed her eyes and sighed. This was really not what she wanted to be doing this evening. In a rare event of coordination, both her husbands were at home on the same night. Joseph had promised a new recipe he was trying out at his restaurant, while Ahmed had been dropping teasing hints all week about a certain massage oil he had picked up on his last trip to India. Martina really didn’t want to be wasting more time trying to track down a story that was probably nothing.

Except that a niggling sensation in the back of her head kept telling her that it wasn’t nothing. After all, entire top-security Guard facilities didn’t just go into emergency lockdown on a whim. Lowes had received that information from a source who had been just outside at the time, and while it was possible that the entire thing was a training exercise, other things just didn’t add up. Like the fact that Guard posts across the Realm had suddenly gone to a heightened state of alert, and off-duty Guards were being called in as fast as they could be contacted. There had been absolutely no official word on the reasons for such an event, and Martina’s calls to certain sources within the administration itself had met with an impenetrable wall. Not that the Guard had been a particularly forthcoming institution at the best of times, but since the Invasion they had been even more careful about what they said, and to whom.

Well, when all else failed, there was always Maggie. Picking up the phone again and absently dialling, Martina wondered how many times she would be propositioned by her besotted friend, and just what she could get away with offering in return for the information. Perhaps an invitation to join them for Joseph’s meal this evening… although not to the promised massage afterwards.

The line rang twice before Lowes heard it picked up. Forestalling Maggie’s inevitable initial come-on, she spoke up quickly.

Uresh senebu nu peter.

Martina stared at the phone in her hand with utter bafflement. What the hell did I just say?

The person at the other end of the line was obviously just as surprised. Say again?

Uh… I don’t… Maggie? That voice was not familiar.

State your identity. The order showed none of the speaker’s initial uncertainty, and it was definitely not Maggie.

I… ah… This is Martina Lowes. I—

How did you get this number and code?

It was… I was calling… Lowes trailed off, looking at the phone’s LCD screen, which showed the digits dialled. Instead of Maggie’s familiar 10-digit Palace number, a parade of at least twenty-five digits ran across the small screen.

This is Guard Colonel Nixon, Ms Lowes. Do not leave your current location. Agents have been dispatched. You will co-operate with them in all matters, under the Charter of Realm Security.

Colonel Nixon hung up the secure line, a frown on her face. She had just finished dispatching a Guard team with orders to detain Martina Lowes and immediately transport the reporter to the base.

When the call had echoed through her earbud, quick anticipation had been the Colonel’s first reaction. That particular set of tones unquestionably signified a call forwarded directly from the secure switchboard which corresponded to the private verification code assigned to Alleandre Tretiak. In theory, nobody else had that particular set of numbers, which meant that Nixon was very interested in learning just how Lowes had acquired it.

Ambassador Holt is requesting an audience, Madam, Queen Cleo’s personal secretary said quietly from the door, causing the Queen to look up from her discussion with her Foreign Affairs and External Intelligence Advisors and their aides.

Just how urgent is he, Maggie? Cleo asked shortly. We’re a bit busy here ourselves.

He seems quite interested, Madam, Maggie said. Apparently he wishes to go over some diplomatic and security arrangements for Lady Alleandre’s upcoming visit to Canada, should her flight happen to take her through an American airport.

And that was a total load of hes, as everyone in the room knew. Lady Alleandre had absolutely no plans to return to Canada in the forseeable future, and even if she did she would certainly be flying direct, without even the question of landing on United States soil. Which meant that Ambassador Holt had something very different in mind for discussion, and he had used all the right words to get the Queen’s attention.

Please, show him in, Cleo instructed after a split-second’s hesitation.

A few moments later, the American Ambassador was striding into the room, a briefcase held in one hand, and a smile on his face that could very nearly be mistaken for genuine. Your Majesty, he greeted, bowing shallowly.

Mr Ambassador, the Queen replied with an equally disingenuous smile. Thank you, Maggie. As soon as the door closed behind the secretary, Cleo’s expression dimmed perceptibly. So, Mr Ambassador, you wished to discuss security arrangements?

Yes, Your Majesty. I realise that you are very busy, since Lady Alleandre is… travelling as we speak, but there were some concerns that I felt I had to bring to your attention immediately. I truly wish I could have discussed this with you earlier, but Her Ladyship’s recent change in travel plans caught us somewhat by surprise.

Only years of experience prevented the Queen from drawing in a sharp breath. Holt knew, somehow, that Alleandre had been taken, and he was either attempting to convey that his own government had taken her, or he had some idea as to who had.

Of course, Mr Ambassador. Given the new atmosphere of cooperation that we’re striving to build, I’d be happy to discuss matters with you. Although I hope you realise that with events overtaking us somewhat we find ourselves acting with some urgency.

Naturally, Your Majesty. In fact, perhaps it will be more convenient if I were to leave with you some of the proposals the State Department has drawn up, Holt suggested, reaching into his briefcase and pulling out a thick manila folder. Politely, he bent down and placed it on the desk before the Queen.

Her face still expressionless Cleo opened up the folder and leaned back, brows quirking as she saw two unlabelled DVDs on the very top.

Your Highness, General, you have a video conference request from Mr Chorus Tladi. Commandant Stable’s quiet tones coming over the intercom threatened to wake the Princess. Shall I accept the connection?

Of course, Commandant, Sir Arthur said quickly. We’ll be to Command momentarily. He cut the line and looked over at his charge.

Evelynne had not moved much from her spot on the couch where she had finally slipped into a light, exhausted doze a half hour before. The Princess was sleeping with her head in the lap of her future mother-in-law, who had likewise succumbed to the anxiety-driven drain on her energy. It was therefore with some reluctance that Sir Arthur set about waking his charge.

In the heart of Sir Arthur’s commandeered domain, activity continued at a bustling pace, if not the frantic speed it had been in the minutes after Alleandre’s disappearance. On the largest screen in the room, set in the communications area, Chorus’ promised video link had been set up, and simultaneous connections had been made to General ab-Warat, Director of the Common Guard; Helena Klaussen, Head of Internal Security; and King Jad’s personal office. The King smiled at his daughter in an attempt at reassurance before taking command of the virtual meeting.

Mr. Tladi, he began without preamble, what do you have for us?

Even over the video link, Chorus’ eyes were bloodshot, and it was easy to imagine that for the past hours he had been glued to a computer monitor, trying to coax information from every computer system he could connect to. I’ve been trying to connect any link I can possibly find, Your Majesty, the young man confirmed. In fact, I’ve been rather cavalier when it comes to dropping your name and authority, Sir, so that I can get access to the data I need.

Young man, if you find Alleandre, I won’t care if you’ve been reading my personal diary, and I will personally have you promoted to Chief of Guard Cryptography.

Evelynne’s eyes flickered to General ab-Warat’s face, but the Director didn’t even flinch. Despite the friction between him and Ally’s team, he had been working just as hard as everyone else over the past while, and there was probably some small part of him that wouldn’t object to having someone, anyone, be promoted to take his own job.

Thank you, Your Majesty, but when I find Ally I think I’m going to resign and work with her on developing the best recipe for chocolate. Despite everything, Evelynne couldn’t help but feel a surge of relief at Chorus’ confidence. In any case, I’m afraid I haven’t found out where Ally has got to, but I do have some solid evidence on who has taken her.

Evelynne inhaled briefly, while all three of the others on the screen showed diamond-sharp interest.

Who? Klaussen blurted.

Well, Her Majesty managed to get the computer files from that AFB raid in the States into my hands. Nothing else was panning out, but I figured that if the same person who had paid the AFB was in charge of this, there might be a link between them. So I set the Choir to work looking for matching patterns between the AFB data and every other system I could get my hands on. And I found one. Chorus took a breath. Now, I can’t promise that this would stand up in a court of law, because the pattern isn’t exactly… rational. It’s far more intuitive. I can see it, but I’ll need a lot of time to nail it down for you.

Fine, but what does that mean? King Jad asked impatiently.

Essentially I was able to look at the pattern of money transfers from whoever paid the AFB to the Brigade itself. The database Queen Cleo managed to, ah, acquire filled in a lot of the missing pieces, and I had already programmed the basic pattern-recognition criteria, so it was simply a matter of scanning in the new data and letting it run. So far as I can tell, the money went through a painful number of routings, and it was Hell to trace, but I got a pattern. And then I found another pattern in another place that matches. He hesitated. Whoever paid the AFB used some of exactly the same techniques that the Guard uses for its own covert transactions.

The Guard?! General ab-Warat repeated, his voice strangled.

Chorus nodded soberly. I got into the Guard financial database, and I’ve been able to narrow it down more to a file called ‘Project Wakening’. Don’t ask me how the match works, because it’s more of a pattern than an exact match, and I honestly don’t think I can explain it in terms you’d understand.

Evelynne’s face turned to Sir Arthur’s in shock. Wakening… she murmured.

The General’s gaze went distant as he obviously ran through every Project and Mission of which he was aware. I’ve never heard of any Project by that name, he said after a moment. His face turned to the side as he accessed a computer. It’s not in the main database, and… He paused. I can tell you it’s not in my black files, either.

Evelynne nodded, believing him. The Guard Director’s so-called black files were those that contained information so sensitive that it was kept only as hardcopy in the Director’s, King’s, and Queen’s personal vaults. Evelynne herself had seen only one of the documents found there: Ally’s own black file, containing what was known about her superhuman abilities. By now, though, she wouldn’t be surprised if her a description of her own telepathic talents was resting in the vaults.

It’s hidden away in one of the tertiary databases, Chorus said. There’s not much in it, but it looks like it was masquerading as a legitimate Guard training Project. I was able to find a link to the money trail used to pay the AFB and most of the other mercenary groups. I was also able to find other matching money trails. Two of them led to sums deposited in the personal accounts of two personnel from the medical facility where Ally was taken. A Lieutenant Giorgio Ferrarra, and a Medic Sergeant Jonas Sylvan. Sir Arthur looked quickly at Commandant Stable, but the Base Commander was already talking urgently to a data technician, who was pulling up the relevant files. And… I was able to find the electronic fingerprints of at least one of the people running it. Everyone has their own particular signature methods when it comes to using computers, and the Choir can recognise them. And then when I set it to trying to find a match with anyone who could have access, it found one. Chorus’ face was completely serious. Your Majesty, it was in your own office network. The login matches Mohammed al-Shan.

