TOREUS RHANN AND THE DOOM WATCH:

Carl E. & Joseph G. Thompson
Maveric Lion Productions LLC
315 S. Broad St.
Philadelphia, PA 19107

galaxymaveric@hotmail.com


TOREUS RHANN
 AND THE DOOM WATCH:
A Tale of Terra-Prime

By
Carl E. Thompson
&
Joseph G. Thompson



Prolog:
Holospace

The ghost emerged in the Hall of Eternities. Emerged from what would have been thin air, had holospace, the realm of reality in which he resided, had any such thing as real air.
       As in life he simulated the uniform of an ancient warrior of Thuvia. His kilt neatly creased and ar-mored breast work polished. He wore his hair in a high horse tail as would become the custom of all Thuvian warriors that had followed in his footsteps. and he wore his warrior's scar across his right eye. The symbol of an old battle almost lost. He could think the scar away but he would never do that. It was a mark of valor.
        Scabbarded across his broad back was the Sword of Startarus, the ancient weapon that had been left to him by his father__Lord Startarus Khonn, Lord of Thuvia. The actual, normal space version of the sword served as a key to the ancient Genesis Bunkers beneath Pangea. It had become a symbol of Imperial power carried by an Emperor that Thrall favored highly.
      Thrall Khonn of Thuvia had been dead for thou-sands of standard years. Like all preserved spirits he had begun his term as a holospirit in holospace, that dimension of reality where all things in all the worldlines of the multiverse were preserved and maintained as a two dimensional membrane. Holo-space was the blueprint for reality. All that was a would ever be was mirrored in this small universe that sat at the center of all things.
       One could live on as a spirit in this realm if someone had taken the care to preserve their essence while they were alive. Otherwise the minds and im-ages of the living ceased to be upon death. Immor-tality was no for everyone regardless of what the re-ligions of the Cosmos claimed.
       Immortality required position and preservation of one's memory and thoughts. One had to be rec-orded in the Sarafian intelligence crystals. Preserved on a quantum level..
      Thrall had been amongst the first non-Atlanteans to be so preserved. Most people just drifted away in-to chaos upon death. But not a holospirit. They lived on to serve the mortals and do good__ or in some cases__ evil deeds in the worlds of Normal Space.
      And in his term Thrall Khonn, mighty warrior of ancient Pangea, the star in the crown of Terra-Prime, had grown to be a hologod. The highest level of the immortal souls of Holospace.
        The other gods were already gathered in the great hall. The space had been rigged to resemble the Hall of Valhalla in the myths of the Aesir. It was quite an impressive simulation. Rows of white-washed wooden columns that marched back to a high red wooden door__ though there were no real doors in holospace. Thought commanded this realm, thought and knowledge.
        Inside the ranks of the columns was a long ta-ble around which the hologods congregated. All more glorious than they had ever been in life.
      Personally Thrall would have preferred images from the myths of his own people. Until he had come here he had been a devout worshiper of the Lords of Light and Darkness, the deities of Thuvia in the Highlands of Pangea. But he did not wish to argue with the others over such trivial matters. In a church everyone sits in his own pew.
       There were__ as the ancient saying goes__ more important fish to fry here.
       Gathered at the long table were hologods both minor and grand. He smiled at several that were friendly to him as he approached.
      There was old Starkiller, whom had followed him into the role of Protector of Thuvia and Emper-or of the Old Pangean Empire. He liked Starkiller. They had had many friendly arguments over the eternities. He had a sharp mind and a ready wit. Had there been mead and wenches in holospace Thrall was sure the old warrior would have matched him in their conquest. Tankard for tankard and woman for woman.
        And there was the Old Man, looking young and healthy. Startarus Khonn__ the Great Khonn__ his Da.
      Startarus nodded to him. Not much on words and affection, the Great Khonn. Nor would he crowd his children. He had always wanted them to be self-sufficient.
        Next to him sat Thrall's younger brother___ Toreus Khonn, bearer of the ancient name that still thundered down the halls of time. Toreus, the warri-or in ancient High Atlantese. They still held a broth-er's loyalty to one another even in this holospace ex-istence. But the presence of his brother made him think of two other Toreuses whose destiny he was charged with. A father and son. Both distant de-scendants of Thrall, Toreus and Startarus Khonn.
      And there was Count Harlann Sarkhon and Pro-fessor Bernard Sarkhon.
       Bernard was the founder of the Original Guild of Time Sorcerers. That made him the font of a whole lot of history. A great man. Harlann was the discoverer of space warping and wormholes. With-out him none of us would be where we are.
      Harlann Sarkhon was a dark haired fellow, dressed in the frock coat and ascot of his era, while Bernard Sarkhon, was an elder bearded gentleman. He respected them but would hardly call them friends. They often questioned his methods but they were allies nonetheless. The best since it is only a good ally that will tell you when they think you are being an arse. They were no yes-men. He had been a King__ he knew yes-men all too well and despised them all.
        This group of men were known as the Sons of Terra Prime. A secret cabal dedicated to the freedom of that important stellar sphere, Thrall regarded them as his Privy Council, his most trusted advisors.
      At the head of the table, a sword carrying Serafi-an warrior on either side of her thonelike chair sat Ell, queen Goddess of Serafia, tall and thin and in-tolerably luminescent white from head to toe.  Her blue in blue eyes focused in on him as he ap-proached.
      She was one of many goddesses of the Serafians but not as crazy as most. She was currently President of the Council of Gods and held on to that power with a grasp that was both vicious and strong. One would not suspect that a Serafian was naught but a crystal bee that generated a solid hologram__ at least in normal space. Here in holospace they were de-scendants of the original emergent intelligence that had formed in holospace so long ago that not a one of them could remember when. Long before Atlan-tis, long before any of the primal wordlines. Some-time before the great Inflation.
     They believed that they had created the multi-verse. Thrall Khonn had doubts about that. God he might be, but believer he was not. He knew that the only true ruler of the universes was science. There was no debating that. Even here in paradise.
       Now a stocky, goateed figure bent over from the table and said something to Ell. It was Dargo Shai-tannus__ patriarch of the family that had gone more and more wrong as time went by. So old Dargo would be directing questions at him.
      Good, let him. I am ready for all contingencies.
       Dargo was the devil's advocate of the Council__ a roll that he performed with relish. Shaitannus was the word for enemy in many languages. In many forms. His brood had forced the Shaitannus Treaty upon Terra-Prime at the end of that sphere's greatest war. Dargo would not appreciate anyone whose de-signs stood in the way of that power.
       [Thrall Khonn of Thuvia], said Ell, looking to-ward him. His image raced forward through the ta-ble and he stood before the queen of Serapahia.
       [At your service, ma'am], said the warrior ghost. He cast his gaze at Dargo. The Shaitannus' eyes darted aside. Even as a ghost he was a coward. That too was a Shaitannus trait that one could count on. That ilk's motto might well be never strike until the back is turned.
         [Is this to be an inquisition, My Lady?] He looked directly at the queen of the angels.
         She shook her head. [We await your report on Terra-Prime, Lord Thrall Khonn.]
        He smiled his best smile. [The Great Sphere is as restive as ever. Full of fowl dealings and intrigue. What else is to be expected of the worlds of man...] He darted a glance at Dargo. [Espcially men of du-bious character.]
        If Dargo noticed he did not let on. A clever card player would that one be.
        [Lord Khonn], said the portly god. [Our con-cern today is not of the whole of the Sphere but the affairs of one plate], said Shaitannus.
        Thrall looked at him with his best I see a turd expression. [And what plate might that be, Lord Dargo?]
        [We are concerned by the interference of some of your mortal cronies in the affairs of the United Kingdom of Arcadia.]
         [If you are making charges you should try to be more precise. As I understand it all affairs and therefore all meddling on the Great Dyson Sphere of Terra-Prime__ or Primo Terrato, in Old Atlantese__ are under the thumbs of your descendants. And they are scarcely cronies of mine.]
         Dargo raised his eyebrows and his voice.
          [Then you deny that a criminal organization known as the Doom Watch is busy fomenting a civil war in Arcadia, assisted by your descendants the troublesome Rhanns.]
          Thrall Khonn shrugged. [The Doom Watch is not a criminal organization. It is a fraternity of like mind people dedicated to altruism and the humane treatment of intelligent beings. If they are involved in Arcadia it is probably in some mission against the insane libertarian policies of the Wallace govern-ment. You know, feeding the poor and housing the homeless.]
       Dargo laughed a mocking laugh. [More like arming malcontents and poisoning well.]
        [Charity often works in strange ways], said Thrall.
       [Nevertheless], interrupted Elle. [We gods do not interfere in the polictics of the mortal realm. It is much better that we do not.]
       [Much better for who, Lady President?] Asked Thrall.
        [For the mortals, of course. They must not be-come too dependent upon us.]
        Thrall Khonn shrugged. [Are we so remote that we cannot right a wrong?]
        [We must not], she said. She winked at him. [Not openly at any rate. It would set a bad prece-dent,]
     She look him straight in the eye__ something  Serafians seldom ever did.She had flashed him a holospace message compressed and concise. Sud-denly he understood, Elle was on his side. She was a fellow traveler in this conspiracy to safely break the Shaitannus treaty.
       This whole interview had been a show for pudgy Shaitannus. Make him feel that the council was on his side.
        All she asked was that he not fail.




 




Book One:
The Slayer’s Son

Hear you now a tale of Toreus the Younger who fought in the war against the Lords of Darkness on behalf of the Lords of Light.
Toreus Rhann, Prince of Lions, Lord of the Thuvian Rangers.
May he stand forever in the hearts of the Sons and Daughters of Primo Terrato.
And in the hearts of all free people.
The Song of Toreus the Younger, Anonymous.


Toreus II Rhann came from a long line of fighters. His father was Toreus the Great or Toreus I, unifier of Pangea. His father united the Shattered Kingdom of Pangea into the Second Pangean Empire, bringing peace and prosperity to its many disparate states. Lands that had not known peace and progress since the era of the Trongoroth Infestation and the subsequent Metrone Incursion.  Certainly not since the Great Terra-Prime War (see Belatus Primo Terrati) and the subsequent Sidairian Abandonment.
Owing to this lineage it comes as no surprise that the Prince became involved in the events of the Arcadian Civil war that led to so many changes all across the Great Sphere. It was not merely, as so many historians have cited, because the Taylors were cousins of his mother Cassandra Taylor Rhann. Nor was it merely because he was a meddling adventurer, as others, mainly his critics and opponents have proclaimed.
No, Toreus the Junior was an activist Prince and as such he could no more not become involved than could he stop breathing__ though it is said that, due to genetic engineering the Prince could hold his breath for a very long period of time.
These events were his destiny, a part of him like his mighty arms and his ever present Capronean saber cat, Shakhorja, known as Silver Prince of the Silver Lion Pride.
The Book of Rhann: An Outline of History in the Era between the Great Wars.





Toreus Rhann was born in the Year 5710 TP, also known as the year of the Lion.   His father was the Emperor Toreus I Rhann and his mother was the Empress Cassandra Rhann. Legend had it that he entered into the world near the end of that summer in Pangea a battle cry issuing from his baby lungs. It is said that his nickname of Lion Prince comes from the fact that the last month of summer in Pangea is also known as Leoni—the month of the lion. Hence he was born in the lion month of the lion year with a lion’s ferocity.
At the age of twelve he entered the ranks of the Lionmen of Thuvia and was bound to the Silver Lion Shakhorja__ both born miraculously at the same moment and time—or so legend has it.
It was said that such was the eternal will of the Great Lords of Light and Darkness that this should happen.  Since the Lords of Light and Dark are real beings and not imaginary friends one must not doubt this. It is highly likely.
He was always a large boy for his age and was said to be unaware of his own strength. Tales about the court, tell of the young prince moving through the Emerald Palace of the Twin Cities, jumping and leaping about like an  individual twice his size and strength. But far from being a dolt he had a keen mind and an almost supernatural gift for strategy and tactics.
Much of what is written about this young man is legendary mythology painted by a population desperately in need of heroes. The truth is however far more interesting. As is usually the case.
Legends and myths aside, he stands as a key figure in the coming of the New Age of Terra-Prime.
The Thuvian Chronicles.