Evelynne had never seen her father so stunned, not even when she had told him she wanted to marry Ally, and knew that her own expression was no better. Mohammed?! The King’s personal secretary had worked in his position for over twenty-five years, albeit first as personal secretary to Prince Jad. He always maintained a certain professional distance, but Evelynne knew that there was nobody her father trusted more with the day-to-day running of his administration. And who else would have such unfettered access to nearly every document that crossed the King’s desk? a small voice whispered in the back of her mind. Who else would have the opportunity to learn the King’s personal access codes, obtain information… even speak with the King’s authority in certain situations?

The same thoughts were visible on King Jad’s face, which was, for the first time Evelynne could remember, white instead of its customary red. It was with pure willpower that the Diarch pulled his thoughts together. Moha— He had to clear his throat. al-Shan took the day off from his duties this morning in order to attend the wedding of his nephew, he said hoarsely. General, I want you to find out if that is where he really went, and if not… The King drew in a long breath. If not, a Royal Imperative Warrant is hereby issued for the arrest of Mohammed J?sus al-Shan on suspicion of High Treason.

Chapter 17

Martina Lowes sat with imperfectly assumed calm in the plain, stark interrogation room, wondering just what the Hell she had got into this time, and just how she had gotten into it. So far, to her surprise, nobody had asked any pointed questions, but that was about to change. She had been ushered politely but very firmly into this room, and informed that officials would be arriving momentarily in order to discuss the situation.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the door opened, allowing three persons to enter. Lowes took a moment to recognise Colonel Theodora Nixon and General Sir Arthur Ramirez, but when Princess Evelynne deMolay entered on their heels she was standing and bowing before the thought even had time to process consciously.

She held the bow while the Princess hesitated, then took a seat across the table.

Please sit, Ms Lowes.

The reporter took her seat with a murmured, Your Highness.

It was Colonel Nixon who spoke next. Martina Lowes, we are here to discuss the telephone call you made approximately two hours ago to a maximum-security Guard communications network, she began. Because you are present without legal representation, no criminal charges shall be filed as a result of this interview. Should we decide that charges should be brought to bear, you shall be re-interviewed in the presence of your choice of representation before such charges are officially laid. You should also be aware that the matters discussed here are considered Realm Secrets, and publication of them will result in charges of Deliberate Intent to Cause Harm to the Realm, and you will be tried under High Justice. Do you understand?

Lowes nodded soberly. They were certainly not kidding around. While the promise of prejudicial immunity was, as far as she could tell, absolutely genuine, there was also no mistaking the deadly seriousness of the promise of High Justicepersonal prosecution before the King and Queen themselves, without the benefit of a juryshould she be foolish enough to print what they talked about. I understand.

Good. Colonel Nixon began the questions. At approximately 2345 local time, you placed a call to a secure Guard switchboard. You then entered a nineteen-digit personal verification key of the highest level of classification. Simply put, Ms Lowes, where did you get the key?

Lowes took a deep breath. There was no way they were going to believe her, but all she could do was tell the truth. I was intending to call MaggieMargaret Hollamby, Queen Cleo’s personal secretary. We have a personal relationship, as well as a professional one, wherein she provides me with… a head start on certain stories related to the government. Although as far as I know, she has never violated any oaths by revealing confidential material. It was bad enough that her own career was hanging by a thread; there was no way she was going to deliberately drag Maggie down with her.

Nixon nodded. We are aware of your relationship with Margaret Hollamby, she stated.

Of course you are. Somehow Lowes didn’t think there was much of her life, personal or professional, that the Guard did not now know. I was focused on my computer screen, and I was dialing by reflex. I honestly thought I was punching in Maggie’s number. I didn’t even know it wasn’t until you answered, Colonel.

You’re trying to tell me that you managed to dial a Guard extension, and an access code that should be known only byat mostone person, by accident?

The reporter couldn’t blame Nixon’s extreme scepticism. I know how it sounds, Colonel, but all I can say is… yes.

Colonel Nixon stared at her for several seconds before she glanced sideways at Princess Evelynne and Sir Arthur. The Princess did nothing, only kept her eyes firmly on Lowes, but the senior Guard leaned back and nodded. The Colonel’s eye quirked briefly, and then she turned back to Lowes.

I believe you, Ms Lowes, Nixon said bluntly, and Martina nearly gaped in shock. Or, rather, Sir Arthur believes you, and he has… a sense of these things.

They believed her?! Lowes could barely even think. She wasn’t even certain she believed herself! However, Nixon was still speaking.

To be more accurate, we believe that you actually have no knowledge of how you came by that number. However, now the matter becomes discovering how you came to be in possession of this knowledge. I think we can safely say that it was not an accident.

It might interest you to know, Princess Evelynne said, speaking for the first time, and still with that soul-penetrating stare, that the number you dialled was my Consort’s personal Guard contact code, which is designed to allow her to reach Colonel Nixon directly from any telephone on the planet.

IYour HighnessI don’t…

Oh, I quite agree that, by all logic, you don’t know what it was. However, it’s equally obvious that you do know. Now, Ally hates paradoxes, so I think I owe it to her to resolve this one. The Princess paused for breath, and for the first time Lowes saw just how exhausted the Heir appeared. You should also know, she continued in a more subdued tone, that Ally was abducted from this facility a little over eight hours ago. Martina gasped. Since that time we’ve had absolutely no contact with her, directly or indirectly, of any sort. Princess Evelynne cleared her throat. You can see why we’re a little anxious to know just why you called Ally’s number at this particular time.

Of course, Your Highness, Lowes stammered. So that was why every Guard facility in the Realm was on alert! One didn’t misplace the Heir Consort without immediately throwing every resource one had into discovering where she had been lost.

First, though, the Princess continued, leaning forward, what does ‘uresh senebu nu peter’ mean to you?

Uresh… Those were the words Martina had spoken immediately after connecting on the phone, and at the time she had no idea why she had said them. She still didn’t know the why, but she had managed to figure out a what. ‘Uresh senebu nu peter’ is a common blessing used by followers of the Enneadic Temples, Lowes explained, although it was general knowledge in Atlantl. Roughly translated to English, ‘those who sleep awaken.’ It refers to the time when the Gods of the EnneadRa, Isis, Osiris, Set, and so onwill supposedly awaken or return from wherever they went in the aftermath of the Deluge and take up rulership of Atlantl once more. I’m afraid that’s about all I can suggest as a connection to that particular phrase.

The Heir nodded again. That is what we came up with, although recently we came across a reference to a ‘Project Awakening,’ which seems to have ties to both Ally’s abduction and the Invasion.

Based on the religious origin of the phrase, Colonel Nixon added, we’re obviously investigating any possibility of religious extremists in the Enneadic Temples being responsible, but we haven’t come up with anything.

But, if you’ll pardon me, Colonel, even if you’re right about ‘those who sleep awaken,’ why… I mean, I realise that all I can do is assure you that I have no connections to any religious extremists, of any stripe…

Oh, it was, and is, something we’re investigating, Ms Lowes, Nixon replied bluntly. However, I don’t think we’re going to find anything directly tying you to whoever abducted Lady Alleandre.

What we think we’ll find, Martina, Princess Evelynne said, snapping Lowes’ eyes back to her face, is that there is… some kind of direct connection between Ally and yourself.

Martina Lowes knew she was a very intelligent woman, but this was becoming far too confusing. I’m sorry, Your Highness?

The Princess leaned forward across the table, her expression deadly serious. Martina, what you are about to hear is classified beyond Realm Security. If you ever discuss it with anyone besides those of us present right now in this room or those we personally designate, you will be summarily sentenced under Royal Decree, without the benefit of a trial. Taking a heavy sheet of paper from Sir Arthur, Princess Evelynne slid it across the table along with a pen. You will sign this Decree, acknowledging its existence and authority. The Decree has been penned by King Jad and Queen Cleo, and authorised by Dukes Avalon, Lyonesse and Hy Braseal, the Director of the Guard, and the Head of the Internal Security Division.

Lowes’ hand was shaking as she scanned the document. A Royal Imperative Decree was something that was used only in the most extreme circumstances, for the simple reason that it was such a powerful document. There was no appeal, and no recourse other than to have it lifted by those same persons who had originally signed it, or those who succeeded them to their offices. Another one of the reasons it was so rare was that, to be valid, it had to be signed unanimously by the King, Queen, and all three Dukes, and getting all five of those personalities to agree on something so important was a vanishingly rare occasion at best. However, this Decree did, in fact, bear all five seals and signatures, and then threw in those of the Guard Director and Head of Internal Security for good measure.

This may seem heavy-handed of us, Evelynne said, and her softened tone was enough to jar Lowes out of her daze. Do I think it’s absolutely necessary? No. However, to date no reporters have been entrusted with what we’re about to tell you. If you wish, think of that as a benefit. While I can’t promise it, I can say that it’s my firm belief that, one day, this Decree will be liftedthat there will be no choicebut to have it lifted, assuming it even matters any more. And when that day comes, you will have the lead on the single largest story to hit the planet in millennia.

Well, Your Highness, Lowes said, her voice shaking slightly, you make a persuasive case. Without further hesitation, she picked up the pen and signed the Decree, pleased that her hand didn’t shake at all.

Princess Evelynne took the document solemnly and spent a moment seemingly lost in thought, her gaze on the thick paper. Then she looked up, tilting the sheet towards her Guards with a slight lifting of her eyebrow. Both looked over the document, and there was something there which caused mirror expressions of surprise.

Well, Martina, the Princess said, I think you’ve already answered a question or two. And posed several more. A breath. Do you believe in telepathy?

Whatever Lowes had been expecting, that hadn’t been it. Telepathy? It was something she had rarely considered seriously before. Once, several years before, she had written an article on a private research facility which had been dedicated to studying ESP, telekinesis, and the like, and while intriguing, the result had been less than convincing. Especially when, some time after, it had become known that at least two of the chief scientists had been falsifying data.

Yes. A pause. Do you believe in telepathy?

It took Martina Lowes a moment to comprehend that Princess Evelynne had not repeated the question aloud, but that the words had simply… echoed through her mind without touching her ears at all. That was when she jerked back, nearly knocking her chair to the floor. What the Hell?!

There was a slightly wry smile on the Heir’s face. Believe me, I know how you feel.

WhatIHow—?

The ‘what’ is, as you already know, that I am projecting my voice directly into the auditory processing centres of your brain, bypassing, as Ally would say, the conventional aural pathways. The ‘how’ is, frankly, still a mystery to us. However, we have come to accept that it is a very real phenomenon.

Lowes took a deep, shaky breath and moved back to her seat, not quite sure when she had leapt out of it. I think… She swallowed. I think your question just became redundant.

I thought it might.

So… can you all do this? Martina asked, looking at all three people on the other side of the table. Though a part of her was still in absolute shock, the reporter within Lowes was now utterly awake.

No. Princess Evelynne shook her head. This is my particular Talent, although it’s quite possible that there are others somewhere who can do the same. We are aware, however, of certain other individuals who have other gifts.

Lowes’ mind whirred. And Lady Alleandre is one of them, she concluded. And you think that she’s somehow… communicating with me.

The Princess nodded. Up until now Ally has never shown the ability to project her thoughts as I do. And even now I’m not quite sure that is what she’s doing. No, in this case… You should know that one of Ally’s gifts is the ability to read others’ thoughts. That is something I cannot do, unless you deliberately project yours to me in return. At the press conference upon our arrival, Ally scanned every reporter present in an attempt to see if any of you had passed on information to the persons responsible for the Invasion. Including you.

That— The invasion of privacy issues were staggering. Within one’s own head was the only place where one could be guaranteed that nobody was listening, and if someone like Lady Alleandre could violate that sanctity of thought…

I don’t need telepathy to know what you’re thinking, Princess Evelynne broke into Lowes’ thoughts. And I’d like to say that both Ally and myself are fully aware of the ethical questions involved. All I can say in our defence is that it was something we felt was necessary at the time, and that we have never taken the issue lightly, nor have we ever acted upon any of the information we have received unless there was an immediate threat of harm to some person of the Realm as a whole. If it helps, I can also say that Ally cannot access memories or anything other than the surface thoughts of an individual at any particular time. I can’t say it’s impossible that some other Talented person might be able to read memories, but that is not one of Ally’s gifts.

It didn’t really help, because Lowes was only too aware of the surface thoughts any person could be thinking at any given time, but at least there was no wholesale rummaging through private memories. Assuming that the Heir was telling the truth, and her gut feeling was telling her that Princess Evelynne was.

Very well, Your Highness, Lowes said with deliberate calm. Faced with the evidence so far before me, I must now agree that… telepathy exists.

The Princess smiled, although there was still a visible amount of tension in her face and frame. Good. Now, as I said, at the press conference upon our arrival Ally scanned your thoughts. She had been doing similar scans for some time before arriving in Jamaz, and she was already suffering from… echoes. The feeling as though little pieces of those she had scanned were somehow lodged within her mind. There are techniques we have developed to alleviate such symptoms, and we believed the echoes were under control, although we were still concerned. One thing we did not consider, and I suppose we should have, is whether little bits of Ally’s psyche were being left behind in those she was scanning.

So… you think that somehow Lady Alleandre is… inside my head, literally? That was a very disturbing thought.

I don’t know the exact circumstance or mechanism, the Princess replied, shrugging. We don’t know far more than we do know about Talents like these. Perhaps a small piece of Ally is literally within your mind, perhaps a… resonance simply exists between the two of you, or perhaps this is the product of some ability that you have, and Ally has simply been the catalyst in its emergence. All I do know is that somehow you are linked. She paused. One of the aspects of the relationship between Ally and myself is that we are… Linked. We are always aware of each other’s presence and, to varying degrees, each other’s mental state. And the reason I know Ally is tied to you somehow is because I can feel her sitting across the table from me, right where you are now.

Claire? Claire, I need you to wake up.

The voice penetrated the total absence of thought, bringing with it sound, and consciousness, and—

Light. Claire’s eyes protested as her eyelidseach one weighing at least three hundred poundsblinked open slowly. She was so tired, and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but then the headache lurking behind her temples made itself known, and she winced heavily.

Claire, I need you to look at me, the voice continued. Talk to me, Claire.

Claire blearily peered upshe was lying down, she realisedand ever so slowly the worried face of Sergeant Gyrus slowly swam into focus. Rupert? she mumbled thickly.

The form above her sagged visibly in relief. Thank God, the Guard breathed fervently. Here, can you sit up?

That was a trickier question than Claire had expected it to be, but after some fumbling she managed to get herself semi-upright, leaning her head back against the wall in exhaustion. That made her headache worse, and she lifted a heavy and sluggish hand to her forehead with a groan.

Here. A cup appeared in front of her, and she took it, managing to bring it to her lips with a minimum of spillage. These too. Two small white tablets followed the water without Claire even bothering to wonder what they were.

Feeling marginally better, she managed her first look around the room in which she found herself. It was had once probably been a storage room of some sort, with slightly grimy white-painted brick walls with lighter patches that showed where shelves had likely once been bolted. Those shelves, and anything they may have held, were long gone, replaced surprisingly with three small cots, one of which had been serving as Claire’s own bed. Another, across the room, held a pale, prone form that she recognised after a moment as Captain Benson.

What…?

Sergeant Gyrus looked over his shoulder to where Claire’s gaze was aimed. I can’t get her to wake up, he said grimly. Her breathing’s fine, but her pulse is shallow, and she isn’t responding to light or pain stimuli. He turned back. I was about to try pinching you before you woke up.

But why? What happened? I remember walking down the hall with Ally, and then getting in the elevator, and then…

I’m guessing it was some form of soporific gas, the Sergeant explained, his own hands going to his head and massaging. Almost certainly something military-grade. Considering how fast we went under, I’m guessing something in the Khed-Beta series. Puts you down in less than two seconds. It’s still experimental because it’s been known to cause brain damage in a small fraction of cases. Another glance at the still woman in the other bed. I’m hoping that this is a milder reaction. Gyrus’ tone showed that it was a faint hope.

With immense willpower, Claire forced her own voice to hide her fear. So where are we?

Sergeant Gyrus shook his head. That I don’t know. I don’t know how long we were out, so we could be anywhere. He nodded to the door. The door’s solid metal, and there’s no lock on this side. I’m assuming that whoever took us doesn’t specifically want us dead, because they put us in here with cots and bedding, and there’s food, water, and basic medical supplies in the box in the corner. He sighed. I don’t know where Lady Alleandre is.

Claire closed her eyes against the bolt of panic that shot through her chest. We weren’t the target, she said dully. Ally was.

Almost certainly, Gyrus agreed solemnly, his own expression showing the professional pain he was feeling as a Guard who had failed in his protection of his charge, and also the personal worry for someone he knew well. I was hoping you could… take a look around… He trailed off, vaguely gesturing to Claire’s head.

Oh. Right. Claire took a couple of deep breaths, then opened up her perceptions with a confidence which, while far from complete, would have amazed her a year before.

And immediately curled into a tight foetal position as sheer agony ripped through her skull.

It took some time before she was able to unfold herself, blinking up at a concerned Guard through her tears. Ah… maybe I should wait a bit, she said hoarsely.

Chapter 18

The thoughts which were hers-but-nothers were more familiar now, more like the comforting buzz of friends than coldness of strangers. They danced and scampered, a rich-sounding kaleidoscope of every sense and feeling known to the unconscious minds of humanity. Some were awake, some were asleep, but all were aware. Certain aspects of their collective psyche echoed with that peculiar resonance that they had come to learn meant distance, as it was measured in the corporeal realm. Two facets, however, twined and touched each other with the strength of proximity, and there was knowledge that they would soon be together…

Not far now. We’re almost together again. Martina Lowes’ voice held a dreamlike quality, but still came clearly through Evelynne’s headset over the roar of the helicopter’s engine.

The Princess quirked an eyebrow at Sir Arthur, who was sitting across from her in the belly of the big troop transport chopper, and the Guard looked back at her with some bemusement. Lowes had been saying similar things over the past couple of hours, some of which had been rather disturbing. She referred to herself entirely in the first person plural, and somehow the way she said it seemed to imply that she was talking about far more than just herself and Ally. She had already made reference to that part of ourselves which is in Outremer who apparently had a firm bearing on Ally’s location.

It had all begun when Evelynne, with Black Crow’s assistance, had joined with the reporter in a deep, mind-linked trance, the psychologist-shaman’s subtle workings urging that part of Lowes that was Ally to reunite with its whole in some unfathomable way. It had been even more disconcerting that usual for Evelynne, to have a sense of Ally both right in front of her and somewhere distant at the same time, and also have vague echoes just barely perceptible in several areas of the psychic realm.

Right now Lowes, Evelynne, and both Guard teams were flying over Lyonesse, following the directions of the woman who was linked to Ally, and giving those directions from the co-pilot’s seat. All of the Guards were in full battle dress, and Evelynne herself was bearing the unfamiliar weight of an armour vest, helmet, and sidearm.

There are three towns on this bearing, Colonel Nixon said, looking up from where she and Corporal Li-He were hunched over a map. Malisson, Sh!a-M!anu, and Westlake. The closest is Westlake, which we should be reaching in about ten minutes. After that we hit the mountains.

Sir Arthur nodded to Lieutenant Martinez. Susan?

On it, Sir, the veteran Guard said, already tapping commands into her laptop. After a moment she looked up. SatCom is tasking two birds into the area, and they should be in position in roughly thirty-four minutes. Our HASC should be arriving within fifteen.

The High Altitude Surveillance Craft and its crew wouldn’t have quite the same sensor suite as the satellites that were being moved into position, but it would be on site much faster, and its true advantage was that it was infinitely more manoeuvrable. Of course, finding a mere five people in even a small town would be an impossible task, but once they had a more exact location, the surveillance data would be invaluable.