Chapter 1:
The Prince of Lions

It is quiet in space.
      But it is never quiet inside a spaceship. The slightest noise reverberates inside the hull and even the air conditioning makes a rhythm trapped in the vacuum with nowhere else to go. Space engineers have been trying to deal with this problem since the times of the Space Race between the ancient United Federated Republic of Western Atlantis and the Tauron Nationalist Union—with little success.
     Toreus Rhann sat in his comfort couch using the sounds to calm his nerves, to put him into a state of complete relaxation. This would probably be his last chance to do so. Over the next few days there would be little opportunity to rest and relax. Perhaps not even to sleep.
     He ordered the nanites in his brain to cleanse all poisons from his brain as natural sleep would. He preferred sleep but there was not time.
    He was prepared for all that lay ahead of him. Or so he told himself. But he really wasn’t absolutely sure. His instructors had taught him that only the dead were ever absolutely sure of anything. And that was enough for him.
     He was still young enough to depend on his mentors for guidance, even if it were he and he alone that was putting his life on the line.
     The buzz of the fusion motor had shut down and the ship was coasting. Now and then he could hear the hiss and bump of reaction control systems as the ship adjusted its course for a rendezvous with the Newer London Fountain Station on the outside of the Arcadia plate. It would soon enter a parking orbit off that station and any passengers bound for Newer London would disembark and travel up the length of the space fountain into the United Kingdom of Arcadia’s capitol city.
     Then the ship would refuel, board new passengers and be on its way to its next stop. It would be many months before it would make its rounds of Terra-Prime and return here to the UKA.
     Prince Toreus Rhann sat in his comfort couch__ SunLines didn't call them acceleration couches__ on the circular passenger deck of the SunLiner.
     Just ahead and to his left there had been a very beautiful bronze skinned, green eyed woman from Capronea__ one of the hominids that lived among the humanoid felines of that plate. He had smiled at her once when he had come aboard and been rebuked with a quickly turned head.
     Humans who lived in Capronea either did so because of business or because they preferred the cat people to humans. She was likely one of the latter.
      True the disguise he had adopted probably made him look less appealing than usual. But there was never really any accounting for women’s tastes. One often saw very homely men with very lovely women.
      Then the Guider had noticed the bindi on her forehead. It bore the crest of the Amazon Sisterhood. That had explained much. He had been too busy admiring her large breasts to notice. He put his fantasy about sex with an ebony woman out of his mind. Put it away in the depths of his memory. Where it belonged__ at least for the moment.
      He had kept to himself most of the voyage. Which was very wise? He only occasionally conversed with the Guider. And then, of course, only by hyper-mentation radio.
     When his ears told him that the monopole brake had spun up he opened his eyes and looked at the holoport in front of him over the outer ring of couches.
     There are few windows on a spaceship __radiation problems and air leakage account for that__ but SunLines provides an array of holographic viewports for the amusement of the passengers. He had to admit it was quite breathe taking. There was much to see as the fusor propelled spacecraft made its way around the outside of the Dyson sphere on which their civilizations was based.
     He could see the Space Fountain sticking out of the terminal dome of Arcadia plate below as they approached it. The ship had crossed the space between Angelika plate and Arcadia plate in three days, accelerating halfway and decelerating the rest of the way. The view had not been so grand while the fusor was burning. It was hard to see anything with the bright light of fusing Helium isotope in the rear__ during acceleration__ or forward__ during deceleration. Most aft facing camera were shut down for safety and the ship had a heat shield that doubled as a heat radiator between the passengers and the drive.
     Angelika plate was the unofficial capital of Terra-Prime—that being where all the major banks had their headquarters and where the Treaty Council met in its ornate palace.
     The Treaty Council, he thought. That sewer of evil that threatened the lives and wellbeing of most Primans.
     He had not started his trip from his native Pangean Empire—he needed to provide cutaways for his agent legend. No direct trails back to Pangea. A new legend with every other change in mode of transport.
     Of course if he was caught by the opposition it was unlikely that they would throw him in jail. He was, after all the Crown Prince of the Pangean Empire as well as the Sovereign Ruler of Thuvia, the central nation of that empire. Keeping him in a foreign prison would be more trouble than it was worth and might tend to lead to punitive raids by the Imperial Star Fleet. At least that was the theory that his Da’s Privy Council had entertained when this adventure had been proposed. But accidents can happen and when they can happen they often do. He had to be prepared for that contingency. More wisdom from his mentors and from the Guider.
     He might accidentally get killed by some overzealous policeman. History was full of hotheaded morons with itchy trigger fingers that started really big and costly wars.
     It doesn’t take any thought. Just point and squeeze the trigger.
     But he didn’t intend to get caught. He was going to go in, do what he came for and get out__ if possible.
     Below he could see the underside of the Arcadia plate__ a huge outward bulging hexagon that had as much surface area on its interior as a Class-3 terrestrial planet. The plates formed a sphere that surrounded the G class star around which they orbited in a formation that kept a one plate distance between them at any point in their orbits.
     Each plate had enough space for a complete eco-system with an artificially generated__ and adjustable__ gravity, all covered by a flat dome that provided radiation shielding and a regulated day night cycle.
     The domes were also collectors of stellar energy__ sunlight. There was no shortage of energy, breathing gas, water and food for the inhabitants of the Great Sphere. Though the current rulers of Arcadia acted as if there were.
     Arcadia had been settled by people that had been rescued from the Worldline of Earth 0010__a WL that had been discovered by the Time Sorcerers some ten standard years into the current era that was now some 6000 Standard Years old__ a Standard being the time it took an ecliptic plate to orbit once around the sun. Or one Earth year.
     The Arcadians had arrived on Terra-Prime some 100 Standards after his Pangean relatives and the Pangeans had long served as big brothers to these later arrivals. It had been a bond that had not been broken until some eighty years ago when the Wallaces rose to the throne.
     Life on Earth 0010 had been doomed by a massive gamma ray burst caused by a nearby supernova. The people of Newer London had come from a nation called England and a city called London in the early industrial age of that worldline’s history.
      Arcadia was inhabited by citizens from many countries of that decimated Earth, all rescued by the Sidairian Preservers whom had populated the Great Sphere of Terra Prime which had been built by their cousins the Sidairian Cosmic Engineers.
     They had populated the Sphere with life forms from many alternate Earths from all across the Cosmos. Hence the name.
      It had taken much effort by the Sidairians and the Pangeans to get the Arcadians to give up their bad habit of burning fuels that released Carbon Dioxide into the air leading to a runaway greenhouse effect. There were no fossil fuels on the artificial world but the burning of wood had threatened to denude all the forests. It took much effort to tame a postindustrial civilization.
     Toreus had been to Newer London many times in his young life. He liked the city, enjoyed its night life and culture and enjoyed playing its power rugger team on the field at Trendle Stadium—a five hundred year old monument to the last Trans Spheric Games that had been played right here in what is the capital of Nova Britannia as well as the capital of the United Kingdom itself.
     But things had changed here. The once democratically inclined monarchy had collapsed into an absolute monarchy and that was never a good thing. Even he, the son of the Emperor of Pangea, realized that.
     And that was why he was here. People needed his help and he could not just sit back and ignore their plight.
    + Or, at least that was what he kept trying to tell himself. Denying that he was trying to__ from a standing start as a wealthy Prince__ match his father's achievements as a young guerilla reformer and rebel.
     The mission ahead was dangerous—but necessary. That was why he had volunteered for it. Had argued with his father to let him do it. And would have done it even if the elder Toreus had not agreed.
     Though generations of Rhanns had gravitated to military service none of them were real good at taking orders. That was probably why so many of them were remembered a rebels and outlaws in the history of Pangea.
     Toreus put these thoughts out of his mind and closed his eyes—meditating. He listened to the sounds of his fellow passengers his hyper-mentate enhanced mind leaping back and forth between various languages and dialects.
     He could hear the android stewards serving meals and drinks to those passengers that would continue on beyond Arcadia.
     The bots were elegant Nipponesan models from Arcadia’s most anti-spinward continent. Luxury, art and servitude all in one unit.  They were almost indistinguishable from real humans. Each was an identical brunette female with a winning smile and big, almond eyes. By law such androids were required to have a serial number tattooed on their forehead beneath the trademark of the company that made them as well as the company that owned them__ in this case SunLines Galactic Transport.
     His friend Kothar called them Anime gals__ from an art form they had on alternate worldlines. Mostly in the Japanese culture of which the Nipponesans were 0010’s equivalent.
     He didn't want to think about Kothar now. That brought up a whole load of things that were best left to later.
     He thought of the Taylors. The Duchess Lois Taylor and her two sons had almond eyes__ though not as cartoony as these Geishanoids. He mused and wondered if the Duchess and the Ducal Heirs were safe.
      [We shall soon know, Warrior Prince], said a deep voice in his head.
     The Guider Gem Ghost, always alert, always listening and always full of information, whether he wanted it or not.
     [Thank you, Old Ghost], he thought transmitted back at the holospace being.
     [Stay alert, you young pup], warned the Ghost.
      Toreus cast his hearing about and concentrated on bits of banal conversation. Someone was talking about how many kilometers of travel he’d done about the Great Sphere. The braggart felt that he must have circumnavigated the Sphere at least twice. That was the problem with this modern age of ours, mused Toreus. People could go to other universes and travel kiloparsecs in their own universe without realizing just how far they’ve traveled via hyperspace. There was nothing special about travelling around Terra-Prime any number of times.
     The Great Sphere of Terra Prime was, after all, two astronomical units in diameter. The majority of people living there might never travel further away from home than the next adjoining plate. Each plate having roughly the surface area of a terrestrial planet__ or so they told you in primary school.
     A woman was discussing her dream man. A fellow that worked in the Stock Markets of Angelika. Kind of man that always wore a business suit and carried a gold plated H-PAD in a fur and jeweled sporran__ as pointless as that was__ and had a 2X hyper-mentation rating.
     He sounded like a right prancer to Toreus. He was never impressed by anyone who could not kill six antagonists with their bare hands and shoot the antennae off a fly at sixty paces.
     The Prince himself had a 10X rating and did not consider it an accomplishment to brag on.  The average Time Sorcerer had a rating in the thousands. So did the Sidairians, the Randari and almost any other advanced species that one could think of.
     With enough money anyone could have hyper-mentation done. It was just a matter of introducing the right nanobots into your bloodstream and training them to work with what nature and genetic engineering had given you.
     Most people who used cyberspace frequently had it done. As did most soldiers and aristocrats. But the Gods only knew what young women would find sexy. Money, he knew for sure. Most simpleminded women found money exciting even though on a Dyson sphere money__ that old symbol of scarce resources__ was as obsolete as fossil fuels. Here money was used to keep track of things. Though most folks seemed not to grasp that fact hanging on to ancient and outmoded ideas.
     Three gents were discussing politics somewhere behind him and to the left.
     “Arcadia is not the place to do business since the Wallies took full control,” said one.
     “And it’s getting harder and harder to find Arcadian goods for reasonable prices,” said the second. “We've had to make do with second hand, refurbished robots at my main plant in Cap-370.”
     That was so true, thought Toreus. The Wallaces had given the plate a royal screwing. That was also one of the reasons for his mission. Something that affected one plate of this world affected them all.
     “Well at least they have a proper respect for capitalism there,” said the third man.
     “Turning it into a religion is not proper respect,” said the second man. “Personally I think that Earth woman, Vivian Gear, is a Gods-damned fool.”
     “I think she had some good points…” argued the third man. “She and President Limbaugh practically saved Earth 3261 from destruction. Or so I’ve heard.”
     “That snake,” growled the first man.
      Toreus had heard enough. He turned his attention elsewhere. Mindless philosophers, like religious fanatics, were always a problem. Vivian Gear was a combination of both.
     The chap behind Toreus was scratching busily on a holographic data PAD with a stylus.
     Business type, thought the Prince. Kind of man who did a lot of traveling each year and little sightseeing.
     [He’ll probably die at his desk or in an Apollo’s coffee shop at some crowded terminal], said the Guider Ghost.
     [I’ll never understand why someone like that needs a desk. They never sit at it.]
     [It‘s like a throne], said the Guider. [ A symbol of power and authority.]
     [Of course he will not be bound for Arcadia—not these days], conjectured the Prince. [Arcadia is on the brink of civil war and is not the likely stopping point for any businessman not in the arms or military trade.
     [Unless they're fanatical Gearists who view Arcadia as the Promised Land. One closer to the Great Sphere than the cesspool of Earth 3261.]
     [No, he’ll be going on to some other destination beyond], said the voice.  [Capronea Plate. He is an importer of Capronean genetically engineered life forms.]
     [Like Shakhorja.]
     [No—the sale of Capronean Saber Cats is restricted by treaty to Thuvia. And this fellow does not seem to be in the black market.]
     The Guider knew things. The Guider seemed to know everything. He could see through any disguise. He was frighteningly godlike this ghost.
     Toreus wore a disguise that made him appear a businessman. And he was a businessman, of sorts, but not the business of mere profit in the manner of Vi Gear's admirer behind him.
     What utter crap. That woman and her mentor__ Ayn Rand__ were proof that disaster often came in humanoid form. And that just because something came from a primitive society did not mean that it was not dangerous. More often than not religions came from primitive societies and more often than not they were dangerous.
     Anyone who absorbed any one philosophy without question was a damned fool. And that was the Gearists who had flooded over the Sphere in the last twenty years.
     Gear herself had been one of the few inhabitants of 3261’s version of Earth that had been allowed to visit Terra-Prime. Most of the people of that colonized world did not even know that such a place existed outside of the wild mental meanderings of fantasy writers.
     The visit had been a much ballyhooed circus that was over covered by the Spheric webs__ like the royal wedding that the United Kingdom might have had had Radu not been forced the honor the Arcadian Church’s ban on same gender marriages.
     Someday Radu would die and his two nephews__ the idiot and the demon__ would kill each other seeing who would be King.
     [Bad news, Prince], announced the Ghost.
    [What?] Toreus transmitted with annoyance,
    [Back home__ interface the Web feed, please.]
     Toreus removed his dataspex from the sporran he wore and put them on. A sportscaster was standing in front of a hologram of Khonn stadium back home, her eyes bulging out in the mock horror that all news heads used when something big and exciting happened. Toreus’ heart nearly jumped out of his mouth. Today was the finals game for his Power Rugby team__ the Dragon Rangers. What had happened?
     “Bad news at the Rangers-Archon finals match,” said the reporter. “Dragon Rangers captain, Prince Toreus Rhann’s power suit stumbled and fell during the game. An ambulance arrived and the Prince was taken away to the Imperial Hospital. The Prince’s older brother, Count Theseus Rhann was at the match…”
     Toreus’ adopted brother Theseus appeared in the viewpoint, shouldering aside reporters that barraged him with silly questions.
     “It’s just a sports accident,” said  Count Theseus Rhann. “Rugby is a dangerous sport and power suit rugby even more so…No…There will be a statement from Hospital…I don’t know…”
     Of course he doesn’t. Theseus wasn’t privy to any of this. His job working with the Chancellor made it unlikely that he would be briefed in on covert operations of which the Chancellor was unaware.
     [Those damned Life Models], Toreus fumed.
      The LMs were android stand-ins used by security to protect Imperial family members from assassins.
     Toreus’ LM had been standing in for him in public appearances since he had departed on this mission. Obviously it had been a big mistake to let the android take his place in the game. They looked like the subject they were subbing for and could even act and speak like them but they were not the most durable of machines. No doubt a collision with the power suit of another player had knocked something loose and the machine had failed.
     [Thank the Gods your brother was smart enough to maintain the cover story], said the Guider.
     Yes, Theseus was good in a pinch when it came to maintaining covers. After all his entire job was to spy on the Chancellor for their father.
     [That was a close call], thought transmitted the Prince. [The last thing we need now is for the media to start wondering where I really am.]
    The key to sending a well-known personage like Toreus on a secret mission was to give the imperial watchers in the web press someone to watch and to follow. That way they would stay away from the truth.
     That was where the LM came in. The Life Model could step in to take the Prince’s place in any public event. Strangers were not allowed to get close to any member of the Imperial family. There was too much security for that. But they were always getting better at getting the information and photos that they wanted.
     The LM would be in the hospital, surrounded by a contingent of Security Officers and Marines. The IWs imaginations would go wild and there would be much dangerous speculation.
     So the Watch would probably send a female visitor to the hospital to visit the Imperial Heir. When she emerged the chase would be on as they followed the trained Watch agent all over kingdom come to find out who she was. Imperial sexual encounters were always more interesting than Imperial accidents and illnesses. Sex sells.