Malisson turned out to be the town they were looking for, Lowes simply announcing, We are extremely close. That had been the signal for the helicopter to land at a Guard Post on the outskirts of the town, commandeer a couple of plain-looking vans, and head into the slumbering community as quietly as possible.

After that it had been a frustrating game of hot-and-cold, as Lowes had steered them towards the parent of the fragment of psyche she was carrying. At long last, the reporter stopped the van across from an utterly unassuming block of businesses and pointed to one of the doors. There was nothing to suggest that the four-storey law office was anything in the least bit unusual, but Sir Arthur didn’t hesitate in accepting Lowes’ claim. He gave the order for the van to continue down the street before pulling into an underground parking garage three blocks away.

Then the Guard teams had exploded into organised chaos, setting up radios, computers, and the rest of the command centre, while four Guards immediately headed out to keep the building under watch. Evelynne found herself gently shuffled to the background, torn between fear and relief.

And make sure your men understand that there are to be no sirens, no uniforms, nothing to tip off the target, Sir Arthur was saying into a secure radio when Evelynne edged closer once the bustle had subsided somewhat. It is imperative that all assembling units be under absolute stealth. At this point, your only orders are establish a perimeter and monitor all traffic. Do not apprehend anyone without my direct order. I’m gathering Guard units from the local Post as well, and they should be moving into position within the half hour. Codename for this mission is Hek!au.

Understood, General. I have my men equipping now, and I’ll be calling in all off-duty officers using covert channels, Malisson’s Police Commander replied. Ah, I’m looking at my patrol routes now, and one of my cars should be doing a routine drive-through of the area in about twenty minutes. Should I call it off?

Negative, Commander. Keep to all your regular patrols on schedule. Just make sure that anyone going by the building in question are to do nothing to suggest that they are in any way suspicious. Tell them to keep an eye out, but not to break cover. I will want to debrief them on anything they’ve seen as soon as possible.

Yes, Sir. A brief muttered conversation on the other end of the line paused the discussion momentarily. Urban Assault Teams are good to go and awaiting your instructions.

Stand by, Commander. My second will be on shortly to give instructions.

The headache had faded slightly, but returned with a vengeanceand reinforcementswhen Claire came up out of her own vision, leaving her bent over her knees and breathing harshly while Sergeant Gyrus tried to comfort her. Unsurprisingly, her clairvoyant ability had provided her with a plethora of visions which had swum into and out of focus maddeningly, and it had only been with utmost willpower that she had been able to concentrate on the single channel that was of importance.

I saw Ally, she gasped, while remnants of her visions flickered in her mundane sight. She’s… she’s upstairs. An office, I think. She looks okay, but I’m not sure. I think she’s still asleep, but whoever took us seems to be taking good care of her. She’s in a hospital bed, and there are several IV’s around her. I’m pretty sure one is saline.

What about enemies? her companion asked. He handed her another plastic cup of water. Could you see any of the people who took us?

There are two that I saw in the room with Ally, Claire replied, and I saw another one on the stairs outside the door. They had guns. Like Uzis, you know?

Gyrus nodded. What about layout?

Outside this door there’s a hallway. We’re on one side. Right across is another door, but I wasn’t able to see inside. To the right is a freight elevator, to the left are the stairs, going up. Ally’s on the third floor, so I don’t know what the first two are like. She sort of… pulled me right up to her. Claire shrugged apologetically, although she was too exhausted to show any hint of embarrassment.

Gyrus looked at Claire steadily, determination in his eyes, along with an apprehension he didn’t even try to hide. You know what I have to do.

I know. Claire closed her eyes and swallowed, then looked up. I’m going with you.

The Guard didn’t bother trying to argue. His own unquestionable priority was figuring out a way to his charge, where he would protect her with every drop of blood in his body. If he had been in the company of his team, or even the backup of a single additional Guard, the Sergeant would have happily locked the young Page in some secure room. However, in order to carry out his primary assignment, he would need every asset he could get his hands on, and deep down he knew that if Claire Jones stood behind him his enemies would have to use twice as many bullets to get to Lady Alleandre.

So how do we get out of here? Claire asked, looking around the bare room. There was nothing with which to force the dooreven the cots were made of aluminumand the ventilation shafts were barely large enough to allow a cat passage.

I think I have an idea, Gyrus said, walking over to the door. Claire hesitantly followed. Are you sure there’s nobody right outside this door?

Stretching forth her much-abused power once more, Claire got a brief flicker of the corridor outside. It was only a flash, but it was enough for her to nod.

Alright, the Guard said. He knelt before the door and took several deep breaths. Here’s hoping this works.

Carefully, the young Sergeant place his hands on the door, fingers splayed over where the lock should be. Narrowing his focus to only the painted surface before him, everything else slipped away. When the entire universe was nothing but grey metal, he began to build up a picture in his mind. Locks were made up of tumblers, levers, and switches, tending to vary only in terms of complexity and layout. However, at their core, the only thing that made a lock work was a small slab of metal embedded into the doorjamb. And it only moved a few centimetres.

Slowly an image of the possible interior of the locking mechanism formed in Gyrus’ mind. It was likely not particularly accurate, but one of the things that the young psychokinetic had learned over the past months, especially under Lady Alleandre’s tutelage, was that intent was far more important than precision in psychogenic work. After all, nobody knew the exact physics behind the Adeptus Major’s ability to levitate, but that didn’t stop her from doing so. Visualisation, the Lady had repeated to him again and again. Visualisation, intent, determination, and confidence. Then find your own path.

All that was needed was for the bolt to move, and Gyrus set all his concentration to that objective. The details would take care of themselves. For long minutes he focused, building up the energy within himself, and nothing happened. Then he relaxed abruptly, deliberately shattering his own concentration, and his power channelled forth. It was barely a droplet compared to the energies Lady Alleandre could summon, but it was all that was needed, and there was a click as the bolt retracted.

The day for Matthew James Johnson had begun in what had become, over the past months, a typical manner.

He had been awakened at the regular time, what the clocks assured him was 7:30, as the lights in his cell had come on, and the now-redundant voice over the speakers had announced that very fact. He had quickly performed his ablutions, washed his face in the small sink, and had been ready at his door when the guard had come to escort him to breakfast. Corporal Watkins had greeted him with the usual distant courtesy all of the guards showed all of the prisoners, and Johnson had waited while the others in his wing were also released.

They were the calmer ones of the entire group that had been captured during their Invasion, those that had proved themselves to be trouble having been left behind in the higher security wing. There were only five of the passive prisoners in this group: Matthew Johnson himself; Miguel Amilcar, who had first sold his services to South American coca growers in order to feed his family; Maurice Van Buren, who had once been a U.S. Army Major; Stephan Alison, who had come from a background similar to Matthew’s, a small fundamentalist sect in the south of Arkansas; and Benjamin Pollack, who had been dishonourably discharged from the British Navy after some incident involving the smuggling of marijuana. They had always been the calmer, more rational members of their unit, even before the Invasion, lacking the bloodlust and vindictiveness of many of the others in the Army.

They had all had their own reasons for joining, of course. Johnson and Alison had been crusaders within their own minds, liberators who honestly believed that the best path for the Atlantean people lay behind the overthrow of their corrupt, autocratic rulers. Amilcar had simply been in it for the money, since the promised payment for the operation would have been sufficient to allow him to pay off the cocaine lords and get his family out of the country. Van Buren was simply a professional soldier, who had seen an opportunity to further his military career, having known no other life since he was eighteen years old. And Pollack had joined the Army rather naively, thinking it would be an easy gig, only to realise too late that it was far more serious than he had thought, and by that time he was trapped.

Breakfast was simple but filling. Every fear about Atlantean hell-prisons that had literally not changed since their medieval dungeon days had proved entirely false, yet another thing which had shaken Matthew’s world-view. After all, everyone knew that Atlantean prisons were slave-labour camps, their inhabitants forced to work on personal projects of their dictatorial rulers. However, the accommodations were basic but comfortable, and the guards, while alert and quick to respond to any threat, were strict but polite, and the only physical violence Johnson had seen had been instigated solely by one of the prisoners.

It was all making the young man wonder on just which side he should have been fighting during the Invasion.

Still, it was a prison, with a largely unchanging routine, which was why it was such a surprise when, after the morning meal, one of the guards had announced that Johnson was going to be transferred for the day for interviews by local authorities. That had been new. Until then nobody had interviewed any of them in any length whatsoever, beyond ascertaining their names and countries of origin. The King himself, the guard explained, had decided, upon view of his good behaviour, that preliminary steps should be taken to finally decide his ultimate fate… whatever that might be.

So it had been in a whirlwind of activity that Johnson had found himself bundled into an unmarked prison transport, driven and guarded by soldiers he had never seen before, and driven out of a gate that he hadn’t had passed in nearly a year. The world had suddenly seemed very big.

In the middle of all this sudden change, it had been an additional shock when, after driving though a sleepy suburb that, given the differences in home style and construction, could have been any town in the States, the small van had unexpectedly turned into an alley that ran behind a row of small businesses and come to a stop by a heavy metal door. Then the prisoner’s erstwhile guards had opened the door to the van, unshackled him, and welcomed him back to the Hy Braseal Liberation Army.

Which was how, after a series of completely unthinkable events that had Johnson’s mind spinning, he found himself out of a prison jumpsuit and into casual clothes once more, cradling an assault rifle whose weight had become unfamiliar, and tasked with keeping a lookout over the alleyway approach to the building. That in itself would have been enough to convince him that the whole thing was a dream, but later that evening a second van had pulled up, and Matthew had nearly passed out when he saw who these people were bringing in.

Two Atlantean Guards in full uniform and a young woman with the most startling skin deformity, all of them unconscious and being carried in without undue roughness and bundled into a storage room in the basement.

And Lady Alleandre Tretiak. The very same avenging angel whose incredible power had defeated him and his companions in the halls of the Royal Palace.

Except that this time she had been anything but powerful. Obviously drugged, and strapped to a bed, the young woman looked thin and drawn and, despite her drugged sleep, incredibly weary.

She’s the bait that will bring the Royals, one of his new companions had said with undisguised satisfaction, and Matthew had been on the brink of blurting out a description of the way in which this bait had leveled forty soldiers without laying a finger on them, but some impulse had made him hold back, and the woman on the gurney had been whisked away to an office on the third floor of the building.

His mind stalled, Matthew Johnson could only stand his new post watching over the woman who had defeated him so thoroughly months before on the third floor of the building, and pray to God that he would discover what to do.

Claire held her breath as she crept out the door behind Sergeant Gyrus into the corridor. She kept expecting alarms to sound, and a legion of masked men to descend upon them at any moment. The young woman tried stretching forth her mind once again, hoping to be able to see the environment beyond her physical perceptions, but the combined effects of the knockout drug and her previous exertions had left her without the energy to see anything. So she had to rely on her more mundane senses, ears in particular straining to detect any possible threat as she and her companion padded down the hallway.

So far they had seen nobody, and their luck held as they reached the stairwell at the end of the corridor and crept upwards. Up to the landing on the third floor, and then Gyrus looked at Claire, pointing to his eyes and the metal door with a questioning expression. Obediently, Claire closed her eyes, trying to extend her perceptions beyond the door, but there wasn’t even a flicker from her remote sense. Opening her eyes again, shook her head and shrugged apologetically. Gyrus smiled at her reassuringly, and then waved her back towards the wall beside the door.

He waited until she was out of the entrance before taking a deep, silent breath and carefully cracking open the door.

The three armed men on the other side did not look at all surprised to see them.

Welcome, the oldest of the three said, nodding slightly in disconcertingly polite greeting. I had wondered which of you would be the Herald.

Chapter 19

“What about infrared?” Sir Arthur asked, his gaze never leaving the pile of photographs, schematics and files on the table in front of him.

“Oh yes, sorry, General.” The Urban Surveillance specialist quickly flicked through the sheaf of papers in his hands and placed another set of pictures on the table. “Infrared confirms. Three persons have been in the room since we began watching, and they were joined about ten minutes ago by three two more. As you can see, these two—” He pointed out two vaguely man-shaped red blobs. “—are sitting, and the one on the right has a body temperature at least two degrees higher than the others. Since moderately heightened body heat is a common side effect of the sedatives Lady Alleandre was given at the hospital, we project a ninety percent probability that it is her.”

Evelynne looked longingly at the red and orange blur that was the most she’d seen of her lover in hours, and she barely restrained herself from reaching out to stroke the picture. That would hardly have gathered herself any professional credibility from those around this table, and the Princess was very aware that the only reason she was even being allowed to attend these briefings was that she was not falling into hysterics.

” Right,” Sir Arthur said firmly, nodding. “Anyone else have any new data? Comments? Suggestions?” Nobody answered. “Good. Then get your teams ready for immediate mobilisation. I want to be knocking down the door in ten minutes. Entry plan Sigma Four. Commander Ashurst, tell the Major that I want full deployment within thirty seconds of my signal. Anything moving within the Ops area is to be halted and detained unless it’s wearing one of our uniforms. And effective immediately, any person or vehicle attempting to leave the town area is to be immobilised, even if they are wearing our uniform. This town is under lockdown until I say otherwise, understood? Avoid fatalities if possible, but if anyone refuses to stop, use of force is at your discretion.”

“Understood, General.” Commander Ashurst saluted and hurried off to pass the word to her own superior, Major Nielson of the local Army base, who was providing the soldiers who would be shutting down the city, and the flight of helicopter gunships who would be… dissuading anyone from fleeing by vehicle.

Evelynne shivered. It all seemed insanely surreal, and many would probably consider such actions to be draconian, but the situation was clear, and the response had been green-lighted by the King, the Queen, Duke Lyonesse, Count Entil, Baroness Lokasa, the Advisory Councils of all five, and the Mayor of the town?the last of whom had been more than eager to accede to the massive weight of such overarching authority and hurry off to hide until it was all over. Whether Ally would ever really accept it or not, she was part of the Royal Family now, and that meant a degree of concern for her safety that matched that for the President of the United States, the Queen of England, or the Pope.

“Captain al’Zaik, sniper teams now have green lights. Anyone appearing hostile is dropped. Clear?”

“Clear, Gen—”

“General! We have movement at South One!”

In an instant, both Sir Arthur and Colonel Nixon were standing over Susan Martinez, who was listening intently to the headphones that were connecting her to every member of the surveillance teams around the building. “Male subject, unarmed, showing his hands. Appears to be wearing… Sir, it’s Sergeant Gyrus!”

Five minutes later Gyrus had been scanned, searched, and?given the situation?restrained as a precaution, and was sitting in a small folding chair in an area near the command centre. The Guard looked tired, mussed, and shaken, but he was holding himself together remarkably well, considering his lack of experience.

“Sergeant, report,” Colonel Nixon ordered brusquely.

“Yes, Ma’am. Ma’am, I am bringing a message from Mohammed al-Shan for Her Highness, Princess Evelynne deMolay.” Gyrus’ eyes flicked to Evelynne, who was standing unobtrusively slightly back from the scene. “al-Shan requests that Her Highness present herself to him within two hours. He is holding Lady Alleandre Tretiak and Mistress Claire Jones as guarantees. al-Shan states that he has no wish to injure or kill any more innocents than is necessary to… ah… ‘bring about the Awakening.’”

“Is Ally alright?” Evelynne blurted, unable to stop herself. “And Claire?”

“As far as I could tell, Your Highness, Her Ladyship appears largely unharmed. She seems to be still sedated, but I saw no overt physical damage. She’s receiving hydration and nutrients intravenously, and al-Shan seems to be paying care to her vital signs; I saw an electrocardiograph and a respiration monitor while I was there. Mistress Claire was with me when we attempted to escape, and she’s being held as well. I’m afraid Captain Benson had not yet recovered the last I saw her.”

A small part of Evelynne relaxed in relief.

“How many people did you see over there in all?” Nixon asked.

” I only saw four, Ma’am,” Gyrus said seriously, “although I might not have seen them all. al-Shan and three male subjects, visibly armed. Light submachine guns and pistols. Standard-issue armoured vests, headset radio communications. They know you’re out here, Sir,” the Guard continued. “I don’t know how, and I don’t think they know exactly where, but they don’t seem to be trying to hide.”

“That makes a strange sort of sense,” Sir Arthur admitted, “given that they want Her Highness there within two hours.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Damn it!” the senior Guard swore. “So much for a surprise penetration. Alright, we need a new plan, and we have two hours to come up with it.”

“What if I went in?” Evelynne heard herself ask. “Maybe I can talk him out.”

“Not a chance, Your Highness,” Colonel Nixon said instantly. “You are the one thing we know for sure al-Shan wants, and he’s already helped kill thousands of people trying to get to you.”

” So why give him the chance to kill any more?” Evelynne pleaded. “Gods damn it to the Duat, Colonel, that’s my fiancee in there, not to mention one of my best friends and a member of my personal Guard! If I can just buy some time, maybe keep him off-balance, get him into a more vulnerable position…” She stopped. And I’m not totally helpless, you know. I can tell you exactly what the layout is inside, and al-Shan will never know I’m doing it. I can open up options you’ll never have otherwise.

“Your Highness, it’s simply unthinkable,” Nixon reiterated. “Even if we put you in the best body armour we have, we have no guarantee that he won’t simply shoot you in the head the instant he sees you. There’s simply no way we can—”

“We will protect her. I will protect her.”

Everyone present looked around, startled, to see Martina Lowes standing a few metres away, where she had moved without anyone noticing.

“Excuse me?” Nixon asked.

“I… can protect her,” Lowes said again, her face and eyes vaguely unfocused. “There are things that I know… I don’t know how I know them, but they’re there. A part of me… of us… is…” She trailed off, shaking her head in confusion, then held out her hand, fingers spread, and palm down. There was a moment of silence, and then metal rang on the cement floor as Sergeant Gyrus’ shackles clicked open of their own accord. “I know things, and I can protect her.”

“Isis,” Evelynne breathed, walking over to look up into Martina Lowes’ eyes. She stretched forth her mind, and once more there was the overwhelming feeling that her lover was standing right in front of her. “Ally? Can you hear me?”

Martina shook her head. “I’m not Ally, but she is… a part of her is… there is an echo of her that I can hear, and it…” Lowes shook her head again, and then looked up. “She loves you so very much. That I know most of all.”

“You have a go.” Sir Arthur’s voice was low.

“Sir—” Colonel Nixon began, shocked.

” I said that Her Highness has a go, along with Ms Lowes.” The older Guard looked at the Colonel and smiled ruefully. “I have… Call it a hunch, and in this environment I think it would be crazier not to trust it.”

Matthew Johnson shifted uncomfortably, trying to avoid the accusing gaze of the oddly-complexioned woman handcuffed to one of the chairs along the wall. To be honest, her expression was more terrified than accusatory, but that was almost worse. And somehow Johnson couldn’t get the thought out of his head that Lady Alleandre, unconscious in her bed though she was, was looking at him with even moredisapproving eyes… and that God Himself was watching him with something approaching condemnation.

It was an incongruous location to imagine God watching over affairs. Once, the room must have been a completely ordinary office; nothing special, just a ten-by-twenty foot room, stocked with a desk, bookshelf, set of file drawers, and several moderately-uncomfortable chairs. In fact, all of those accoutrements were still present, but most of them were pushed aside to make room for the hospital bed which held Alleandre Tretiak, and the monitors and IV stands which were caring for her. The large window which had once looked out onto the street outside had been boarded up, leaving the only light emanating from the stark fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling.

Anthros, the man who seemed to be al-Shan’s second-in-command, slipped into the room and hurried over to his leader, and Johnson straightened at the energy in the man’s stride. Anthros murmured several words to the older man, who nodded in satisfaction.

“Evelynne deMolay is coming to us,” al-Shan announced. “As I knew she would. She is accompanied by one other; not a Guard, or so Anthros assures me.” al-Shan frowned. “I had not expected anyone else, but…” He shrugged. “There are still parts that must be played, and I don’t know exactly who will fill them. In any case, Anthros, please go and show our guests up. Master Johnson, you will stay with me, please.”