    Well he had no time to worry about it now. That would be a problem for the Home Cover Unit.  There was nothing that he could do.
     Toreus glanced out the window and saw that the space around the Fountain Station was filled with squid shapes. They were not machines—they were organic and could endure the vacuum of space.
     They were the mysterious Watchers that popped up everywhere on Terra Prime where something important was happening. They floated about, buoyed up by their hydrogen sacks or sat anchored to the ground in places where they could observe.
     They grew out of the ground on anchoring stalks and matured into the flying form__ which was what he was seeing now.
     The Watchers__ also sometimes called Lookers or the Children of Argos__ were the eyes of the Great Sphere itself—or so his mentor, the Time Sorcerer Arenjun Sarkhon, had told him.
     Arenjun was a veritable font of such arcane information and no less so concerning these strange denizens for the Sphere.
      "The Sphere__ any Dyson Sphere__ is essentially a cyborg system," he once told Toreus. "It has both machine and biological elements. It would not surprise me to learn that it has a brain."
     The Watchers moved about the big world always watching and recording the events of history in no doubt cold unpolished detail, using their big eyes and auditory complexes__ storing the information via an RNA system.
     But for whom were they recording this data? Who was watching and why? Did the world itself have a mind? Many and various were the theories about that. But the Sids were not talking. They had written off all things Terra-Prime after the Shaitannus Treaty was ratified. Had not even left a Sidairian embassy on the Sphere or an observer on the Treaty Council.
     The Sidairians hated the Shaitannus Treaty and these days they were not alone in that position. Just about everyone hated the Treaty, including many of the Time Sorcerer houses that held seats on the council. A council that was dominated by the Shaitannuses and their Gravis Rho sunkiller machines..
      Perhaps the God of this worldline was watching, he considered__ not for the first time. Or the invisible spirit of Terra -Prime. Some ghost left behind by the no longer present Sidairians.
     Arenjun refused to say. Font of wisdom he might be but he was a font with a filter on it. Time Sorcerers had secrets that would never be shared with non-Time Sorcerers.
Primis Astrosynthesis__ the Sidairian engineering conzern that had laid the plates for the Sphere was away in another universe, no doubt building another Sphere or an artificial world or a star or something similar. They could not be reached for comment on what the Sids called “The Unfinished Project”, refusing to call it Terra-Prime. There were even rumors__ read veiled threats__ that they would eventually name another project Terra-Prime. But so far Cosmic trademark law had prevented them from doing so.
     The laws governing the names of worlds had stood since the times of ancient Atlantis and Atlantean law was the backbone of Cosmic law. The Atlanteans had discovered the first alternate worldlines and had found themselves having to deal with this problem and many others attendant on a multiverse long before anyone else.
The Prince of Thuvia was certain, this activity of the Children of Argos meant that things were happening in and around Arcadia and the Watchers were interested.
     [You’re not being observed, warrior], said the Guider in the Prince’s hyper-mentation thought radio. The holospace being that spoke from the stone that Toreus wore beneath his dataspex was able to access all the sensors in the cabin and keep a close eye on Toreus and his fellow passengers. No secret agent in history had ever been so well covered. Not even a Doom Watch agent.
     Often the Guider could tap into poorly secured hyper-mentation nets and read them. At least that was what it had told the Prince. For all Toreus knew he would not be surprised if the Gem could read every mind it came in contact with. Even the non-augmented and thereby untrained minds.
     Toreus smiled and opened his eyes.
     [Am I?]  He thought transmitted back. At first he thought of the beautiful Bilitian woman. Toreus was young enough to hope that Lesbians could be con-verted if they met the right man. It was a fantasy common throughout the universes. Especially in those worldlines with pornography cultures that led simple minded young men to believe that lesbianism only existed as a spectacle for their entertainment. Or a frustration for their sex drives.
    He looked in her direction and saw that the woman was asleep and not paying much attention to anything or anyone__ least of all him. There was al-so drool leaking down her cheek which cut down some, but not all, of her charm.
     Then he saw who the Guider had meant.
     Ahead of him a child looked around the egg shaped couch back. He had green skin and was as big as a human teenager. Though he had the innocent face of a toddler.
     A big child of Jovian stock traveling with his bigger mother whose couch had been adjusted to its maximum volume. The volume designed for the comfort of bigger travelers, like Rheticulans__ those intelligent mammoths from Rheticula Prime.
     The boy wore a tanned Jovian leather vest over a white jumpsuit, as did his mother. It was traditional Jovian dress updated for off-world wear by non-warriors and the freemen the Jovians had become after throwing off their masters'  chains__ those masters being the Jovian Mining Conzern in the Elder Terran Fed.
     Jovian dress, like most business wear, was simply simulated military uniforms.  A more luxuriant version of the clothing worn by Jovian primitive slaves that had thrown off their chains and yokes and taken over the company.
     Toreus smiled at the Jove child and the boy smiled back, his green face breaking into a wide white toothy grin. Joves had big teeth that somehow made their smile more appealing.
     [Children are dangerous when you are operating in enemy territory], said the Guider Ghost. [A child will notice things that adults will not—and loudly point them out.]
     [It’s just a child], Toreus said to the voice. [And Jovian children that age are much more disciplined than those of other hominids. They’re genetically engineered life forms for Thrall Khonn’s sake. Full of selected genes that make them the perfect worker under adverse conditions.]
    [Selected by masters whom they later overthrew and replaced], said the Ghost.
     Of course the Guider was usually right. And Toreus was not convinced that the nanotech in his skin  that had shifted his coloring from olive to deep brown , his eyes from green to black and made his long black hair curly, would stand up to the keen eyesight of a Jovian toddler. Joves were, all in all, superhuman in more than just their size and strength.
     Jovians came in five basic colors and were often called Jovian Primitives by bigots. The colors though owed to the fact that they had been genetically engineered long ago to serve as warriors and workers by the Jovian Mining Conzern in the worldline of the Elder Terran Federation__ one of three Terran Federation worldlines that were often used as arguments for the theory of branching universes. As opposed to the theory of independently originated multiple universes.
     They were quick for people their size and very, very strong. Toreus’ ancestors had had Jovian genes added to their augmented genome for strength and agility. It made Prince Toreus Rhann a formidable hand to hand fighter as well as a hellish rugby player__ this thought bringing back the reputation ruining performance of his Life Model.
     The child continued to look at him__ expectantly. Toreus did not look directly back. Best not to encourage him. Sooner or later he would lose his interest and go on to something else.
     Toreus liked Joves. He liked children—they were, after all, the future. But he did not relish being stared at by anyone. At least not under the current circumstances.
     And the Guider’s wisdom had a way of destroying his comfortable delusions. That—if nothing else—he could count on.
     [You said the same thing about women. As if I couldn't handle a woman.]
[No man truly can. Only a fool thinks he can. It is very dangerous for a man on a covert mission to fancy himself as James Bond], said the Ghost.
     [Who might that be?]
     [A fictional character that always has time for the ladies and usually gets betrayed by them.]
     Of course he knew who James Bond was. His father had the complete set of novels and short stories in his library at the Emerald Palace. He just didn’t like the Guider’s attitude.
     [I prefer the adventures of Max Free of the Watch Tower series. More sex and violence there. And lots more gadgets.]
[Camp is the lowest form of comedy. But to each his own intellectual poison], said the Guider.
     The covert Prince looked away and out the port again. He looked at the outer shield of the plate far below. The plate turned down at the edges like that of a planet. Inside it was more like a shallow bowl covered by a flattened dome. The dome was a wonder of nano-quantum mechanics. It darkened to provide night for the land below and absorbed dangerous stellar radiation for unlimited power. Allowing the safer rays to penetrate for farming and health as well as additional groundside power generation.
     It also controlled the weather for the land below. There was rain for an hour each night on each plate__ unless the terrain below was to be a jungle (increased rain) or a desert (less rain).
     Yes, it was an artificial world, fabricated out of disassembled worlds, nebulae and asteroid belts. The place where they all lived—Terra-Prime, Earth Refuge in ancient Central Atlantese__ the language of the Atlantean Time Sorcerers that had commissioned the Sidairians to build this world. It was home.
      Toreus had visited planets but he had never lived on one for very long. He had lived on the Great Sphere for most of his young life. And he, therefore, had an investment in its future.
     The pilot had slowed the ship to a parking orbit off the Newer London Fountain Station using the monopole braking system. From here they’d be able to tune the ship’s jump connections to those on the N.L. Fountain Station and the passengers would be able to walk from the SunLiner to the terminal.
      From the terminal you could either catch an elevator pod—a thing mostly done by tourists who had the time to indulge__ or take a jump connection up to the surface terminal. From there you could catch an elevator or jumper up through the dome where it was possible to catch an in-sphere vessel or an airship.
     Airships were the scenic way to see the Sphere. The ship, supported by paragravity units, moved leisurely across the broad plates and between plates using jump point tunnels.
     Toreus Rhann could feel weight returning to the soles of his feet and his buttocks as the deck gravity generators spun up to full Arcadian gravity—about .95 gees.
     The first officer, wearing her ornate white SunLines uniform, came out of the transfer tunnel to the bridge and went down one of the spoke aisles to the jump point at the center of the passenger compartment.
     She was of Privateer Stock, he was sure. Nice legs, very muscular. Privateer women tended to build up their lower body so as to not be crippled when they walked in high gravity environments. She was also tall, another effect of her spacer heritage.
     Spacers only used gravity for health purposes. Most of the workspace on a Privateer ship was in microgravity.
     Hominids tended to grow tall in low gee. His Privateer friend Gordon Tauron was fairly tall—but not as tall as Toreus Rhann himself. Few people were.  He owed his height to genetic engineering and Atlantean and Cro-Magnon ancestry. That and the fact that all the Rhanns tended to be tall.
     The First Officer stood beside the jump port console and cautioned the passengers to remain in their seats. Spacers preferred that Grounders stay put in the ship until more experienced hands could help them. Most Grounders tended to act silly and take silly risks in free fall.
     The First Officer unlocked a hologram point on the console at the center of the deck. A holographic screen appeared in the air and she punched codes into its ghostly image.
     The jump point of the liner shook hands with one of those on the station. A globe image whirled in the air near the screen and was joined by a second globe. The two moved together and merged into one. Entanglement had been achieved—both symbolically and in reality, though the process occurred much more quickly than the image would have indicated. The joining was almost instantaneous.
      The point plate at the center of the round deck shimmered and lines twisted into a glowing, silvery whirlpool.
     What the Great Relativist called spooky action at a distance had occurred and a junction in space time was formed between the ship and the station.
     It was called a jump point because in ancient times it was first used by Atlantean and Tauran astrotroopers, but it was more akin to one of those portable holes one saw in ancient animated vids. Entanglement created a wormhole that joined two widely spaced coordinates as if they were two sides of the same door. Distance meant nothing inside a wormhole.
     The effect was called the Sarkhon effect after Harlan Sarkhon the discoverer of the effect in ancient times. Old Harlan had built the first FTL drive based on that discovery and had founded the Society of Time Sorcerers.
     The early FTL ships had been warp ships that folded space ahead of them and expanded it behind them. They were still used today and were likened to the sailboats of FTL propulsion.
     The jump point was a smaller version of the wormholes that were the backbone of interstellar and inter worldline travel. Except that using a jump point, over relatively short distances, one tended to remain in the same universe. It was only by travelling the very long ones__ or so they were described because they had ends in different universes__ one entered another worldline which was either behind or ahead of one’s native line in time. It was time travel in the only possible sense of the word. One could travel ahead in time in one’s own universe. That was as easy as being patient or as difficult as enduring time dilation near the speed of light. But one could not travel backward into one’s own past. Travelling backwards exploited the many worlds theory. You can shoot the grand da of one of your ringers but not your own.
     And in any worldline any probable past was possible. Nations that had lost wars somewhere in the multiverse won them elsewhere. Nations that existed on one line did not exist on another or were identified by different names.
     Starting at starboard the passengers that were getting off at Newer London Fountain began to disembark one at a time.
     One by one they walked up to the shimmering silver singularity of the point and disappeared in a sparkle as if they had fallen apart. Of course this was an optical illusion. Nothing happed to the jumper save that he was moved to the other end of the tunnel.
      If you were close enough to the doorway you could make out shimmering images of the other side. Light tended to be distorted in the wormholes__ as if it were objecting to the faster than light illusion that such travel provided.
     Toreus was, alas not close enough.
     As the Prince had surmised most of the debarking passengers were soldier types and the kind of business folk that dealt in arms and military gear. The so called Security Community. Vultures every one.
     You could tell them by the gaudy jewelry they tended to sport. All gold, silver and platinum. Earrings, bracelets, chains and useless, bulky gold wristwatches. Some of them would carry gold and silver plated knives and pistols. Showy proof that they were indeed fighting men and women.
      It was then that something unexpected happened. The Bilitian woman get up and walked down the aisle to the point. She looked over her shoulder and gave him a silly grin, then disappeared.
      [I thought you said she was bound for Capronea, Old Ghost], said the Prince.
      [People change their minds]. said the holospirit. [It happens all the time.]
      Maybe so. But it gave him hope that he and the dark woman would meet again.
      Finally it was the covert prince’s turn. He took his carryon luggage in his hand and stepped into the jump connection.  There was a tingle as he stepped through. Electrical static from the interface which was capable of holding a charge. A good thing since the charge of a wormhole is the only thing that allows you to holds it in one place. He just hoped that it did not interfere with his nano-disguise. He had been assured that it would not but he had seen the singularity cause disturbances in dataspex so he was not so certain. He had passed through many jump points since leaving Pangea__ there was always such a thing as one time too many.
      There was no sensation of motion. The jump point ignored space and time as irrelevant and relative. As far as the quantum junction was concerned the space between the two ends of the gate did not exist.
     The prince stepped out the other side into the station. Quantum Entanglement Transport__ the wonder of the age. The slight change in gravity and air pressure on both sides did make him a little dizzy__ but he got over that fast. His body manufactured chemicals to deal with that. He had had that done before his first space trip and it was still in place.
The first thing that Prince Toreus noticed was that the dark woman was nowhere in sight, the second was the staff at the customs station that ringed that center of the station. It was not the blue uniformed agents of the Royal Transportation Guard__ a group of foolish and unprofessional bullies__ but rather the red jacketed officers of the Royal Arcadian Mounted Police__ RAMP__ a group of foolish and professional bullies.
     There was no sign of any RTG agents in the terminal, a place where they were ubiquitous to say the least. It was obvious that they had given up the pleasure of harassing space travelers for a higher cause. Or perhaps not.
The station walls were covered with anti-government graffiti and obscenities aimed at the monarch and his nephews__ as well as their new found worship of capitalism and greed.
     Hey, Duke James__ does Viv Gear know you frig choops?
      Prince Wesley the royal snake boy.
     There were one or two low blows at the Monarch's sexual orientation as well. Something that would not have happened without the absent RTG.
     Radu don’t do no ladies. Radu does do boys.
     Though everyone knew the King preferred partners of his own gender it was considered treason to acknowledge the fact. No doubt RTG had been fired for their participation in these atrocities.
     [Worse], said the Ghost. [This morning they were arrested to a man, as enemies of the state and traitors, and placed in a prison camp, There they will await the uncivilized act of mindwhiping.]
     Mindwhiping, thought Toreus Rhann. Not that an RTG agent was considered as having any such thing as a mind, but killing someone was more humane than erasing their personality. Erasing their minds. Destroying everything that they were or would ever hope to be. Eliminating the only true soul a person possessed.
     Also the graffiti was something that would not have happened—or rather endured—had someone not reprogrammed the cleaning bots. The spelling and script was too good for human hands and no one ever puts periods at the end of graffiti.
     That meant the maintenance staff was in cahoots with the rebellion. Would they too be mindwhiped__ a punishment that was banned in Pangea but was allowed under the Shaitannus Treaty Charter?
     The waiting area was crowded with passengers from various space vehicles—most of them military types. Many passengers were clearly outbound. Off platers that were leaving due to the unrest in the Arcadian capital. The King—old Radu Wallace—had arrested the popular Duke Nathaniel Taylor. that had released a shitstorm of unrest and protest. And police reprisals leading to violent riots.
     Radu had suspended the Parliament and declared martial law. A defect in the UKA Constitution made that easy for him to do. Unless you were a mercenary or a freedom fighter this was a good time to leave Arcadia.
     [And yet you rush right into it, Warrior], said the Guider.
     [I have a job to do, Old Ghost.]
   [Of course.]
     Toreus looked about the station. There were lines at the jump connections leading down to Arcadia comprised of tough looking men and hard women. Civil wars tended to attract mercenaries from all across the universes. Some of these came from space travel permitted Earths. There were men wearing the uniforms of the French Foreign Legion, the British SAS and the Nazi Waffen SS. All from post-20th Century worldlines where the subject of parallel universes and inhabited other worlds was not a taboo subject possibly punishable by death.
     They'd lend their talents to the Wallaces or to big corporations. That was as sure as the dome clearing for sunrise. And they would take their delight molesting women and beating up on the poor. That was the kind of low brow that went in for those kind of jobs. The Rent-a-Cop mentality as Kothar called it.
     There were folks in TyRhainean blue and scarlet, from the nearby plate of TyRhainia and others of darker Darkhonean dress. Warrior people who were eternally looking for fights. The Darkhonee even had nanotech battle armor woven into their skins. Instant battle suit that could be concealed but never removed.
     It would be a long wait for the down jump points beyond the customs line. Everyone going up and down would be checked over by the Mounties. And being amateurs at the whole customs thing they would be slow. Taking delight in showing bosses who were not really paying attention how good they were at their new job.
     At least there would be no giggling as passengers’ cases were opened and underwear and dildoes waved around. For those moments of humiliation the RTG would not be missed.
     Toreus was passed by customs without too much bother. There was nothing in his bag but a shaving kit, change of underclothing, two shirts, a kilt and two pairs of slacks. Nothing that would raise any suspicion on the part of even the most bothersome customs official. With molecular engineering carrying even that much clothing on a trip was considered excessive.
     And his built in personal weapons were well shielded against detection. The smart metal parts of his body would read as surgical implants and implanted devices. Many people had such things theses days.
     The Mountie at the gate asked him all sorts of asinine questions.
     “Reason for the visit?”
     “Tourism.”
     The Mountie, a middle aged veteran, raised an eyebrow. But he made no comment about tourism during the current troubles, after all such a comment might get back to his bosses and land him in jail. These days one did not know who might be a spy or informant for the Crown.
     The Mountie passed him through and the disguised lion prince breathed a silent sigh of relief as he moved off into the promenade of the Fountain Station.
     So far so good.  But, he reminded himself, one slip might have ended with him spending the next several hours in an interrogation cell as some eager Mountie detective asked him the same questions over and over, hoping that magic or the will of the Gods might give him a career building arrest.
     Toreus Rhann spotted an Apollo’s coffee shop. He’d get a cup of coffee while he waited for a jump. But first he decided that this was a good time to switch disguises. Some idiot Apollo’s barista might decide to throw him out to show his boss that he was doing his job. In a world where 45% of the workforce was robots people who had jobs tended to overdo it a bit. And his nano-darkened skin and curly hair might cause some fussy bigot to question his validity as a customer. The hospitality part of the job had been dispensed with by many of the employed humans__ especially at spaceports.
     Strangers came and went here and everyone was treated like a spy or terrorist. Especially by amateur nitwits that had no business making such judgments and were basing them on opinions passed down to them by ignorant parents.
     Of course they would be unaware that their actions were unwise and could lead to their deaths__ especially when dealing with someone like Toreus Rhann. All that stood between them and a casket was the Prince’s need to maintain his cover. If told to leave by some head imbecile in charge he would go__ only to preserve his cover.
     Every space terminal in the known universe had refresher booths where travelers could clean up and change clothes between flights. The Newer London Fountain was no exception. The ranks of refresher booths were across the waiting area and clearly marked for male, female or neuter clientele__ a black figure of a humanoid, a black figure with a triangle denoting a dress left over from some ancient era when kilts were not in style, and a cartoony looking bug denoting any BEM that didn’t fit in with the standard model for hominid or humanoid.
     He reflected that Zatakhons were roughly humanoid__ as far as far as one could see the mysterious cloaked figures. What refresher would they use?
     Perhaps none at all considering how bad they smelt. Zatakhons were just what one would expect from an Earth where fungi were the dominant life forms. An alternate worldline where the age of mammals, birds, fish, etc. had come and gone long ago.
     The Prince went to the kiosk at the entrance to the refresher area and touched his H-PAD to the machine. The device indicated the closest male booth that was unoccupied and he approached it.
      As he did a tall woman with olive skin and long black hair stepped out of the nearest female booth. She had an aquiline nose and deep brown eyes. She also had large breasts that somehow looked familiar.
      Their eyes met and she averted her gaze with a half smile that revealed a dimple.
      he had that odd feeling of recognition he had had earlier with the Bilitian woman. She was the same height and had the same sized breasts. It was possible that a woman warrior might have the same disuise nanaos as himself. It was more than likely that they would.
      The woman hurried away without a backward glance. He watched her go. His mind a puzzle.
     Prince Toreus entered the booth. A non-humanoid cleaning robot exited the booth as he entered. No doubt this one was still functioning correctly. There would be no political graffiti in these refreshers, he supposed.
     He had supposed wrong.
     Scrawled on a wall in a precise hand that could only have been cybernetic was: RADU WALLACE BLOWS. The graffiti showed the same robot attention to detail, down to the period at the end...
      Below it was a work of art that could have only been made by a human with artistic flare. It was a cartoon head wearing a cartoon crown with the biggest cartoon penis pointed at its open mouth. Issuing from the dick was a large spurt of ejaculate that headed for the King's gaping mouth.
     Enjoy your lunch, Your Royal Highness, said the wild and hurried scrawl.
     Despite himself Toreus laughed.
     Toreus Rhann closed the door behind him allowing himself to relax for the first time in days. This was a rebel’s cave. He felt welcome.
     The booth was a standard model. There was a toilet, a shower, a sink with a mirror, a cot and a replicator/recycler station with a jump connection delivery system.
     The sink had a virtually indestructible diamond mirror__ no doubt impregnated with nanites to repair any mischief. There was no graffiti on it.
On the sink table were various outlets for perfumes, tooth cleaner and repairer as well as aftershave, perfume, deodorant cologne and various makeups and hair care products. There was even a light shaver and skin knitter laser. You could get a smooth shave and repair minor battle damage with that.
     The Lion Prince took off his jacket and emptied valuables out of its pockets. Most of the valuables were fakes designed to create a cover story. Nothing of his own was here with him. Everything had been manufactured by the Legend Makers at the Doom Watch. Craftsmen par-excellence.
     Next he stripped off his tie and shirt. He flexed his mucles and concentrated his attention on the nano's in his skin and hair.
     Next he removed his business kilt, underwear and sporran. The purse went onto the sink. The kilt, jacket, shirt, shoes, socks, undies and tie went into the recycler where they were whisked away through the jump tunnel to be disassembled at some Recycling and Recovery center elsewhere in Arcadia. Then Toreus linked his H-PAD to the Sacket’s Inter-Cosmic Department Store unit, via a laser link, and sent his clothing requests and his measurements—all on an Ident that had been prepared by the Watch.
     Kothar Khonn's techs had done a masteful job. Good ole Kothar Jr. the craftiest operator of the biggest black ops network in existence__ the Doom Watch. His childhood buddy the professional sneak. Of course he had been a clever trickster as a child, so it came as no surprise now__ did it?
     Don’t think about it, he warned himself. No distractions. Concentrate on the job at hand. Always the job at hand. Death and imprisonment were always just a distraction away. That was in the Handbook of the Covert Arts by Lord Aloysius Lambert, the first President of the Watch.
     There was no organization second to the Doom Watch when it came to legends and disguises for secret agents. That’s the way it had to be if you were to operate covertly across an infinite number of worldlines. Lambert had created the organization under orders Bernard Sarkhon himself some 150,000 years ago. The Watch had existed ever since. Even in times of chaos and apocalypse the Watch had existed.
     Arenjun was fond of saying that the Watch was doomsday proofed because of the holo-ghosts that kept watch over the inheritance and traditions of the organization from beyond the grave.
     Toreus wondered if Lambert might be his ghost.
     [I am not], said the spirit.
      It would take a few minutes for the molecular assemblers to manufacture the new clothing. While waiting Prince Toreus concentrated, relaxing his nanomask and looked at his face in the mirror.
     The nanomask body coloring faded back down to its rest olive color. The hair relaxed from curly and thick to raven and straight. His eyes turned their natural green color.
     He had the same noble facial features as his father with the same intense green eyes. Only his war mask nanotatoos were of a different design than his Da’s and they were not visible now. Such designs were the trademark of a Thuvian lion man and would not do while he was undercover.
     Da also wore a goatee and a moustache and his hair had fashionable streaks of gray in it.
     The Prince stood in the shower and let hot water wash over him. Back home in Thuvia showers and baths tended to be community affairs. The Thuvians had no nudity taboo as were common elsewhere. Sex and nudity were noy looked on as being the same thing. Even though the sex act was generally performed in the nude.
      The shower called up a memory from when he was twelve standards old. The twelve year old daughter of their ally, Tardos Sojat, Lord Admiral of the Sky Pirates of Lemurea, had been staying at his Highlands castle. Toreus was preparing for his lion man ordeal that fall and he did not pay much attenyion to the tall, well built redhead.
     She often stared at him in the shower and he tried not to stare back. She was a looker but she was there under his protection because mutual enemies might with to harm her because her father had sided with the Empire against the rebel pirates.
     One day she had surprised him by throwing her arms around him and, standing on tip toes had panted a kiss on his lips, pressing her tall body against him. Especially her considerable sized breasts.
      Toreus had been young and inexperienced with woman and sex. His member swelled up and he ejaculated all over her belly.
 Embarrassed, he quickly left the bath holding his hand over his limp manhood. His father had warned him about gettign involved with the princess while she was under his protection. It would not do for the Prince of Thuvia to take advantage of an allt's princess.
      From that day on he had avoided bathing with Antillus Sojat. There would be no repeat of this politically dangerous and embarrassing incident.
      But Tilly, as he and Kothar called her, much to her chagrin, was still always around. She would watch him in his training excercises with his big saber cat Shakorja.
     One day she asked him if he would train her in the arts of swords.
      He decided that this would be a good idea. If he trained her to defend herself then there would be less need for him to protect her. Iy had worked out well. she was an excellent student and he was soon able to put her under the tutelage of Anrius Khonn, the younger brother of Kothar Khonn senior and the Imperial Sword instructor.
      Why was he thinking of this today? Strange. Was it the shower? No he showered often and had never thought about his premature ejaculation again.
 He pinned long hair up so that it would fit under his cover hat that was among the odd items in his carryon case__ a wide brimmed, gray slouch hat.
 When not in disguise his black hair was worn in a horsetail as was the hair of every lion man. Widely held lore about Lion Men among off-platers was that they smelled bad and did not bathe. Which was not the truth but served to make the bigots feel good about themselves. Actually lion men bathed before every battle and anointed themselves with lickra oil. It was a part of an ancient ceremony going back to the times before genetically enhanced cats.
      In olden times Lion Men had worn their hair unfurled like the mane of a lion. A warrior’s custom, dating back to the ancient Kalladon, of Old Atlantis. But it had given their enemies too much purchase during a close fight and so now it was worn clasped into a tail, fastened with a lion claw band.
     Men with long hair were considered effeminate or malodorous by ignorant people everywhere, all it would require was some noodle head complaining to an overzealous wage slave about his imaginary odor and then he would be asked to leave the Apollos.  It had gotten worse here in Arcadia since the narrow minded philosophy of Vivian Gear had risen to the forefront. A philosophy based on greed was also, generally one based heavily on bigotry. And, like most bigots, these imbeciles did not realize just how dangerous their prejudices could be__ for themselves. Getting your nose busted by a warrior might lead to cash compensation but did little to remove the pain of such an experience.
     The Prince got out of the shower and toweled himself dry. He put further thoughts of why he had thought of his embarassement with Antillus Sojat and went about checking his weaponry.
     He examined the Carbon Plasma Shield generators that adhered to his massive forearms held in place and disguised by synthetic impregnated with his own DNA, to enhance the diguise. The synth skin had reverted to its natural olive color because it contained the same type of nanites as his own natural skin and was likewise slaved to his hyper-mentate brain.
     Lines ran from the units up the arm and to a power pack and reservoir that adhered to the small of his back beneath more sheets of the synthetic skin. The reservoir was loaded with carbon spheres that could be charged and manipulated by a magnetic field. They rotated rapidly in a torus around a warrior's forearms and they could deflect bullets and absorb energy. The pack could extract carbon dioxide from the air and manufacture more of the spheres as needed.
     The Prince flexed his muscular arms in the prana exercises that had been taught to him by his mother Cassandra and her Magdalene sisters when he was a boy. Exercises that they had learned in their youth at the Convent of the Holy Magdalene in Borsoon, Thuvia.
     The Sisters were not actually his mother’s siblings. Though they were treated as such.
     They had been chosen from the convent by his Ma to be her ladies in waiting, as well as her bodyguards and staff.
     They had served as governesses and teachers for Toreus, his adopted older brother and his seven sisters.
The female dominated atmosphere of the Imperial household had worried his father, Toreus knew. He had feared that his son__ the only son of his loins__ might become another rich fop, only suitable for excelling at fraternity drunkouts. There was enough of the old school in the Emperor to be concerned about that. And he was not having it.
     So at the age of twelve Toreus was sent to the Lion School. He would become a lion man like his father before him.
     He had inherited his aggression from his father but his skills in hand to hand fighting were learned from his Ma. And other, no less valuable skill had been learned from the Sisters.
     Once when he was thirteen his mother had caught him in bed with one of the younger Magdalenes__ Sister Helena Somez. This had led to the girl being sent back to the convent and Toreus getting a right scalding from his parents.
     But after that his parents had given into the wisdom of life and had hired a professional love instructor to school him in the ways of sex with women since that was obviously his leaning.
     That had been the lady Francine Sarita York, high priestess of the Courtesan's Guild, high priestess of the Courtesan's Guild__ a respected profession in Pangea and one that was practiced by both genders. Frannie and he were still good friends and associates.   She was a remarkable woman.
     He felt good now. He felt vigorous and full of energy. So far this mission was going well. Except for the nagging suspicions that Kothar was lying to him.
There you go again, he warned himself. It doesn’t matter at the moment. We are operational and that is all the matters.
     He extended his smart metal claws that were sheathed between his knuckles. They extended out like lion claws and could used for scaling, as well as fighting.
     On command they extended out to the length of knife blades and then swords. They were stored as a liquid in reservoirs inside his forearms. Toreus was never disarmed. The changeable metal claws were a part of him.
     He withdrew them and closed his hands across his chest concentrating. He had paragravity floaters implanted over his kidneys. On his command he rose a meter off the floor and hovered.
     Good, he mused and slowly lowered himself back to the deck of the refresher.
     There was no need to test his sensory implants that covered all five senses. He used them often especially his senses of smell and taste that protected him from poisons. Linked to his hyper-mentation they could analyze any chemical substance. And he skin had built in radiation sensors.
     Once an enemy had tried to poison him with a radioactive isotope in a drink. Toreus detected it and did a switch. The villain had died badly himself. He had been a djinn infested madman. He supposed the djinn still lived__ holographic being were immortal after all__ and would one day seek revenge.
     The new clothes arrived. He pulled the bundles out of the RR bin. Each package bore the stylized red S of the Sacket Combine__ literally the biggest department store in all of existence. Sackets had a long time accord with the Watch. Both were of ancient Atlantean origin after all. And both were run by holographic ghosts. Maybe even the same ones.
     He donned the new slacks and the Rugby shirt with its blue and white stripes of the Newer London University Dragons. His disguise would be that of a college student. Student athletes were seldom asked to leave a restaurant even if their hair was long. They were heroes to the unenlightened.
He put the hat on his head and touched a spot near its band. The hat turned blue.
He removed the H-PAD chip from his H-PAD and put the unit in the recycler and took the new one out of his sporran lining and inserted it into the device. The microscopic unit was too small for a human to handle and therefore was encapsulated in a plastic cube one centimeter on a side.
Toreus put the sporran back on and activated the Holographic-Personal Access Device. He now had a new identity to continue his mission.
      He was ready.