“Yes, Sir,” Johnson said, somehow keeping the uncertainty out of his voice. “Ah, what’s the plan, Sir?”

“I don’t exactly know, but I trust in the Gods to provide. The Awakening of the new Dynasty must take place.”

“Yes, Sir,” Johnson said again, but al-Shan wasn’t listening.

Minutes dragged on interminably before the door to the office opened once more and the forbidding Anthros ushered Princess Evelynne and the unknown woman into the room.

The Princess was smaller than Johnson had expected. Not tiny by any means, but much smaller than he had imagined someone of her importance to be. Her hair was much shorter than in any of the pictures he had seen of her recently, but just as red, and exhaustion and strength battled in her eyes. She also couldn’t stop the low gasp that left her lips when she saw her… lover, lying motionless amidst medical equipment.

“Evelynne, I’m pleased you came so promptly,” al-Shan said. “I knew we would meet eventually, but I never knew whether you would come of your own accord. I’m glad that—”

“Claire, are you alright?” the Princess interrupted, ignoring al-Shan completely. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay, Evy,” the other woman replied, her own voice shaking. “I’m?Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Good. And Ally?” Evelynne asked, taking a single step towards the sleeping woman, but halting when Anthros stepped between her and the bed.

“Lady Alleandre is fine,” al-Shan answered smoothly, drawing the Princess’ attention to him once again. “I never had any desire to harm her unnecessarily.”

” And what about everyone else, Mohammed?” Princess Evelynne spat at him. “You’ve helped kill thousands of Atlantlan people. Indiscriminately. You’ve tried to kill my entire family, and I don’t even know how many others you’ve injured. And for what? Greed? Power? What is it that you want?!”

“Power, yes,” al-Shan replied, his face drawn and serious. “But not for myself. And yes, I am responsible for the deaths of thousands, but some changes require sacrifice, even of one’s soul. The French and American Revolutions, the Communist takeover of Russia, the Unification War of the Congo… all of these cost thousands, millions of lives, and all were spent willingly, though not with joy, in order to bring about a change that some saw as absolutely necessary. And the change which I must see into being casts those petty conflicts into shadow.”

” A new Dynasty? With yourself as King Mohammed the First? Or perhaps you want to be President al-Shan? Is that your goal? The jihad of democracy? Vote or die?”

” You’re not listening, Evelynne,” al-Shan said, shaking his head in frustration. “I told you, I don’t want or expect power for myself. In fact, I have no illusions about my place in the times to come. I have committed terrible crimes, and I shall be punished for them for an eternity. I shall see none of the great things I have helped create come to pass fully, but they were necessary! I have seen many things, and one of them is that my part in this is almost over.”

“So then who are you working for?” Evelynne insisted. “If you don’t want power for yourself, then who?”

” I have seen many things,” al-Shan repeated. “I see signs everywhere; in my dreams, in a glass of water, in the stars. I have seen the last branch of the Tree of deMolay tremble and fall. I have seen the entire Realm of Atlantl shed its blood. I have seen you, Evelynne, come to me, brought by the Herald. These things and more I have seen, and they have either come to pass or soon shall. There are other things I have seen, and I do not know how they shall come to be. I have seen Jamaz on a moonless night, lit as bright as day. I have seen an Angel fall to Earth, and be caught by Samson Reborn. I have seen the healing lightning warm the injured and dying. I have seen… I have seen miracles. And most of all, I have seen Those Who Sleep. Once all else that I have seen has come to pass, I have seen that They shall awake, and Atlantl shall Rise. The Gods, Evelynne! The Gods shall walk the Earth once more! And They shall rule! Uresh senebu nu peter!”

There was dead silence for long heartbeats, as everyone present stared at al-Shan, his face ablaze with fervour.

” The Gods?” Princess Evelynne asked, breaking the silence. “You did all this for the Gods?!”

” There shall be a new Great Age, as there was in aeons past. The new Dynasty shall not be mortal, but shall live on for ten thousand years and encompass the stars themselves! But there cannot be two Dynasties, Evelynne,” al-Shan continued, and his sorrow seemed entirely genuine. “The al-Heru deMolay line must end. I truly wish it could be otherwise, Evelynne, but your blood must flow for the Gods to Awaken.”

“No.”

Matthew Johnson seemed surprised by his own voice. “No,” he said again. “This isn’t right. This isn’t what I believe in. I might not know God’s will, but I know that this isn’t it. I won’t let you do this.” The barrel of his gun swivelled to train on al-Shan and Anthros.

al-Shan appeared oddly unruffled by the sudden switch in allegiance, and smiled wryly. “And three Disciples shall face two Prophets, and one shall find deliverance,” he said, sounding like he was quoting from some source. “And here you are, named after Matthew, James and John. I knew you had to be here, and so I arranged for it. Perhaps you have found deliverance. Or perhaps I have. Either way, I am grateful.” Then his hand was up like a snake, and the pistol gripped in it cracked once.

The darkness was becoming frustrating. Beloved souls were nearby, their vibrancy laced with fear and worry, and They wanted nothing more than to go to them, embrace them, feel their warmth. Her/Their physical form stubbornly refused to move, however, and had They been less… detached from Their surroundings They would have snarled in frustration. There was danger nearby, and disturbing flickers in reality that were somehow familiar, but fractured as well.

A part of Them was nearby as well, and, speculatively, They shifted Their consciousness into that part of Their shared waveform, and then They could see. There was relief as They could finally see the loved ones?Evelynne and Claire, the part of Them concerned with such labels added?and they were unharmed so far. Others were present as well: one was wracked with a perfectly sane sense of confusion and uncertainty, while another was cold and calculating. The third was sharp and brittle, a chaotic mixture of deadly certainty, fanaticism, and a tiny voice of fear crying out.

It was this last entity who raised a hand and fired a small slug of metal.

They watched curiously as the bullet inched through the air, and there was a sense of disassociated wonder as They observed the physical properties of the tiny piece of metal. Mass, energy, momentum, charge, spacial location: all were observed with a directness that Schr?dinger would have wept to experience. And it was just as fundamental to shift Their own quantum waveform to encompass that of the bullet and simply pluck the momentum from its equation. There was a moment of outrage from the universe as the stolen energy existed in uncertainty for a length of time far longer than Heisenberg had ever imagined possible while They tried to decide where to put it. That energy had to go somewhere, and so They released it back into the atoms of the metal, where it was sufficient to excite the electronic energy levels enough to emit visible light and more than a little heat.

The danger no longer imminent, They could turn her mind to speaking. Her/Their own vocal cords were still stubbornly unresponsive, so They reached out once more…

There was dead silence in the aftermath of the shot, as nobody present could tear their eyes away from the bullet that was floating in midair inches from the point between Johnson’s eyes. One heartbeat, two, and then the deadly projectile began to glow cherry red, and the erstwhile soldier flinched back from the heat emanating from it. He flinched again when it dropped abruptly to the floor, making the carpet smoulder.

“It appears—” al-Shan’s voice was hoarse, and he had to clear his throat. “It appears the Gods wish you to live.”

“I don’t know about the Gods, but I figured nobody else had to get hurt today,” Lowes spoke up, dragging everyone’s attention to her. Her voice had an abstracted, ethereal quality, and as they watched an series of undecipherable expressions crossed her face. “This is very strange.”

al-Shan forgotten, Evelynne took a step towards the reporter before halting herself. “Ally?” she said uncertainly, looking over her shoulder to the unmoving woman on the bed. Once again she had the absolutely overwhelming sensation that Ally was in two places at once.

“I… yes. I think so. I am… borrowing Martina’s eyes and vocal cords. Mine don’t seem to be working.” Martina/Ally glanced down at the bullet which was still making the carpet smoke. “It’s interesting just what you’re capable of when you’re no longer using processing power in keeping your body in motion. Probably explains at least part of Stephen Hawking.” Once again her eyes swept the room, past Matthew Johnson who had sunk to his knees on the floor, over Anthros who was cowering in the corner, over al-Shan who was standing gaping at her, and came to rest on Claire.

There was a click as Claire’s bonds released themselves, and then Martina was helping the other young woman to stand. She seemed a little surprised when Claire took her hand without hesitation, and spent a moment searching the other woman’s face.

“You’re not afraid,” she said after a moment, seeming slightly startled at the observation. “You’re not afraid of me.” Her head turned to look at Evelynne. “Either of you.”

“Of course not,” Claire replied simply. “You’ve never scared me. We love you, and we might be scared for you, but not of you.” She smiled wryly, looking up into Martina/Ally’s eyes. “Which isn’t to say that we’re not a bit freaked out.”

“That’s very true,” Evelynne said from where she had walked to the bed containing Ally’s physical form and was now holding her lover’s hand.

“Hmm.” Distracted once more, Lowes’ gaze moved to Johnson, kneeling on the floor. “You’re not afraid of me either.”

” No… Your Ladyship,” Matthew replied. “There’s a lot I don’t understand, but there are some things that are very clear to me now. I still don’t know if you are God’s Hand or not. My mind is my own, though, just as He intended, and I can only make my own decisions. And I choose to trust you. And even if I am making a mistake, even the Devil cannot take my soul away from me, because that belongs to God.”

Martina/Ally smiled wryly. “Well, just don’t expect me to try to read God’s mind. From what I hear, She plays her cards really close to Her chest.”

A hint of a smile quirked Matthew’s lips. “So I’ve heard.”

Martina’s smile faded as she looked at al-Shan, who sank to sit on the floor, his face and body slack. Evelynne tensed as Ally, in Lowes’ body, faced the man who had caused so much pain, but made no move to interfere. So she was shocked when Martina/Ally dropped to her own knees before the King’s onetime secretary and took his limp hands in hers.

“Mohammed al-Shan,” she murmured softly, “I am so very sorry.”

The man looked up at her, and there were tears on his cheeks. “Was I wrong?” he asked brokenly. “Are you one of the Gods? Is the Great Age truly to come? Or has every terrible thing I’ve done been for nothing? Have I damned myself for no reason at all?”