In the Apollo’s Toreus went to the counter.
    A holoimage of Apollo Centaurus__ the Olympian founder of the conzern popped up, all smiles and laurel leaf crown.
     “Hi, friend what can I get for you?
      The Prince ordered an Akaiachino, a coffee drink favored in the Akaia highlands of Cretacea__ the beans were grown naturally in Sauropod dung. Iy was his favorite coffee.
     The Prince took a seat where he could watch the procession of hard cases through the jump gates. He sat near the outside window where he could watch the open door and glass plate walls.
     The coffee house was not very crowded. And there were no human employees__ thank the Light.
     The people cycling through the Fountain Station these days preferred harder drinks and drugs to coffee, soft drinks and tea.
      A group of humanoids in coveralls strode by on the promenade. The coveralls were in the colors favored by spaceship crews—orange for engineering, blue for science, yellow for bridge and navigation and red for combat. Over these jump suits they wore cut neodenim vests embroidered with club colors. The symbol was a globe of an earth bisected by a gold broad sword. Beneath that it said:
STARKINGS SPACER CLUB
 TAU CETI 3261 CHAPTER
BEAR SHIRTS
WORLDLINE 3261
     An outlaw spacers club from a worldline that had been colonized covertly by House Wallace__ under one of the sneakier clauses of the Shaitannus Treaty.  Tau Ceti 3-3261—or Ridge as it was called__ was the system that held the wormhole into that universe. It was the closest gate to Earth 3261__at a mean distance of some twelve light years. The SSCs made money smuggling goods in and out of colonized worldlines and serving as enforcers for people who did business in those universes. Usually the Inter Cosmic underworld referred to as the Carnelia Nostra or the Tauron Syndicate.
     The clubs from 3261 were some of the worst in the Cosmos. Not as noble or honorable as his friends in the Tauron Gypsies headed by Gordon Tauron
     The leader of the group was a tall, humanoid polar bear who wore a checked sleeve tunic under his colors. Among his crew were two Ahn Kruzans—evolved Troodon dinosaurs—a Cha Kundi__ an evolved Chimpanzee__ and several humans of various breeds, including one who wore the headdress of an ancient Egyptian nobleman.
     No doubt the spacers were here to sign on to whatever mercenary hiring forces wanted them for the coming fight. Not that they were worse than any other soldiers for hire. Mercenaries tended to be unreliable scum by nature. That went with the career of shooting people for money. Nice people just didn’t do that.
     Outlaw Privateers were always looking for a fight and the profit they might derive from it. They considered it easier than working for a living. But it was actually harder. When you make a career of killing people those same people might make a career of shooting back. And some of them were very good at it.
     The Star Kings, he recalled, were also arms smugglers of some repute. There was a covert market for advanced weapons in that worldline.
     The Spacers disappeared from sight down the jump point.
     Next a group of hominids, wearing light body armor, entered the promenade. They had pale complexions with ghostly haggard faces. Their eyes seemed to have been replaced by red bionic orbs. They were Kai'Vhans__ cyborg soldiers.
     They were followed by three beings in a large black coats and wide brimmed hats. The trio’s faces were obscured by shimmering silver breath masks. They were not consumers of heavily oxygenated air__ which was well since they tended to smell fowl at the best of times. They were furthermore sensitive to bright light. Their homeworld's sun was a Red Giant version of Sol.
     From behind the screens he could see the red glow of eyes similar to those of the soldiers. Evolving on a planet of a red giant star they had never really evolved eyes. They used the bionic one’s to give than an edge in business.
     [Warning, Pruneheads to your left, Warrior], the Guider Gem reported.
     The beings were Zatakhons. They were called Pruneheads because they were a form of highly evolved intelligent fungi and had wrinkled purple faces that they hid behind silvery respirator masks. Their home atmosphere was 20% carbon dioxide and the 22% oxygen atmosphere was toxic for them.  They wore wide brimmed black hats and voluminous black floor length coats that prevented anyone from getting a good view of what they looked like. As well as protecting them from the bright light of a G-class star.
     There were no more secretive a species in the Known Cosmos. And no more greed driven.
     As they passed he could smell their sour scent and resisted a gagging reaction. They were one life form that truly stank. Such a description was not simply an expression of racism as it was so often elsewhere. Though few were the individuals of any species that liked them. He was not certain if they even liked themselves.
     Of course their wealth protected them from the prejudices that poorer beings were subjected to. Toreus knew from personal experience that everyone was willing to kiss the ass of a rich man__ even if he was a turd.
     Their religion was the worship of the almighty credit__ Vi Gear would have loved them. They looked like villains from some old children’s space opera and they were. Greedy beings make up 99% of the villainy everywhere. With malignant narcissists__ especially greedy malignant narcissists__ filling in the remainder.
     Evolution had gone terribly wrong on the Earth that these characters had come from. Went terribly wrong because it left these selfish thieves in total charge.
     They were the product of ancient Ephaisian world engineers that had moved a dying Earth from its ancient dying sun and seeded it with the spores of fungi. That earth had been all but used up by the intelligent primates, rodents and octopi that had died out over its long history.
      Left with an exhausted world the Zatakhons became the ultimate wheeler dealers.
     They turned into a barroom on the promenade that served alien beverages. They were probably going to have a business meeting over a broth of Gloog__ a fermented fungus beverage that smelled like the overspill from a broken stupidol house toilet. The Zats were the only beings that drank it and the Gearists of Arcadia were willing to sell it to them. For a very high price, which the Zats were more than willing to pay. They were greedy but they were not thrifty.
     The Zatakhon Hegemony, didn’t produce anything__ just bought and sold everything, to anyone anywhere. They always traveled in threes and the armored bozos that followed them into the bar were their Khai'Vhann cyborg mercenary bodyguard detail.
     The Khai'Vhann Centurion walked at the head of his troops chanting a cadence in broken Anglish. “Von, to, tree, four, ve are the Khai’Vhann infantry.”
      Which was like saying I am the shit of the Cosmos, Toreus considered and resisted a smile. Please fear me when you wipe your shoes.
     The Centurion’s face was not as pallid and shriveled as the line troops. He wore the same augmented eyes and tight gray helmet as the troops, save that his had five silver chevrons on its front over the Khai'Vhann triskellion symbol that reminded the Prince of the swastika of Terran Nazis.
     Many folks wore eye implants that gave their eyes many extraordinary, and unnatural, colors, but the eyes of the Vhanns had a sickly dead person look. But then again, they were the closest thing to cyborgian versions of the legendary zombies like the Hi-Ven Conjugates.
     Khai'Vhann were hired out by the Zatakhons for mercenary work just about anywhere in the Cosmos. Members of the merc community called them the “Pinheads” because of the cybernetic pin that was implanted in their heads to make them cyborg mercenaries. The pin sent nano-neural tendrils throughout the body. The tendrils overrode the brain's control of the body's systems. They were essentially zombies and only the Centurions, their officers and their special forces had any sign of brains. Only to say as much was only being liberal. No one who volunteered to be a Vhann was overly bright. And they were as hard as hell to kill. The nanotech quickly healed any wound except a head wound.  And many Vhann were little more than stolen, reanimated corpses.
      Kai' Vhann were popular among the assholes who thought that soldiers were nothing more than dumb cannon fodder and they were not very well thought of among professional military types. Like Toreus himself.
     They were definitely not the best soldiers that money could buy. But people who have to rent soldiers don't usually know that. They'll settle for a tough appearance because they know nothing about warriors and assumed if one looks like the school bully one is a formidable bastard__ even though all bullies are cowards.
     The Kai' Vhann looked like walking dead men and that Toreus supposed was bad looking enough.  There were zombie vids that came out of the Worldlines that even he found quite chilling. Preposterous stories where the dead came back to life and ate the living. The Vhann made him think of those.
     They were believed to be the result of a failed experiment in building a super-soldier by the Atlanteans’ Tauran enemies in the Old Universe, another leftover of that long ago cold war in the manner of the Titans and the Omega Warriors, which were the super soldiers of the Western Atlantean Federation.
     Idiots, thought the Prince.
     [Indeed, warrior], said the Guider. [They are willing to fight and die for things that have nothing to do with their own wants and needs. Or their personal honor.]
     Of course the Wallies were hiring Khai'Vhann. They must really be desperate for personnel.
     A report from Imperial Intelligence that he had read before leaving home claimed that the Wallaces had the robot factories of Nipponesia working round the clock to fabricate an army of warrior substitutes.
     That meant that most of the other mercs were heading down to work for the Resistance or for corporations looking to protect their property and personnel in the coming melee. No self-respecting merc will work with Vhanns. And no person with a gram of sense will volunteer to become one. It’s a one way trip to brain dead. They were brain eaters like the Djinn and Hi-Ven.
     All across the Cosmos populations of homeless addicts and the mentally ill on worlds that did not have cures for most diseases of the brain disappeared into the ranks of the Khai'Vhann Corps. Most were never seen again. And, unfortunately most were never missed.
     “Went Vhann” was a common slang term for disappearing without a trace.
     On Zatakha__ the Zatakhon homeworld__ most of the Vhann recruits were taken from prison stock either grown locally or imported from off world. Or from donated or stolen humanoid bodies__ as long as they were not embalmed.
     Intelligent animals that settled on that planet were not really wanted there__ unless they had money to spend. There were many laws regulating them. The penalty for most was conversion to Kai’ Vhann soldiers. This, as well as their alliance with the Mystranns, the Metrons and the Trongoroths had allowed them to amass a considerable army. And the revenues from renting it out made the fungus planet a rich Gross Planetary Product.
     On Outpost__ the Zatakhon dominated plate of Terra-Prime__ they used Vhann hiring halls to lure in recruits from the excess hominid population of that world. Indigent hominids were invited to a free meal and many attended not realizing that the Zats considered altruism dirty and did not believe in free lunches. In fact did not believe in free anything.
     At the dinners the guest were fed drugged food and lectured about the glory of joining the Kai’ Vhann Corps. Those that volunteered were put on a luxury liner for the Officer School on Zatakha. If they passed there they would become Centurions with a chance of promotion to officer.
     Those that did not volunteer fell asleep and were put in warm sleep capsule for transport to the Indoctrination Center on the Homeworld. Any way you sliced it once you took their meal you were going to be a Vhann__ or another dead body thrown into the sludge pits that manufactured Zatakhon food.
     The Zats had taken over Outpost centuries ago. The plate had been overrun by Hi-Ven__ microbial creatures that infected the body of warm-blooded animals causing flu like symptoms. Once in the body they migrated to the brain and congealed into a jellyfish like creature that absorbed the central nervous system. The population of the plate were turned into Hi-Ven Conjugates, zombies, and a threat to other plates around Outpost. The Treaty Council was all too happy to hire the Zatakhons to invade the plate and eliminate the infected population.
     Part of the deal was for the Zats to keep the plate as their home in the Terra-Prime system. One center of disease and doom had replaced the other. It was typical of Council business.
     [Shit grown mushrooms], said Toreus.
     [Unfortunately they can come out of the dark], said the Ghost.  [And are capable of feeding others bullshit.]
     Toreus Rhann did not respond immediately. He just thought of how much he resented the Khai'Vhann and their masters. [Zatakhons and Gearists/Randites are the ass scum of the Cosmos. The worlds would be better off without them.]
     [Of course just because the Vhann are idiots does not necessarily render them harmless], said the Ghost.
     Toreus nodded. [Even one idiot with a gun is dangerous. An army of them…] thought transmitted Prince Toreus.
      [Is an army of dangerous men], finished the Guider. [This says much about Radu Wallace. He is not able to mobilize the citizenry of Arcadia to his side__ not even those low brows that are commonly drawn to such low philosophies as Objectivism. He cannot attract the ravaged middle class who would make up any patriotic army, so he hires off world shooters. Paid killers.]
     [Yes, Old Ghost. Likewise just because Radu is an incompetent leader__ who ate whole the Vivian Gear turd his nephew brought back from Earth 3261__ does not render him harmless.]
     [No__ but most of the better officers of the Arcadian military will be joining the resistance when it forms. Or looking to consolidate their own personal power in a fractured Arcadia.]
     The whole frigging situation was depressing. In the end Radu would most likely lose, but millions of people would die first.
     And he, Toreus Rhann, had to get in there and secure the Taylor family. Get them to safety. Because Nathaniel Taylor was the only man who could end this civil war and build Arcadia back into the Jewel of the Sphere it had been before the Wallace Monarchists rose to power.
     The other Great House Barons of Arcadia, each with his own House army, navy and aerospace forces, were waiting for Nathaniel to move before they joined up. None of them really had the courage to move on their own and were holding their House Forces in reserve for the coming civil war. Waiting to join the side that made them the best offer.
     Without a strong leader to unite them under one flag it would be a conflagration that would consume the entire plate and fracture it into numerous warring nation states. It would be each Baron for himself and demons take the hindmost. And there were five hundred Barons in all. Everyone on his own since the Parliament was dissolved by the King.
     Of course House Wallace controlled the Royal Space Navy and its powerful fleet of starships and its Royal Space Marine Corps. If many of those fighters did not defect or mutiny__ and many would because loyalty to Arcadia always seemed to come second to loyalty to one’s home Barony__ the Navy could well be used against the people. The RSN could be used to seize the means of production and power collection putting the Wallaces in firm control of the plate.
     That was another reason they could not be allowed to hold Taylor’s family hostage. The name Taylor was important to the history of Arcadia’s Navy. If Nathaniel could not speak out against the Crown for fear of his family’s safety then the Navy would not rebel against the crown. They might follow Duke Nathaniel but only if the Duke were willing to lead.
     Prince Toreus turned away toward the window that looked out over the Arcadian plate above.
     The gravity generator of the base was oriented in the same vector as that of the plate. If one did not do that a libration point would form closer to the station than the plate and anything in that point would hover there forever causing a navigation hazard. With the generators oriented the way they were anything falling past them would be accelerated out into space__ or at least into a high orbit where the Waste Collectors Service and Independent Space Junkers could collect them for recycling.
     The outside of the plate looked so peaceful from up here 3000 kilometers above the plate space shield.
     He could make out the bulges of the undersides of deep seas and the indentations that marked high mountains and low hills. There were even several craters where asteroids had plowed into the plate in the absence of Sidairian maintenance. He could also see the lighted tunnels of the old sub-shuttle system__ hypersonic maglev propelled trains that pre-dated extensive jump systems. These tubes ran along the surface of the shield. Some of them would end in jump points that allowed the sub-shuttles to jump to other plates across the space between them.
The most impressive indentation he could view was a twenty kilometer square region that marked the Genesis Bunker under Newer London. These bunkers beneath each plate were one of the wonders of the Sphere. Too bad he would not get a chance to visit while he was here.
The Genesis Bunker__ sometimes called a Time Sorcerer’s Vault__ was a storage place for knowledge and technology in case of a catastrophe that would require a rebuilding of civilization. They were backed up by the smaller Time Vaults that gave individual sorcerers their own hiding places.
     Time Sorcerers of Atlantis and their Tauran enemies had built such structures all across the universes entrusting a sword-like key to one citizen of each worldline that would open it. Toreus’ father was the trustee of the key for the GB under Thuvia. The key was called the Sword of Startarus, after the ancient leader that had first held it.
     The one under Newer London was entrusted to the King of Arcadia__ that being Radu Wallace.
     The Prince caught another glimpse of a Watcher coming around the station. It seemed to be looking at him.
The Watcher was in the vacuum of space. The creature had some sort of built in oxygen recycling system and the ability to adapt to low pressure. He had heard that they had access to the jump portals that were built into the dome for spaceships. They, therefore, had access to the inside and outside of the world.
     The plant creature came up to the glass and seemed to be looking at him with its impossibly big and much too human eyes.
     Plants like this were all over the Sphere, put there by the Builders and Gods only knew created by whom. Certainly they had not evolved. Any more than had their cousins the Khellorian Sirens, whose quivering leaves made an eerie sound that seemed to be hypnotic, keeping large predators away from the Watchers when they were attached to their ground roots and luring in small insects to feed themselves and provide fertilizer for the community of plants.
     Could such a symbiotic relationship have evolved independently? Prince Toreus had to admit that he knew too little about biology and botany to know for sure.
     But this Watcher of the World seemed to be looking at him and that was a little bit unnerving. He looked away back toward the ground.
     The average plate had as much surface area as a T-3 planet and was managed by the plate dwellers and by Mechan engineers as well as the unseen world mind of the Sphere__ if it in fact really existed.
     If the environment of a plate like Arcadia had been left to the devices of the Wallaces everyone there would have died long ago. The Wallaces and others like them across the Sphere were brutal, greedy bullies and not good managers.
     The Taylors, on the other hand, were great statesmen and managers. They cared about the people and were willing to hear the people’s will. That was why Prince Toreus Rhann was here to rescue the family of Duke Nathaniel. And, if possible, rescue the Duke himself.
     It was a mission close to Toreus heart. For Toreus Rhann considered himself a champion of justice and Duke Nathaniel Taylor was a cousin of his mother.
     [Family business is important], said the Guider.
    [Damned right, Old Ghost], the Thuvian Prince replied.
     Nathaniel Taylor had stood up to Radu and been accused of treason. They had placed him under arrest in the Tower of Newer London, an ancient prison long past its usefulness in this age of warm sleep jails and notorious for its cruelty. Symbolically it had long been the place where those guilty of crimes against the Crown had been sent for execution. Usually bloody, public executions.
     Of course it had been a long time since there had been a death penalty in Arcadia. No, they believed mindwhiping to be more humane.
     But that arse, Radu, had suspended all the higher laws of the realm in the pretense of protecting the populace and the state using a defect in the Charter of the United Kingdom that allowed for such emergency powers on the part of a Monarch that deemed the government incapable of looking out for the interests of the Crown and the Subjects.
     That was an old story. More genocide had been done in history to protect people from terrorists and to ensure national security than had been done to actually protect the people.
     And that gave the King his excuse to go after the family of the Duke.
     But Duchess Lois had escaped with the ducal heirs, Nathan and Leonidus. Had gone into hiding. They were hiding out somewhere in the city above.
     It would be Prince Toreus Rhann’s first mission to find them and get them outside of Arcadia and to safety. And, if possible, break the Count out of prison and deliver him to a Resistance camp in Jurassica.
     Seven days ago Toreus volunteered his services for this mission to Imperial Marshal Kothar Khonn, his father’s boyhood friend and chief military agent.
     Kothar’s son and namesake, Kothar Junior, was running the operation on behalf of the Doom Watch.
     Both Khonns were reticent about using the Crown Prince of Thuvia in this dangerous operation. But they knew better than to try and talk anyone with the name of Toreus Rhann out of participation in an errand of justice and mercy. Toreus was like his father—an activist and fighter. There was no way they could keep him out.
     They left the decision up to the Emperor. And, of course, the old man was ready to dismiss the whole idea off hand. Until his son had convinced him to let him do it.
     The Emperor gave his consent and the rest was history. Toreus was in and there was no backing out.
     Now Toreus had the feeling that the mysterious Watch wanted him in for their own reasons—whatever they might be.
     The Doom Watch consisted mainly of officers of the Temporal Guard of House Sarkhon—the so called time cops and time troopers—backed up by a network of agents and helpers that covered just about every known universe.
     But despite all of this the Watch and Kothar had prepared him to proceed with caution and safety. They had kept admonishing him that he should not move to his goal like a bull in a crockery shop.
     Break as little as possible and kill as few people as he could.
     Of course Prince Toreus would have liked nothing better than to bust into the Tower of Newer London and rescue Nathaniel. Lead a Force of Thuvian Rangers in there and leave dead Wallace guards strewn all over the place. Maybe even leave the body of whoever Radu had appointed Lord High Executioner hanging on the wall.
     The Prince had no objection to killing when there was no other way. Hell he really didn’t mind killing his enemies at all. Especially people that enjoyed killing and torturing others. As far as he was concerned they failed the human test so why should they be suffered to live.
     But daring commando raids were not to be.
Politics stood in the way. The Chancellor—the head of the government under his father’s empire__ opposed all Pangean military involvement in Arcadia.
     So his job would be to secure the two ducal heirs and the Duchess. Make sure that the King had nothing to hold over Nathaniel’s head in prison.
     Prince Toreus was about to step into the battle field alone. But he would not stay alone. There were two beings that he trusted beyond friendship awaiting him down there on Arcadia.
     He would be joining them as soon as he hit the ground. Or rather as soon as he could get to the Special Ops module positioned at the Newer London Space Freight Yard.
     Shakhorja and Ulysses had been sent along ahead of him in a cargo module that had been outfitted by Imperial Special Operation Forces as a mission support unit.
     Also waiting there would be his armor and his personal weapons. Devices that he had been skilled in the use of since his boyhood.
     And key to the weapons systems at his disposal was the cat. The cat was the Lion Man’s most powerful weapon.
     Right now he felt naked without Shakhorja. But it had not been possible to infiltrate Arcadia under cover with a large saber cat that indicated that he was a Lion Man. So Shakhorja had to be moved in by other means.
     Toreus finished his coffee and glanced up. Two ragged individuals, one female and one male entered the establishment shaking cups. They stumbled from table to table looking for someone to supply them with money to buy drugs.
     Neither of them seemed to notice the Prince nor that the joint was nearly empty of customers.
     They saw Toreus and began to stumble in his direction, cups outstretched.
     Apollo Centaurus’ image appeared.
     “Attention Apollos customers, Apollos is a stupidol free zone. Also panhandling and solicitation is forbidden on the tower station.”
     Tow humanoid robots in police livery with Apollos logo on the chest appeared and escorted the addicts outside.
The Prince frowned.
     [Stupidol addiction is rampant wherever people have lost all hope in life], said the Guider. [That this should happen in a coffee shop with shops all throughout the known cosmos shows just how bad the problem is in Arcadia.]
     [Radu had used the War on Drugs as a means of controlling the populace in the early years of his reign], said Toreus. [It’s typical of his lot to declare war on a social issue that cannot be dealt with by force of arms. The so called war is still being fought and the people are losing it. Even his libertarian pretenses have done nothing to end this farce.]
     [So unfortunately true, warrior. So damned unfortunately true.]
     [Did they have such problems in your time?] Prince Toreus decided to ask.  He had long been trying to piece together the identity of the holo-spirit that spoke from his Guider.
     We had drunken fools and hashish smokers. Such problems have existed in all times], said the voice. [We tended to leave addicts to die in the street.]
     [So what is so different now?]
     [Indeed. By the way nice try, warrior.]
     [I don’t know what you mean], denied Prince Toreus Rhann in mock indignity.
Toreus glanced back toward the window. The Watcher was still there.
     [Are you looking through those big blue eyes, my holographic friend?]
     [Of course, warrior. I too am a Watcher—in a manner of speaking.]
     The Prince tossed his cup into the recycler bin and headed for the door of the café.
     “Have a glorious day,” said Apollo Centaurus.
     [It is time to be going, Ghost. Time to face the deeds ahead of us.]
     He joined the line before the jump connection door. Stepped into the portal of the Quantum Entanglement Tunnel and stepped out of the other end on the ground.
     Stepped into the concourse of the terminal. Sun shined in through the large plate diamond windows of the building. People stood before those windows glaring out with looks of horror on their faces. Save those who were, by profession, immune to the horror of violence,
     No one made a move for the doors__ save Toreus. He moved toward them and they slid aside to grant him exit.
     A bloody knife slid across the pavement and came to rest near his feet. Blood splattered across his tunic.
     He had stepped right into a full blown riot.











Hear now of his father, Toreus the Elder, who built the mighty Empire of Pangea with his mighty hands and brought the peace to Thuvia Land of Lion Men. The mighty boots that he must fill.
The Song of Toreus the Younger, Anonymous

Toreus I Rhann was a legendary figure in the history of the Great Sphere of Terra Prime. As a young man he became a warrior of the Lion Cult of Thuvia and a Ranger of the Thuvian Legion. After a short career as a pirate and mercenary he returned to Thuvia upon learning of the murder of his parents by agents of the then Prince of Thuvia. He killed the offending prince and fled when the prince’s family declared him an outlaw.
It was at that time that he joined up with the legendary warlord Kotharr Khonn and the rebellion against the princes of Pangea.
Hence forward he became the legendary leader of the rebellion and by sword and diplomacy united Pangea into a single empire that only extended to the region of Hydropangea which was ruled over by his cousin Prince Primus Khorim Luther Rhann. A concession that was made for smart political reasons.
It was then that the new princes of Pangea drafted him as Emperor. A position he tried, with limited success, to render obsolescent through much of his remaining life.
Lord of Pangea by Julian Rhann-Khonn









Chapter 2:
 The Emperor

The assassins were already in the Emerald Palace of Thuvia that morning. Using nano treated skin it was simplicity itself for them to disguise their appearances.
They would conceal their presence until it was time to strike. Assuming such disguises was a talent of theirs. It was a feat as easy as breathing for these monsters that looked like men.
Once the target was dispatched they would exfiltrate as quickly and efficiently as possible. If they were captured they would commit suicide so that they would not be able to betray their employers. And the nanites that saturated their bodies would break them down to deny evidence to the opposition.
Now it was only a matter of waiting.

It was a beautiful day in Karhandorr-Karzandorr, the twin cities along the Thuvia River that served as capital of Thuvia and the seat of the Imperial government of Pangea.
A light breeze blew up the Thuvia and the air was rich with the scent of blossoms from the Imperial Gardens on the lower levels of the Emerald Palace, as well as a rich scent of cut grass and fertilizer from the Tower Farms on the roofs of the keeps and halls of the River District.
Most buildings in Pangea had such farms on the roof and the Emerald palace was no exception. The ecology of the Sphere was everyone's business and the Imperial family was no exception.
It rained every night and the water was captured by the tower gardens and filtered through their plant life to the sewers below, where it was further recycled for its use in the eco-system of the plate. There was no such thing as waste water on Terra-Prime.
Toreus I Rhann, Emperor of Pangea, King of Thuvia and Regent of Lions road on a people mover platform across the bridge that spanned the river between the Karzandorr wing of the palace and the Karhandorr wing.
He leaned on the railing of the platform and enjoyed the morning breeze.
With him was his saber cat, Shakhora. The cat was old and kept in shape by extensive rejuvenation treatments. By Saber cat standards he was ancient. But still strong and vital. One day, Toreus knew, he would pass on and with him a piece of Toreus the Emperor. There was no replacing the cat. If the beast were killed in combat then the man would retire from the field and vice versa. It was the ancient way of the Lion Men.
The Emperor road this way every morning. It was a part of his morning routine. First he would awake and put in three hours in the training gym in his manor at the very peak of the West Wing of the Emerald Palace. The nanotech treatments he took frequently kept his body young and virile but the body still required training to keep its edge.
Then a shower and he would dress and eat a hearty breakfast. Eggs__ over easy__ bacon, hash browns, whole wheat toast and marmalade. And coffee. He had become addicted to this drink while fighting in far off Nubia where they grew the best, richest coffee beans on the Sphere. Much better than the Akaians__ whom had stolen their beans from Nubia ages ago. Sauropod dung my arse. Dinosaur shit has no magic in it. It is just dinosaur shit.
Usually he would admire the scenery as he crossed the bridge, but today he didn’t have time to admire the skyline of the twin cities. As much as he might like to.
The bridge seemed exposed. A likely place for an assassination. But this was a deception.
The bridge was wrapped in a tunnel made up of toroids of carbon plasma shields so that anyone on it was safe from snipers and air attack. Robot guns on turrets also guarded the walk so that anyone bold enough to try an attack would pay for it with his/her life.
As he rode along on his platform, leaning on the rail and smelling the scents of the gardens planted along either side of the route he was as safe as if he were in his own study in the residence of the palace. He could enjoy a short time out of doors while relaxing and thinking free__ just a little__ from the burden of the Imperial Crown that he had worn for these past forty standard years.
It would have been simple for him to commute via jump connection. Simple and quick. But he could not enjoy the climate if he did.
In the decades of his reign these cities had grown back to their pre-cataclysm status as true metropolises. In fact they had grown together from the shabby slums and ruins they had been before a young Thuvian warrior had led a revolt against the Princes, Warlords and Corporate Overlords that had ruled the nation of Thuvia and the plate of Pangea for so many decades.
Now towers, apartment complexes and domes lined the horizon and there were parks, terrace farms and terraced gardens. Cities of twenty and thirty-five million souls with museums and theaters and sports arenas that always made their names in any list of places to see. And standing in the center of it all was the Old Castle hill from which rose the Space Elevator of Thuvia, one of the busiest ports in the entire Sphere. And beneath it the Space Fountain of Thuvia, gateway to the stars and worldlines beyond Terra-Prime. Gateway too much of explored creation. As well as access the shield bases of the Imperial Star Fleet, the mightiest of the Sphere.
What Thuvia makes the Sphere takes the saying goes. It was part pride and much truth.
[How did I get here?] Thought the Emperor as his people mover glided along. He had by reflex activated the thought cast link to Shakhora.
He often did that. A lion man’s cat was an extension of his personality. Almost a part of him.
[You started out as a young man seeking high adventure], said the cat.
[You mean I ran away from home and joined first a pirate crew and then a mercenary band.]
[We ran away from home], corrected the saber cat. [You were already a lion man at that age.]
[Of course], agreed the Chief of State for the Pangean Empire. [We were young fools.]
      [We were], agreed Shakora.
[Then of course], continued saber cat. [They killed your father on orders of the pretender prince of Thuvia. This being the final act in the long line of treachery against your family on the part of Gharvin and the other poser princes.]
[Reinard Gharvin], said Toreus. The name still filled him with anger. [That black hearted bastard of bustards.]
This thought brought pain to his heart as well. He had loved his father Odysseus Rhann. At that time the only human he loved more was his mother. And she had died in the same criminal massacre as his Da and several other members of the Rhann tribe. By act of the same crew that had deposed his grandfather, Ulysses Rhann from the Thuvian throne and shattered the First Pangean Empire.
He had felt so very alone on that day so many decades earlier. Himself and the Great Warcat.  Two creatures with a single soul. Both linked in a system of hyper-mentation. That was the way of the lion people. That was the way it had been since their ancestors had come here to Terra-Prime—refugees from a dying world. Primitive men from a primitive Earth rescued from extinction by the Sidairian Preservers.
There had been no hyper-mentation in those days. Back then the lions were well trained primitives and not genetically and cybernetically augmented masterpieces. But the teams had been well coordinated and well disciplined.
Then the felinoids of Capronea came along and the cats were engineered into the marvels they now were.
[I killed the men who did that], the Emperor said.
[We killed them], corrected the cat.
[But the scoundrels worked for Reinard Gharvin, Prince of Thuvia.]
      [And we killed him as well. And became outlaws on the run.]
[Back to high adventure], said the Emperor.
[And a chance meeting with Kothar Khonn—known then as Kothar Hood.]
The Emperor nodded and smiled. [A meeting with fate. With a man who had patterned his career after a legendary brigand on the home world of the Arcadians.]
Kothar Khonn had been an outlaw too. Wanted for treasonous activities against several princes of Pangea. He had long before taken up the battle of his ancestors after reading the Adventures of Robin Hood that had been among books his father, an avid bibliophile had purchased for his collection from an Arcadian lord.
It was Kothar who reminded him of the legend of the Rhann family. Of the glory days before the Cataclysm when Rhann had been a name to be reckoned with all across the Great Sphere of Terra-Prime.
It was Kothar who had introduced him to the Guider gem and it was the Guider gem that had introduced him to the Ghost. And it was the Ghost that he was on his way to see now.
Rhanns had always carried Guiders in the days of his grandfather’s rule and ever since the first Rhanns had been made princes of Thuvia by the Pangean Plate Charter. The Guiders were made of Seraffian holographic memory crystals and had been presented to the Rhanns by the Seraffians and the Antlantean Time Sorcerers of House Sarkhon.
They had worn the Guider and communed with the hologods since that time. The poser princes of Thuvia had disposed of the tradition.
     The Emperor was about to commune with one of the hologods this morning in the great audience hall set up in the East Wing__ the Thrall Khonn wing__ of the palace.
The people mover glided up to the station platform and stopped. An Imperial Marine opened the gate of the platform and snapped to attention, saluting. The Emperor Toreus returned the salute, though as Emperor he was under no obligation to return the salute of an underling, and departed the platform headed for his destination with a steady stride, four marines falling into an escort formation around the Emperor and his cat.
The Emperor stepped through the doors of the holo-chamber at the heart of the Karzandhorr wing of the palace and walked across the walkway that led to the audience throne. The Marines remained outside.
     The ancient computers that guarded the room would allow entry only to himself and anyone who accompanied him. To enter the chamber any other way would require a large aperture laser weapon backed up by the power plant of a starship. It was shielded with a superconductor material that drank up energy like a sponge and turned it into power to run the chamber. This being an invention that the ancients had incorporated into their Genesis Bunkers__ one of which resided deep below Fountain Hill.
This wing was called the Thrall Khonn wing and not without reason. This had been the site of Thrall Khonn's Keep in ancient times. Thrall Khonn himself had lived here and ruled from here in a time when the city across the river had been a mere fishing village and farmer’s market. The current palace had been constructed here after the Unification in honor of that ancient ruler.
Thrall Khonn was the great philosopher/wizard/warrior king of ancient times. He was one of the greatest rulers of Thuvia. One unproved story claimed that Thrall Khonn had lived on the original world from which the Pangeans had come. That he was an original colonist of this plate. But there was no proof of that. There was historical evidence that his father had been the great Starkiller and his brother one of the earliest Toreuses. Their family had been on Terra-Prime for at least a thousand years prior to Thrall Khonn’s time.
The cat followed the Emperor and sat beside the throne.
The chamber was off and the great wall was a black space that seemed to extend on into infinity. That was only an optical illusion, he knew, but it was somehow appropriate. Here the illusion was as important as the reality. This was a doorway into infinity.
The ages spoke from here, the voice of the closest thing as there would ever be to gods and goddesses. The minds preserved in the holospace membrane of the Cosmos. The very backbone of all physical reality.
It was said that the Seraffians were the soldiers of the Gods themselves. Nobody could disprove that and so it was an article of faith among those not comfortable with conventional religious doctrines. It was believed that each universe had a God and that those Gods were advanced beings served by mysterious angels.
     Only primitive cultures believed in one single, solitary deity whose existence preceded the Universe that He ruled. Most deities and universes came into existence at the same time__ one an intrinsic part of the other. Or so the Theologians argued. Not that theologians were anything akin to scientists. They were philosophers and philosophers were merely bullshit artists with polish.
Toreus I Rhann found it more comfortable to believe that the Gods had once—long ago—been mortal and that fact was their incentive to watch over the affairs of intelligent beings everywhere in time and space. Otherwise he had no time for them.
He could not believe in the God that always was and always will be. There were too many universes for that to be even likely. Besides the god that many religions presented seemed to be a raging, jealous psychopath.
The Emperor was here to speak to one of the hologods that he often called on for guidance. To be exact he was here to talk to Thrall Khonn, one of Kothar Khonn’s and his own ancestors that in death had joined the holo-pantheon in holospace.
He sat on the throne and closed his eyes, letting the Guider gem in his headpiece reach out and shake hands with holospace. The crystal machine was a giant holospace amplifier chamber.
Holospace was the master realm of the cosmos. The Emperor was not sure that he himself even understood it. All he knew was that everything was reflected in two dimensions, including imprints of personae living and dead. It was as if it were the computer memory for everything, all the forces, all the particles, the strings and branes__ everything.
     And interestingly the most advanced AI units known worked on quantum holography__ the Seraffian gems. QH depended on holospace.
The tone that signaled connection chimed. A huge bell that rang throughout the Thrull Khonn wing of the palace. Like the bells in ancient Celestial temples. The Way philosophy of the Celestials was, as far as the Emperor Toreus knew the only belief system that even came close to holospace theory.
The Emperor opened his eyes. Seraffian holographic bees emerged from the columns and swirled around the room, sparkling like tiny stars in the darkness that now filled the space.
     These bees were able to modulate the Mass field__ what was known as the Higgs Field to scientists on many Earths__ and basically create particles. But in this room they usually just produced images in three dimensions.
From those bees colors exploded and swirled on the wall and coalesced into the three dimensional image of a cloudy sky. A giant silhouette appeared before him out of the clouds. It coalesced and took on depth and color until it finally became the image of a man dressed the way warriors had dressed long ago in the Pre-Cataclysmic Age. A man with a strong chin covered with a black beard. Crossing his luminescent green left eye was a battle scar. Back then no warrior would dare to have his scars healed. Scars and tattoos were considered the marks of bravery and manhood. They were worn with pride. Worn for life.
As opposed to current times when young hipsters wore tattoos and scars to impress their contemporaries. Just another set of vulgar hipster behaviors that stood for nothing greater than complacency and conformity.
On its head the image wore the same iron and gold crown as the Emperor Toreus. It too held a Guider Gem that twinkled and wavered with varying colors. The crown had been removed from the hidden tomb of Thrall when the Empire had been reborn and, subsequently, a magnificent mausoleum had been built to commemorate this most well-known of ancient emperors.
This image was Thrall Khonn the Emperor of the ancient Pangean Empire. The Empire that Toreus I Rhann had rebuilt in his youth—with the guidance of this same hologod.
Thrall Khonn had been a greatly skilled warrior and a wise philosopher in the ways of the world and the ways of the Cosmos. He had been a soldier and a statesman second to none.
The ancient ruler had not been a great believer in the Gods but had become a holo-god in his passing from this dimension. Not that many theologians believed that hologods were true Gods—the kind who’s title was capitalized.
There were still many Sunday sermons across the Sphere that claimed that the hologods were idolatry and that worshipping them was wrong. Most of the hologods would agree with that. Most were not in the business of being worshipped. Being worshipped was pointless. It gave priests a job and provided reasons for fanatics to cause atrocities. But little else.
But since they were accessible they sufficed as worship focuses for many. Just as some peasants regarded the Time Sorcerers as gods__ despite the Sorcerer’s protests to the contrary.
Religion was always strange and confusing to the Emperor. He preferred rational thinking and a healthy dose of skepticism. Science, technology and correctly applied knowledge had never let him down. If one depended on luck and magic one might end up dead.
The Emperor Toreus nodded in salute as did Shakhora.
[Greetings Toreus Rhann], boomed a deep thought transmission voice. [Greetings Shakhora Rhann-Shin, Monarch of Warcats.]
[We are at the beginning of our quest], the Emperor thought cast to the holo-god.
[I know, Toreus. Your namesake is involved.]
[As you suggested he should be.]
The giant hologram nodded. [But you still have misgivings, son of Rhann?]
[I fear for my son and for the ramifications if the Chancellor and his supporters were to become aware of his involvement in the Arcadian Civil War.]
The hologod smiled. It was a smile of little mirth and much weariness. The smile of someone who knows much about life even though he no longer lives it personally. [Gharvin cannot forget that you killed his great uncle and ended his chances of being Prince of Thuvia.]
[It is not that simple], said Toreus Senior. [He is also a loyal patriot to Thuvia and Pangea. And no lover of war.]
[Is that your adopted son, Theseus’, assessment of the man?]
[It is mine], growled the Emperor.
The hologod nodded.
[But Theseus is not the son we must discuss], said Thrall Khonn.
[No, indeed not. His life is not in danger. Gharvhan is not that crazy. Though others in the Court may be.]
[Aye, the subject for this day is the son of your blood, Toreus II. And his test. It is important that your son, prove himself worthy to take his place among the heroes of this coming age. That he walks the Great Sphere of Terra Prime in support of those who will build a new future for all the people of this giant world.]
The Emperor nodded. [I wish for nothing more than to see my son reach his full potential—to become the man I know he can be. But there are those in my government who will see this as me violating the Treaty and risking a great war like the one that nearly destroyed Terra-Prime so long ago.]
Thrall Khonn shook his head with that same weariness. A holo-bee flashed in his eye as if a tear of light had flared up and quickly faded. How can a holographic immortal feel such sadness and weariness? Wondered the Emperor of Pangea.
[Because I know full well that the cobbled together compromises of scared people can lead nowhere but to pain. Especially when those compromises are placed in the hands of evil idiots. The Shaitannus Treaty is a scourge and a curse upon the Great Sphere and upon all the worldlines. It leaves too much power in the hands of cursed House Shaitannus and their allies__ those dimwits that are Chronomages in name and not in honor. As long as it stands Terra-Prime will not progress, not evolve, and not become the thing the Builders intended it to be. You must calm your fears and stand tall against the coming storm, knowing that no matter how slavish your government is to the Treaty that this storm will come. Unless you and your kind stand against it the storm will consume you all. Unless he proves his worthiness to others then that storm will consume your namesake and destroy your Empire.
The Emperor nodded. [I will do what is right. I will stand before the storm and fight the good fight. So swears Toreus I Rhann, Emperor of Pangea.]
[And your son and heir?]
[I do not know.]
[And hence he must be tested. There is no other way.]
The Emperor looked down. There was no arguing with it. Junior must be tested and he must be tested against the only standard that would do. The standard set by himself, the Emperor of Pangea.
Thrall Khonn smiled and this time the smile was filled with love and warmth, with joy and happiness. Perhaps even a little humor.
[Fear not, son of Rhann. If he takes after his father he will do you proud.]
[And if he does not.]
[Then he is not worthy of his name or your concern.]