Ally/Martina shook her head. “I wish I could tell you,” she said quietly, sorrowfully. “I know that you’ve seen things, but whether those things are true… I don’t know. And I’m sorry. Such a powerful mind, so much potential that I can see, and it had no chance when it began to turn on itself, did it? I have been where you are, Mohammed, after a fashion. And even now I can see your mind folding in on itself. I see your world collapsing, and I can’t stop it… and I wouldn’t if I could. Sometimes the soul has to withdraw into itself, to heal or not. I don’t know when or if you’ll emerge. But there is one thing I can give you.” She leaned in and whispered into al-Shan’s ear.

When she moved back, Mohammed looked back at her with pitiful gratitude. “Thank you… My Lady,” he said, and then his face went blank.

Epilogue

“Mr Ambassador, thank you for coming,” Queen Cleo said, rising from her chair.

Ambassador Holt bowed respectfully. “My pleasure, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Wilson, that will be all,” the Queen said, dismissing the servant who had shown the American Ambassador into the room. “Please, sit.” She waved him into a comfortable armchair across from her, leaving them alone?except for the silent presence of the Guard standing by the door.

Cleo noticed Holt’s minutely raised eyebrow. “There have been some recalculations of security,” she said mildly. “I’d ask you not to worry. Colonel Habibi will no more discuss the events in this room than a member of your Secret Service would.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Nicholas Holt said soberly. “May I assume that this meeting will require a certain level of… discretion?”

“Not inherently,” the Queen replied. “First of all, I wanted to thank you, entirely unofficially, for your assistance in recent events. Lady Alleandre Tretiak has been recovered safely.”

That was really no secret. The generalities of the abduction and subsequent rescue?although, once again, the Queen wondered just who had been rescuing whom?had inevitably made it to the public media over the past three days, although the specifics were being kept under a rather draconian lockdown. There were also rumours that the mastermind behind the Invasion had been captured in the same operation, but few knew for certain.

“Princess Evelynne’s Page, Claire Jones, was also recovered largely unharmed,” Queen Cleo continued. “As she is an American citizen, I felt it was my duty to inform you myself.”

So that was going to be the official cover for his presence here, Ambassador Holt thought. “On behalf of my government, I thank you for informing me,” he said, even as he waited for the real reason to become apparent.

The Queen sighed and shook her head. “Nicholas, may we speak frankly?”

Here it comes, the Ambassador thought. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Good,” Cleo said, as her demeanour went from formal to intent, and she leaned forward. “You should know that in the operation we successfully apprehended the individual we believe to have been the mastermind behind the Invasion within Atlantl.” She picked up a file from the desk beside her and handed it over, watching Holt’s expression carefully.

The Ambassador’s gape was expected as he scanned to first page of the file. “al-Shan?!” he said incredulously. Holt looked up. “You’re certain?”

“Completely,” the Queen said flatly. “While his current mental state is somewhat… uncertain, he did admit his role in the presence of Princess Evelynne, Lady Alleandre, and a member of the press. We also have certain forensic evidence confirming his involvement.”

“My God,” Holt breathed. “I met the man on a number of occasions. If you had asked me who was the least likely candidate to act against Atlantis, I would have said al-Shan.”

Queen Cleo smiled wryly. “Now you know how we feel. This has taken us utterly by surprise. Needless to say, Jad has been stunned by this.”

“Of course,” Ambassador Holt murmured. “Ah… am I being asked to provide this information to my government?”

“We are going to be announcing the news within the next few days, once we finish collecting supplementary evidence, but you are free to inform whomever you think necessary within your own country. I would request that you do what you can to keep it from the general press until we make our announcement.”

“You didn’t have to give this to me, Ma’am,” the Ambassador said, looking at his hostess with something akin to suspicion. “This seems like a largely internal matter.”

“You’re right. However, this is something that affects your own country.” The Queen handed over a second folder.

This time Holt visibly paled as he read the documents. “My God,” he whispered again. He looked up. “This isn’t a mistake or a ploy of any sort, is it?” he asked hoarsely.

Cleo shook her head seriously. “No. Right now we are in the midst of piecing some of the final parts together, but when we are done we will forward copies of all our raw data to you. Except for those parts infringing on Realm Security, of course.”

“You know what this is going to do, don’t you? I mean… you’re about to accuse the President’s Security Advisor of taking part in a conspiracy to overthrow a foreign government! And I’m not certain, but I think that Jonas Sampson is one of the Deputy Directors of the CIA!”

“He is,” the Queen said, nodding. “Also on that list you’ll find two NSA operatives, the leaders of two additional mercenary groups, and the CEO of one of your country’s biggest shipping companies.”

“Oh Lord…”

“However, I should also tell you that I also have or will be taking meetings with the British, Moroccan, Russian, and Cuban Ambassadors, as well as the Representative from the League of West African Nations.” Cleo smiled thinly. “And there is quite a large file on the domestic aspects. At least one more Noble is going to find herself promoted to fill an abruptly vacant seat. It may not be comforting, but you’re not alone in this.”

“This is going to cause chaos at home,” Holt said. “The President’s already feeling pressure because of the unauthorised raids. If we connect these people to some conspiracy… Add to that the fact that the information is coming from Atlantis, and half of the government will dismiss it as propaganda, while I have to idea how the other half will react. If we open up this can of worms just as the relationship between our two nations is beginning to improve…”

“Gods damn it, Nicholas!” the Queen roared suddenly, making the Ambassador jump back. “These ‘people’ are part of a terrorist organisation that instigated deliberate violence against the civilians of my Realm! Because of them, over fifteen thousand ordinary citizens were killed?we don’t know exactly how many because we’re still trying to match up DNA and dental records against remains a year later!Three quarters of the ruling class of my Realm?many of them personal friends?were cut down by criminal mercenaries that should never have been allowed to exist in the first place! So you’ll understand that when it comes to dragging those responsible out into the daylight so that they can squirm like the spineless {Atlantlan} that they are, I really couldn’t give a damn about politics!”

There was silence as Ambassador Holt stared at his hostess, who eventually took a deep breath and visibly contained herself. “I apologise,” she said after a moment, and her voice was nearly normal.

“Please, Your Majesty, do not apologise. Believe it or not, I appreciate how you feel.”

“Perhaps not my words, then, but I do apologise for my tone.”

Holt nodded his acceptance of the apology.

Now fully in control of herself once more, the Queen continued. “Now, the reason we are providing you with the information that we have is because we are, in fact, quite aware of the potential political fallout involved in its release. So what we are willing to do is work with you on exactly how you are going to bring those involved to justice. If you wish, you may present the evidence as a product of one of your own investigations. That could help alleviate the concerns of those with… less than positive viewpoints where Atlantl is concerned. You would know better than I do how to best proceed, and so we are willing to sit on this until you can deal with it appropriately?within reason. If within two months you have not made significant steps towards cleaning your own house?publicly?we are ready and willing to announce everything we know to the world at large.”

Queen Cleo’s face softened. “We don’t expect this to be easy. It’s going to?if you’ll pardon your own expression?hurt like hell. But you and I, and our compatriots from Britain, Cuba, Russia, Morocco, and the League, represent some of supposedly the greatest, the most civilised peoples on the planet. We act as examples to the rest of the world. And there is rot within us. And if I do nothing to root out that corruption within my own nation, and yes, within the nations of my friends and even rivals, then the Invasion may as well have succeeded.”

Her eyes felt fuzzy as she blearily blinked at the light in the room. Dear Sekhmet and all her cats, but her body ached. Ever so carefully, she tested various body parts, looking for just one that didn’t feel as though it hadn’t been run over by a herd of !abu’u. No, everything hurt. It took a moment for her head to stop spinning, and then she peered at the room that blurrily appeared around her. No matter how hard she tried, though, her gaze wouldn’t focus. She hadn’t felt this bad since… There was some vague memory of a night out after a training session ages before, but nothing nearly so bad since. The Colonel was particularly disapproving of anyone under her doing anything that was… uncouth.

Speaking of the Colonel, she fuzzily recognised that august person’s voice nearby.

“…inform Her Highness.”

She managed to catch the final few words. “Yes, Ma’am,” she managed to slur, body automatically attempting to stand at attention, but the Colonel was gone, and she slumped back into the bed. At least her mind seemed to be clearing slightly, though it still felt as though she was half asleep. Odd thoughts and memories flitted through her mind like dreams, gone before she could capture them. There had been a small room, she remembered?an elevator, came the revelation?and then… nothing but a series of incredibly strange dreams.

“—awake?” The words jolted her from where she had slipped back into a doze.

That voice was instantly recognisable, once more she instinctively tried to bring herself to attention. “Your Highness,” she managed to rasp. “I hope… you’ll pardon… me. I seem to be… out… of uniform.” The effort of speaking helped take her mind off her lingering disorientation.

There was a hesitant pause, and then Her Highness spoke again.

“Ally? It’s me. Evelynne.”

Confusion stirred again. Her Highness was being very familiar, beyond her normal friendliness towards the common—

Thoughts froze.

Evelynne! her mind screamed. She’s my/your fiancee! She’s not your/my liege, or superior! She’s my/your friend, my/your lover, and I/you just felt nothing for her but obligation! Duty! And it was real! But that’s not how I feel about her! But that’s how I did feel about her!

But I feel…

Respect/friendship/awe/love/loyalty/fear/lust/longing/resentment/protectiveness…

All real, all present, all now, and only a few of them emotions she could remember feeling before.

Who am I?

“I have an idea of what Ally is going through,” Joseph Black Crow announced without preamble as he walked into the sitting room where Ally’s friends and family had gathered. “William stayed with her,” he told Catherine Tretiak. “She seems to be calmer when her father’s around.”

“Good,” the elder Tretiak said. “He’s always been able to calm her down.”