The Court

There were not that many people present in the Imperial Court this day. Most subjects had personal H-PADs__ the folding holographic display comm units that nearly everyone carried, unless they made exclusive use of dataspex.
Security for entry into the Court was a pain anyway. No one got this close to the Emperor without a complete and thorough scan.
It was more for their protection than for Toreus'—or so the Emperor was fond of thinking.
If anyone attacked him Shakhora would rip them to shreds. Of this he was certain. And if the Lion did not deal with them the Imperial Marine guards stationed around the hall would.
The Imperial Court was a jade lined room with rows upon rows of comfortable seats in the gallery and long tables for the petitioners to sit at while they waited. It was also equipped with holographic stages for those too far away and with too little time to travel here to read their petitions.
Before the dais were the chairs for members of the Parliament and representatives of the Court and at the center of the dais were the thrones for the Emperor and Empress. There was also a third throne for the Imperial Heir.
The walls were lined with portraits of great heroes of the Unification War and there were statues of the ancient gods of freedom, justice and law at three points near the entrances to the circular room that was laid out beneath a high dome. Holographic statues that shimmered like Seraffians. The image of the Gods of Light and Darkness.
The lawyer currently standing on a holostage reading his petition before the Great Court droned on and on. It was a petition on Milk Price Supports. Which the Emperor had not the slightest control over, since it was the province of the Ministry of Agriculture, which was under the Parliament and the Chancellor—the elected head of the government.
All prices were artificial in the modern economy. With no shortages there was no want and how much something cost was up to the greed of the seller and the willingness of the buyer.
He supposed it was important. Tower farmers were looked on as the backbone of Pangean society. Don’t let them kid you, he mused, farming is the oldest profession not the other one. And food, goods and energy were so prevalent on the Sphere that prices were always dropping. There was no scarcity here and the economy was only a symbol of the competition between plates that, had the Sidairian Builders had their way, would have been united and not in competition.
Last year the dairy farmers had demanded a tax on milk produced by home food replicators and had gotten it. No one could say that Pangea was not fair to its tradesmen. Even though capitalism was irrelevant on the Sphere most places still paid homage to it and went through some, if not all, of its most annoying customs. Some people, like the Gearists worshipped it like it was a god. Pitiable fools. But so far the Gearists had had little inroad into Pangea.
The truth was there was no shortage on Terra-Prime. And without shortage there was little need for economic competition. But people clung to the old reasoning anyway. Some memes are hard to eliminate, especially after they have been in the minds of human kind for thousands of years.
Theoretically the Emperor could decree that there should be price supports on dairy products__ but if he did that a storm of protest from all the other segments of the tower farm industry would be launched. As well as demands for more price supports and taxes. So it was best to let the Chancellor take care of it. Let that worthy take the blame. There was always a chance that the Parliament would take a vote of no confidence and the Emperor would be rid of the troubling man. Perhaps he, the Emperor would have an opportunity to not confirm the election on grounds of the national interest. Something that had never happened because all previous Chancellors had been popular with the people and with the Princes.
Somehow circumventing the people’s will seemed dishonest and unworthy.
The Emperor was not required to hear the petition read aloud in the Imperial Court. The rules required that the petitioner read it all and that the reading be entered into the record. Providing work for lawyers__ especially those with a mind on running for public office.
So the Emperor Toreus I Rhann sat on his throne in the center of the Court, in the Emerald Palace, and listened, as his Capronean lion, Shakhora sat to his right and his Empress, Cassandra, sat to his left with her lioness, Latella.
He never sat in court without the lions and his wife—who had become a lion woman after their marriage. She was his source of comfort and wisdom. And the lions tended to make his enemies nervous.
But as he sat there listening his mind and heart were elsewhere. His mind was on the events in Arcadia and his son. By now Junior must have arrived in newer London. Which meant that any time now the shit could hit the recycler.
Below him and to his right on the dais sat the Chancellor—old weasel faced Jhanis Gharvhan. And next to him his chief clerk—the Count of Armandy—Theseus Rhann—Toreus’ adopted son.
His foster son worked for the Old Weasel and that was complicated enough. That Theseus worked for the Emperor’s political enemy had caused both the Emperor and Count Theseus a lot of consternation.
But it was necessary—or so His Imperial Majesty told himself. It helped secure any breach that there was between the Chancellor’s office and the Imperial Throne. Especially since the Old Rat saw Theseus as a friend and confident.
And it was a great opportunity for his son, who held a Doctorate of Law from the Grande University of Carlton, one of the youngest men ever to attain such an honor.
But everyone believed that Count Theseus was a traitor to his Da and that had to be unquestioned—for the time being. As long as the Chancellor bore watching.
Gharvhan was the head of the government, scion of an old powerful family from the time before the Second Empire. He had been a grand nephew of the Prince—Reiner Gharvhan—that young Toreus had slain. Translation: he really believed that he should be Emperor and not Toreus. He, like most of the Old Nobility, resented the fact that Toreus Rhann had chosen his new Princes from among the freedom fighters and had taken the titles away from the former rulers as punishment for the crimes they had committed in the time between Empires.
Well, thought the Emperor. I did not fight to unite the kingdoms of Pangea only to have it all come a cropper at the hands of the men whose ancestors had screwed the pooch to begin with.
They should consider themselves fortunate that I did not put them all to death as has been the wish of many of my supporters in the Unification.
His power might be severely truncated by a constitutional monarchy but he was not an idiot.
Such was the business of government in Pangea these days. Most of it was handled by many little departments and courts. But the Grand Imperial Court—a carryover from ancient times—still remained because of its ceremony more than its usefulness as a tool of administration. It gave the people a chance to see their Emperor at work and that was the main point.
Most of the people lining up here were lawyers. One really had to hire a Doctor of Law to read their petition before the court. It had been a long time since a common ordinary person could read a petition.
Lawyers had a monopoly on government, this was true almost anywhere one could name. Governments were, after all, laws and not the people who enforced them. Though many foolish people imagined that it was the other way around.
Better lawyers than priest and generals, thought the Emperor.
All around the room floated bot cams—little machines that recorded the pageantry for posterity and allowed the common man with any interest in government and politics to view what was happening via the webs. This was something that the Emperor had insisted on in the Constitution. Freedom of Speech. Let every man’s voice be heard—even if they did not always show the Emperor and his family all due respect. And even if they were full of shit. You won’t learn the truth unless you hear the falsehoods as well.
And he, for the life of him, could not see how any citizen could not be interested in the powers that ran his/her life. Disinterest in government was not merely foolish__ it was deadly dangerous. Suicidal.
The Emperor gave a hard sidewise look at the Chancellor. Gharvhan was a lawyer. Yes, of course he was. Another reason that Gharvhan felt that he should be ruler of Pangea.
None of this would have bothered the Emperor one jot had it not been for the problems brewing in Arcadia. Problems that he could not in good conscience ignore. Matters that his greatest advisor—Thrall Khonn—had put him to the task of facing. Problems that he had to deal with in secret, using his own personal resources and that of volunteers and mercenaries. As well as the resources of that most secret of secret organization—the Doom Watch.
The thought of the Watch sent shivers up and down the Emperor’s spine. Though he realized the need for secrecy and covert operations in government he was not a very big fan of it. And sometimes he felt the Watch was much too powerful for its own or anyone’s good.
If only this droning lawyer could get done with his petition. He was the last of the day.
These are the prices that we pay for the blessing of democracy, thought the Emperor.
An absolute monarch can do anything that he wishes to do. And often they have been known to do the wrong thing—over and over again. A constitutional monarch must obey the will of the people and the people’s elected representatives. Even if they are fools like Gharvhan.
Or unless he is a moron like Radu Wallace and his two nephews who looked on democracy as a threat to their personal ambitions, a threat that they can abandon in favor of thuggery and the lazy philosophical meanderings of some Earth moron drunk on a silly religion that she calls a philosophy.
The Emperor settled down and waited—patiently. There was nothing else he could do. Radu had probably felt the same way about all these obstacles and ceremonies. And how had he handled it? He outlawed them. The silly arsehole.
Cassandra smiled at him from her throne. He smiled back. She took away the pain of being a ruler. Radu had never married. His sexual orientation would not have allowed it__ not by the retrograde teachings of the church to which he was master. Arcadian law, designed and approved by the Arcadian Church, forbade the marriage of people of the same gender. That had not been any cause of their schism with the Universal Church of Atlantis. The Church of Arcadia and the Universalists__ their worst enemies__ were in accord on that bit of trivia masquerading as holy law.
And when he needed heirs to fill his throne after his death he had adopted those two idiots, Wesley__ an evil narcissist__ and James__ a drug abusing fool. Those two were good arguments for abortion.
The Emperor tried not to think of the grand violations of high principles that were occurring in Arcadia at this very moment. And about the seed of his loins who had volunteered to go and risk his life to try and put things right.
No not true. The Emperor had maneuvered the Crown Prince into this mission because a hologod thought it was necessary to test him lest he become another Wesley or James Wallace.
And the son of his best friend—a Doom Watch agent—had helped.
That was the hard part. Allowing one’s son—the heir to all this—to go into harm’s way. While he sat here and listened to a speech on milk price supports.


Theseus Rhann sat beside his boss and pretended to listen to the petition. But, like his Da, his mind was far away on other matters.
He knew that his father and his younger brother were up to something. The Old Man was always up to something. Rhanns do not sit back and let history happen to them. Even he a Rhann by adoption. They are at its forefront__ swords swinging.
The first clue was at the Rugby match that he attended before coming here.  Theseus loved the game of rugby like his brother. Though he shunned the game of power suit rugby in favor of the traditional game. Toreus played both with equal skill and savor. Theseus only played the traditional game as a proud amateur.
When he had seen the Prince’s power suit wobble and fall his heart had jumped into his mouth. When he realized the figure inside the suit was not his brother but an LM he felt just a little angry.
There was only one reason an LM would be there at that game. To be seen in public as the Prince of Thuvia.
And why? Because the Prince was elsewhere on covert business. Theseus knew this and knowing it kept it from his boss the Chancellor. To reveal that piece of information would have made him a true traitor__ whether he agreed with the actions of his kin or not.
Theseus was not privileged to know what the Privy Council's plans might be. It was not considered safe for him to know any secret operations that the Emperor and his cronies were involved in. He was too close to the Chancellor and liable to let something slip. Or so it was believed.
Theseus did not agree with that assessment but he had no other choice but to go along with it. His job was much too important for him to do otherwise.






The Privy Council

Eventually the court adjourned and the Emperor departed to attend his meeting with the Privy Council. The meeting that he considered much more important not only to Pangea but to the Sphere in general.
The Emperor and Empress crossed the bridge to the other side of the river and walked down the hall to the Privy Council Chamber which was near the Emperor’s Grande Office. The presence of the lions cleared loiterers__ and would be mendicants__ out of the way. Most people had grown up in the city and tower farms away from the wild beasts. Therefore most people were afraid of them. Especially these creatures that had been engineered with minds equal to that of men.
And if they were not afraid of them then they were afraid of the House Guard that was composed of retired Lion Men, Rangers and Imperial Marines__ the Marines being the latest addition to the Guard after their excellent service to the Empire in the Pirate Wars.
He could tell that there was much on Cassandra’s mind and he could guess what was foremost. He had known this woman for a long time. She was a part of him__ as much as was Shakhora.
When they had met he had been an outlaw on the run and she had been one of the Magdalene Sisters that had given shelter to outlaws that opposed the corrupt Princes of Pangea. The Magdalene Sisters practiced both charity and war__ practiced both well.
He had fallen in love with her the first time they had met. He had been wounded and she had healed him__ yet another Magdalene skill. He had never stopped loving her all these years.
Pangean custom allowed powerful men to have concubines in addition to their wives. But the Emperor had never felt the need for that. His wife was more than enough for him.
[You’re concerned about Junior], he thought-cast to the Empress.
[As are you, my love], she cast back.
[Nonsense, he’s a well-trained warrior], the Emperor said, by way of denial. [He can take care of himself.]
She said nothing to that. She had been a warrior’s wife for too many years. Was a warrior herself. She too had fought in the Unification. She was used to war and its hardships from both the front lines and the home front. She was not necessarily happy about it. But it was a fact that one had to accept.
[I am a mother and he will always be my little boy], she said.
The Emperor did not disagree. There was never any disagreeing with a woman on that account.
Guards of the Lion Brigade of the Imperial Marine Corps stood at either side of the door to the Privy Council Chamber. This unit__ the only unit in the Marine Corps trained in the handling of lions__ had earned this honor after they had helped the Emperor and his sons battle the pirate league of Hydropangea. The only units tougher than these marines in the military of Pangea were the Thuvian Rangers and the Lion Men. It was widely believed that no fighting unit in the Great Sphere was tougher and more resilient than the Rangers or the Lion Men of Thuvia. But the Marines came close.
During the Unification the first Pangean Marine Corps had been trained by Toreus’ cousin, Primus Khorum I Prince of Hydropangea. They still bore the training of Primus’ Aquanaut fighters but without the augmented amphibian abilities of those undersea warriors.
The Marines snapped to attention and saluted the Emperor. Their cats bowed this heads in honor.
       He returned the salute and entered the Chamber whose doors slid open to admit him and his consort.