For the past day, ever since Ally had woken up, she had refused to see anyone she knew for any significant length of time. Anyone who had been able to visit with her had confirmed that her behaviour was erratic, at best. The first time she had seen Claire she had experienced tremendous difficulty remembering the other woman’s name, although that was nothing compared to the fact that she hadn’t even been able to recognise her own mother at first. When Catherine’s identity finally had registered, and then she realised just what she had done, the young woman had become so agitated that the doctors had been forced to sedate her. With people she didn’t know, such as doctors and nurses, she seemed to be more calm, possibly due to the fact that she wasn’t supposed to recognise them. However, even then her behaviour and moods had been erratic, ranging from shy and deferential to stubborn and belligerent.

“So how do we help her get better?” Claire asked, squeezing Evelynne’s shoulders as they sat together on the couch.

“It is the echoes,” Black Crow said bluntly. “I have been very worried for some time now about the psychic remnants that seem to have been building up inside Ally’s mind. Evelynne and I have been doing what we can to… clean house, you might say, but it has been a delaying tactic at best. It has also served to give us a sense of false security where we thought we had things under control. However, when Ally was unconscious, those echoes returned. In fact, I do not know if we can even call her state ‘unconscious’, as she was clearly able to reach out deliberately on some level in order to contact us.” He shrugged. “There is an infinite amount of knowledge we do not have about telepathic ability.”

“So… she can feel these people all the time?” Catherine asked uncertainly.

The psychologist shook his head. “They are not the people themselves. They are merely shadows of telepathic scans she has made in the past, although obviously they have made her more sensitive to contact with the people who originated them on a telepathic level.” He hesitated. “Imagine that the core of your consciousness sits within your head, inside a glass box. It looks out through the glass, seeing the world through the lens of the glass. Your memories, expectations and experiences colour and distort your perception, affecting how you see the world.”

“And now Ally has a dozen additional echoes in her mind, forcing her to react to their perception of reality,” Evelynne breathed. “Isis.”

“Yes. She still knows who individuals around here are, but her perception and initial reactions to them are not necessarily her own. When she first saw you, Evelynne, she knew who you were, but the echo over her perception at the time… filtered you as Her Highness, Princess Evelynne deMolay, rather than her partner. If I had to guess, I would say that she was seeing you through the eyes of one of your Guards.

“I am fairly certain that at her centre Ally’s mind is still intact. She knows who she is, and all of her higher rational functions appear to be unimpaired. It is a condition of perception, rather than psychosis, though any psychiatrist who was not aware of her unique nature could be forgiven for declaring her clinically insane. If I didn’t know what I know, I would have little difficulty diagnosing some form of dissociative personality disorder. She is insane by conventional standards, but it is a temporary condition, I think. However, if she is unable to come to terms with her condition, either by banishing the echoes or integrating them into her psyche, she is in severe danger of a psychotic break. There is a part of her?that part at the core?which is fully aware that these… imposed perceptions are not really hers, and is constantly trying to fight its way through.”

Evelynne took a deep breath. “So what do we do?”

The next time Evelynne saw her lover, she was much more tentative, but the sad smile of greeting Ally gave her still sent her hurrying to the bed. She hesitated, uncertain, until the other woman held out a faintly shaking hand.

“Please,” Ally whispered.

Then her lips were on her fiancee’s, and the relief was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

After some unknown time, Evelynne finally pulled back, and there was a degree of calmness once more in Ally’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” the woman in the bed whispered. “I woke up and you were there, but you weren’t you. I knew who you were, but you weren’t Evy. My Evy. And then you were, but you were someone else also, and—”

The remainder of Ally’s babble was cut off by Evelynne’s fingers on her lips. “It’s alright, love,” she murmured. “I forgive you.”

Ally blinked, tears on her cheeks. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I… remember what happened. In that room. Although it’s kind of… not fuzzy, but… skewed. I remember you and Claire were there, and Mohammed al-Shan. And then I was Martina Lowes, or maybe she was me, or pretending to be, or?I don’t know. I remember it was all so clear at the time. But now it’s…”

“Like a dream?” Evelynne finished when her partner trailed off. Ally nodded. “Ally… can you tell me what happened with Mohammed?” she asked hesitantly. “He hasn’t said a word since you talked to him. He follows every order he’s given, but he’s like a robot. Did you do something to him? I’m not upset if you did, I just need to know.”

Ally shook her head, closing her eyes wearily. “It wasn’t me. He just… His mind just couldn’t hold itself up any more. He’s seen and done so many things, things he’s hated himself for, but he had to do them anyway. There were just too many impossibilities in his head. I think he’s… resting now. “

“So… was what he said he saw real? Did he really see the Gods awakening? Could he really see the future?”

“I don’t know. He did see things. Were they really real? Were they just hallucinations? I don’t know. Is there a difference? I don’t know that either. I see things that nobody else can, and they’re real, and I’mstill clinically insane.”

“You’re not—”

“Please, Evy. Black Crow tells me the truth, and even if he didn’t I’d still know. Please don’t lie to me.”

Evelynne took a breath to argue, but subsided at the look in her lover’s eyes. They were tired and frightened, but Ally was already having to spend a lot of energy trying to figure out which of her reactions were her own, and she wouldn’t be able to stand wondering if other people were lying to her.

“Alright. But you know what Claire says. Anybody who thinks she’s completely sane is either nuts or not very bright.”

Ally’s laugh was light and genuine, and Evelynne grinned, feeling a weight lift off her. “I’ll remember that. How is Claire? I think she came in at one point, but I was kind of out of it.”

“She’s doing well. She’ll come in and talk to you in a little while. We thought one person at a time would be easier for you right now.”

“Thank you.” Ally’s eyes closed, and Evelynne thought she might have fallen asleep. “You can touch me, you know,” she whispered softly. Her eyes opened, and Ally reached up to brush her fingers across her partner’s temples. “I miss you in here.”

I miss you too, Evelynne said, and Ally sighed, a smile playing across her lips. I didn’t want to hurt you. The last time you were… hurt, you…

I know. Ally’s mental voice was strong and familiar, but there were variations in it that were unlike anything Evelynne remembered. Ally sighed again, this time wearily. Evy, I… There was a long silence.

Evy, I want to go home, she said, and there were tears in her eyes. I’m so tired. I don’t want to be “Lady Alleandre” any more. I don’t want to be working in a place I don’t really understand, and be surrounded by people I don’t know, but who all want something from me. I don’t know who I am any more, Evy. I haven’t for a long time, and it’s more than just having echoes of other people sitting in my head. I don’t want to be a spy, or a Lady, or an investigator. I don’t want to be a poll question. I don’t want to be genetic material for the continuation of the Atlantlan Dynasty. I want to be Ally again, and Idon’t know who she is any more! I need to know who she is before I can figure out who she’s going to become. Ally’s eyes were closed tightly, and she was gripping Evelynne’s hand to her chest tightly. I want to go home. I haven’t really been home in two years. She opened her eyes, looking tearily up at her fiancee. And when I marry you I’ll never be able to go there again, not like I know it now. This is my last chance. So please, Evy… I want to go home.

“You keep yourself safe, you understand?” King Jad rumbled into Ally’s ear as his massive arms crushed her to his chest. “If you go about getting yourself in trouble?in more trouble?Evelynne will be very upset. And if she gets upset, I’m going to get upset as well, you hear me? She loves you so very much, you know. And I’m looking forward to having you as my daughter-in-law.”

“I love her too, za.” Ally’s voice was muffled in his shoulder. “I wish I could show you how much.”

“Well, you get yourself better and come back, and I’ll know.” The King released his grasp and shifted back to look at this woman who had turned his entire nation on its head. “You know, it’s somehow satisfying to know that my daughter will be marrying someone tall enough to look me in the eye.”

Ally blushed, and the familiar reaction was reassuring.

She had already said her goodbyes to most of the other individuals present. Sir Arthur, Ma?da, Chorus, and Taldas had all taken their turns wishing her well, and her ribs were already protesting Ma?da’s embrace?to say nothing of Sir Arthur’s. Behind them at the boarding ramp the four members of Ally’s Guard who would be making the trip with her and her parents waited patiently.

There had been some serious arguments about having so few bodyguards assigned to Ally’s immediate detail, and Colonel Nixon had come close to a stroke when she had asserted her opinions on the matter?especially when it became clear that she would not be one of them. The echoes that Ally was suffering were not just random individuals she had scanned over the months, but also some of the people she been interacting with on a regular basis. In fact, Colonel Nixon was one of the strongest personality echoes within Ally’s psyche, something which had been incredibly disconcerting when the real Colonel had happened to meet “herself” one morning in Ally’s room. There really was only room in the world for one Theodora Nixon. Instead, Te’Inti Li-He, Justine Iglesias, Halan il-Pesek, and Vincent Babani would form the quartet of the Heir Consort’s detail, something which had the young, inexperienced Guards practically shivering in terror. The knowledge that a full squad of Guards would be on permanent call from Canadian Forces Base Esquimalt in Victoria was not much comfort.

Ally moved to the last people in the line, and everyone else shifted back discreetly to give them some privacy. Evelynne looked up at her with tears in her eyes, and Claire swallowed heavily from her place just behind the princess’ shoulder. Ally opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t seem to get any words out. Instead, she opened her arms to welcome her fiancee into her embrace. A moment later Claire was bodily dragged into the circle.

“Keep each other happy, okay?” Ally rasped in a low voice. “Look out for each other, and I’ll be back before you have time to miss me.”

“Too late,” Evelynne replied with a choked laugh. “I’m already missing you. But you need to make yourself better. Sometimes if you really love something you have to let it go for a while. And love? No matter what you end up deciding to do, I’ll support you completely.”

Ally looked at her consideringly. “I am coming back,” she said quietly but firmly. “One of the few things I know is that I want to be with you. I just need to find out how to do that.”

“I know,” Evelynne said. She smiled through her tears. “In that case, I’m definitely looking forward to, ah, welcoming you back… properly.”

“Uh, yeah, what she said,” Claire said, squeezing Ally. “Only… you know… not.”

“Well, with incentive like that, how could I possibly stay away?” Ally smiled. She turned serious. “I love you,” she said solemnly, leaning in to kiss Evelynne lingeringly. “And Claire, I love you too.” This kiss was briefer.

The she pulled away reluctantly and moved over to where her father was waiting with her mother’s wheelchair. She took a deep breath.

“Let’s go home.”

The End…

- 1 -