The assassins stood in the hall watching the target. Now was not the time to strike. But the time would come and they would be ready.
They were Tauran Hemophages after all. They were born to the hunt, the kill and the careful wait that preceded it.


The Privy Council looked grim as the Imperial couple entered the big conference room. It was as if the Emperor and Empress had entered a funeral viewing.
All of these people were tried and true friends and allies of the Emperor. They were the trusted advisors of the Toreus I Rhann. And they were gathered around a table that had been made from the great doors of the Starkiller Keep.
Supreme Marshal Kothar Khonn, Chief Military Agent of the Empire, and the father of Kothar Khonn the junior, was there, dressed in his dark blue, gold braided uniform. He always looked as if he were ready for a parade these days, thought the Emperor. His job was serious but not that serious. He longed for bygone days to see his old friend in combat garb or just ordinary casual clothes.
But those days were far behind them, the ruler of Pangea reminded himself. Their lives were framed by responsibilities now. It was their turn to give orders and let the younger men face the risks.
Yes Kothar was the Emperor’s closest and oldest friend. The Khonn’s had been aligned with family Rhann for centuries. It was said that where there was a Rhann there was a Khonn.  Always.
But there had been a time, not so long ago, when the two families were not linked in any way. It was the meeting of Toreus Senior and Kothar Senior that had changed all of that.
He had met Kothar when they had both been Outlaws on the run from the Pretender Princes’ Assassin Militia.
It was Kothar that had reminded him of his legacy and had helped him turn their outlaw status into rebel status against the Princes of Pangea.
The relationship of Khonn and Rhann had long ago been tested during the Second Pangean War under Ulysses Rhann and the First War under Ulysses father Odysseus. And under the Sphere War under Agamemnon Rhann.
Trying times had tested harshly that alliance and proved it again and again.
And so it was in another trying time that the two men had fallen in together and changed the world.
Kothar had set the young Toreus straight and they had been allies side by side ever since.
Not that it had always been smooth sailing between the two. They had not always agreed and sometimes there had been anger and resentment, Kothar had had a crush on Cassandra long ago. It had ended but had been on a heading of blows while it lasted. Then there was the other bone of contention between the two comrades.
It had been Kothar that had suggested Toreus as the Emperor to the members of the Unified Council of Princes that became the House of Princes in the Parliament after the Unification.
Toreus had forgiven him for that though he had really not wished to be the Emperor of the new Empire. He had been willing to accept the Princeship of Thuvia. That was an obligation he could not shrug aside. The Rhanns had been princes of Thuvia going back to the dawn of the region. But not Emperor of the whole damned plate of Pangea. Perhaps, he often thought, that was why he had mediated the transfer of Hydropangea to his cousin. Less to rule.
But there was no time to regret that fate. Now was the beginning of new hard times. Now was the time for all good men of Terra-Prime to challenge the Shaitannus Treaty that put so much of their fate in the hands of questionable people. People like the Karzas and the Shaitannuses among others.
The Emperor knew he would need Kothar and his son and namesake at his side. And that his own namesake was being put into the center of the test of fire. That no one named Rhann—let alone Toreus Rhann—could be left out of the fight that was coming.
Next to Kothar Khonn sat Marshal David Greystone—namesake and descendant of the original General David Greystone. His ancestor had been a hero of the Trongoroth Incursion and David was the head of the Emperor’s Secret Service, known as The Lion Claw.
The Lion Claw had no official existence under Pangean law. It was an ad hoc organization and a rival of the Imperial Secret Intelligence Agency (ISIA) which did have a legal existence and served the Parliament and the Chancellorship__ with edited reports for the Emperor.  It was considered a storm wall against the Emperor__ a damned silly notion. But, despite a silly notion held by some idiots, a secret intelligence agency was not really cut out to run a government. And more often than not they performed tasks put to them by mutual agreement of both the Crown and the Parliament.
But Greystone had long ago managed to penetrate the ISIA with his moles and cronies and so the Parliament’s National Security Apparatus did supply uncensored information to the Lion Claw—like it as not.
And since the Lion Claw was deeply in bed with the Doom Watch the Claw was easily the most powerful intelligence agency in Pangea. So take that Mr. Chancellor.
Next to Greystone sat Luthorr Morningstar, the chief of the Emperor’s Security Service. Another shadow organization that had no official existence.
Luthorr had been chief of the rebel air force during the Unification. He had been a fighter pilot and an ace. After the war he had served as Air Marshal of the Imperial Aerospace Force.
The Security Service—known as Lamplight—was in charge of keeping an eye on the Emperor’s domestic enemies though it also did some work off-plate via its attaches at the various embassies.
It was the Emperor’s least favorite agency. He did not relish the thought of spying on his own subjects__ but he did acknowledge its necessity. Just because someone was a Pangean did not make them a good guy.
Lamplight agents could not make arrests and were dependent on the Imperial Police Force and its Branch for Internal Security in such matters.
     The Branch had a broad mandate to spy on Pangean citizens in matters involving the Imperial Security of the realm. It was a leftover from bygone days but nonetheless a necessary one. A lot of the least pleasant activities in life are necessary. He had learned that a long time ago.
Morningstar had been Director General of the Imperial Police before his retirement. He still maintained friends in that agency and could count on the DIS to support him in his duties to the Emperor. DIS agents tended to be loyal to the Imperial Throne as a matter of patriotic fervor. They tended to be recruited from schools, police agencies and military units that tended to have a tradition of such loyalty.
Morningstar had been a Thuvian Ranger in his youth before volunteering for the Aerospace Force. The Rangers were a unit lauded and feared for their loyalty to the Crown. Toreus’ great grandfather had formed the unit. And out of the Rangers had grown the Lion Men as an official unit of the Pangean Armed Forces. And members of those units had always been top candidates for other Special Forces and special police units in the realm.
Next to Morningstar sat General Lucas Tull, of the Pangean Imperial Special Forces Command—a Thuvian Ranger whose great cat—Linnaeus—sat by his side.
Linnaeus was a Pangean lion—a rarity among the Lion Men who favored Capronean Smilodon. The lion looked at the Emperor and lowered his head in respect.
There is no greater loyalty than that, though Toreus Senior.
As the Emperor entered a cloaked figure turned from the window and looked in his direction. He had not seen the figure until it moved. That damned cloak generated camouflage and the person who wore it was an expert in the furtive arts.
They are never seen unless they wish to be, thought the Emperor. And never heard unless they wish to be. If they were not on our side they would scare me__ and I do not frighten easily.
Arenjun Sarkhon was a Chronomage, though Arenjun preferred Time Sorcerer to that title. Quantum mages and wizards were common throughout the Cosmos. But Time Sorcerers were unique to Atlantean ancestry and that alone made them uncommon.
Tauran wizards and Magdalene witches could be Chronomages. But those groups lacked the prestige and honor of the Atlantean Time Sorcerers.
Arenjun was one of Toreus’ oldest allies__ dare he say friend.
A tall man with intense, piercing eyes and salt and peeped hair and beard. There was a white streak in his hair from front to back along the part__ that was common among members of House Sarkhon. The Emperor suspected it was an affectation.
     The facial features reflected a strong family resemblance. Portraits of old Harlann had much those same features__ as did Zachariah and others the Emperor could name from that august clan. Those same blue eyes that seemed to stare right into one. Like the eyes of a Seraffian he had once seen__ sans the unnatural glow.
There was a rumor that many members of that great Atlantean house came from alternate worldlines. But the Emperor had no proof of this. It made his head hurt to think of it. Like those cabbies that the Doom Watch used for intelligence support and special action__ the family Vincenzo. Ringers from alternate worldlines who regarded one another as family.
Even if they were your friends one never got used to Time Sorcerers. Like most Atlanteans they were a strange and eldritch breed of human—if indeed they could be considered human at all. Their kind had taken many evolutionary and gengineered steps above normal, wild type humans. They might well be the Gods that many peasant cults proclaimed them. And their society was at least one hundred and fifty thousand years older than any other society of modern type humans.
And according to the Shaitannus Treaty, that long ago ended the war over Terra Prime amongst the Elder Races, no Time Sorcerer was to hold property or rank on the Sphere. So everything that Arenjun did here was unofficial, off the record, clandestine.
Officially he was a rogue member of House Sarkhon—a leaderless ronin to use the Nipponesian term. But who was to say how much truth that description truly held?
All the Emperor knew was that the Time Sorcerer and some of his kin had often come through with valuable help for the House of Rhann. And that the Doom Watch and House Sarkhon were inseparable. It had been founded by either one of the Harlanns or Bernards.
“Welcome, Your Highnesses,” said Kothar as the Emperor and Empress entered. Kothar often called the Emperor Tor or Pilgrim when they were alone, but never in front of the public. Not even the Privy Council. He called him those names less and less as time went on. There was a gulf growing between the old friends. It saddened Toreus.
Everyone stood, except Arenjun, who was already on his feet. Not that he would have stood had he not been. One does not expect an Atlantean wizard to stand when you enter a room—no matter who you are.
Time Sorcerers did not seem to like to sit either. Always in motion were the Temporum magi. Always on their feet. Men and women who were clearly aware that every action affects the future.
“Our special agent has arrived in Arcadia,” continued the Supreme Marshal.
The Emperor and Cassandra exchanged looks but not thought casts. The special agent was their son. They were both awash with pride and fear at the news.
The Emperor took his seat at the head of the table. Cassandra sat to his right and the lions took two divans behind them. Ever watchful.
The Time Sorcerer took a seat at the opposite end of the table. Was he shifting the head of the table to that end? Wondered the Emperor. He supposed it did not matter. We are all caught in the Atlanteans’ ancient affairs. Their ancient rivalries and quests. There is no escaping it. It even affects the other elder races of the Cosmos. Just ask the Sidairians. Or the equally ancient Taurans, who had originated on Atlantis but seldom referred to themselves as Atlanteans, preferring the name of their home continent.
Perhaps only the Seraffians are unaffected. But don’t bet on it.
“I am pleased to see you here, Lord Doctor Arenjun,” the Emperor said nodding to the Sorcerer.
“I would not miss it, Your Imperial Highness. Especially since my best student is involved in this tricky business in Arcadia.”
Arenjun had been Toreus Junior's tutor and instructor in his pre-university years. Much of what Junior was could be laid at the wizard's doorstep. That and Kothar Senior and General Tigris Malm of the Order of the Lion.
“Then let us proceed,” said the Emperor Toreus.
“Sir David, “said Kothar. “Would you begin the briefing?”
The head of the Lion Claw stood, looking down at the holographic data display desk top in front of him.
“As you know, several weeks ago, the Duke of Taylor, Nathaniel Taylor, spoke out against the continued erosion of civil rights under the reign of Radu Wallace, accusing the King of falling under the spell of the accursed Earth woman, Vivian Gear__ who is the proponent of a more virulent form of the philosophy of the parasite Ayn Rand 326l, her mentor.”
Sir David. Who was a Knight of the Order of Saints Agamemnon and Perseus, waved his hand above the desk and the image of a tall, handsome man in his forties materialized from the center of the table as if rising from water?
Duke Nathaniel. In the image he wore the uniform of Commander of the Taylor House Guard—blue with gold and silver piping. Under his arm he carried the helmet of a Commander with the crest of house Taylor emblazoned on its front—a wooly bear in a circle. Around the border were the words Munda Ne Principo__ this world is not enough in Central Antlantese.
“Despite the fact that Rand of 326l was an avowed atheist her followers tend to regard her with divine reverence. And they regard Gear as her number one prophet on the Earth of Worldline 3261. Radu Wallace and his two heirs have become stalwart followers of the cult and hence the origin of our problems.”
“They’ve gone native,” laughed Kothar. “They’ve held that backward worldline in fief for too long. The primitives are beginning to define the behavior of the colonials.”
“The 61ers are not so backward that they do not have thermonuclear arsenals,” refuted Toreus. “They may be as dangerous to us as they are themselves in another hundred standards. Continue, Dave.”
       “What of the operation you proposed to kidnap Gear and replace her with a more reliable ringer from another universe, Doctor?” Asked the Empress.
      Arenjun shrugged. “Gear seems to be one of those rare individuals who is either dead or rotten of character on any worldline we have been able to locate her.
      “Too bad,” said the Empress. Cassandra was not a big fan of assassination but this meant that such wet action had to remain on the table vis-a-vie Ms. Gear.
      Toreus reached over and patted her hand.
      “Continue. David,” said Kothar.
      David Greystone nodded. “For his effort the Duke was arrested and put in the Grande Tower of Newer London. Where he currently resides. Alive but incommunicado.”
“A political hostage as well as a political prisoner,” stated the Time Sorcerer.
Sir David waved his hand again and a beautiful woman rose from the table top along with two young boys. They all had the almond eyes of Nipponesians or Celestials.
“To add insult to injury, Radu put out arrest orders for the Duchess Lois and the ducal heirs, Nathan Earl of Gillespie and Leonidus Count of Hardiman.
“Luckily a loyal servant of the Taylor Household was able to slip them out of the ducal estate and hide them with an ally in the city. That citizen being the Taylor House Intelligence Chief, Lord Joss Carpenter.”
The Emperor nearly frowned at the choice of terms. Sir David hated the term Master of Assassins and refused to use it. He was Helanese on his father’s side and hard headed. He saw the job of intelligence being much more than the murder of one’s enemies. Which was the origin of the name Master of Assassins__ from a name given to the drug induced Tauranese killers on ancient Atlantis.
“What are our chances of getting the Duke out of prison?” the Emperor asked.
Kothar answered in his Thuvian Highlands drawl__ the drawl that always reminded the Emperor of that Earther film actor.
“That will require military intervention. The Tower is in the most heavily militarized and police patrolled part of the city__ the River district.
“A Special Forces team could liberate the prison but not unless there is so much upheaval elsewhere in the city that regular forces would be delayed in assisting the prison guards.”
“We risk doing that without permission from the Parliament,” said the Emperor. “Which is not forthcoming?
“There must be no overt Pangean military intervention in Arcadia.”
“But the watch is providing that upheaval?” asked the Empress Cassandra.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” replied Kothar Khonn. “Newer London is a hot bed of tensions and resentments. It will only take a whispering campaign and some outrageous incident to set off the whole thing. Boom.”
“And the Special Forces?” asked the Emperor.
“We have a team of foreign specialists on tap.”
Kothar nodded at the Chronomage.
     “There is a team of Temporal Guardians at a secret staging area,” said Arenjun Sarkhon. “They are ready to go if and when the word is given.”
“And the family?” asked the Empress.
“We are certain that we can get them out,” said the Time Sorcerer. He smiled tightly and then and only then did they all notice that he had a cat on his lap. A black cat with short fur and amber eyes__ a Nebian Black Short Hair. Most certainly a pure bred female.
Sarkhon Time Sorcerers were seldom seen without their familiar__ the so called Soul cat. It was said that the cat was a recorder for the wizard’s persona. It was thought to be related to the manner in which the Time Sorcerers avoided death. Recording their memories for implant in some later version of their bodies.
“Then we can get out the Taylors and hope that we can get the Duke out in the confusion and strife,” said the Emperor. “The heirs must be a priority. As long as the heirs are alive then they can oppose Radu and his clan.
“I wish for once we were allowed to put our forces to a just cause. Not just police actions guarding trade—the only thing that the Chancellor and his crowd will not oppose—wars for wealth and power. Sometimes I think that crazy capitalism worship is taking hold here in Pangea.”
No one said anything. No one wanted to admit that greed drove the society of the Pangean Empire as it did anywhere else. Even though there was no shortage or want on the Sphere many people acted as if there were.
Arenjun smiled. “If we can get the Duchess here to Pangea perhaps she can put a word or two in the right ears. Drum up support for the Taylors and others who wish freedom and justice in Arcadia. That woman and those boys may be our best hope.”
“Those boys are not my greatest concern,” said the Emperor, patting his wife’s hand.
“Your son is capable of handling any situation he might encounter,’ said the Time Sorcerer.
Of course Sarkhon could read them like a book so they were not surprised.
“As long as he doesn’t get reckless,” said the elder Toreus.
“He has his father’s caution,” said Cassandra.
[Was I so cautious at that age?] The emperor thought cast to his wife.
[No], she admitted. [But he also has his mother’s wisdom.]
The Emperor smiled tightly.
“My son has much faith in the Prince of Thuvia,’ said Kothar. “And I have every faith in my own son’s judgment.”
“And what do you think, old friend?” asked the Emperor of his Supreme Marshal__ the man with whom he had shed a river of blood over the last forty years.
“This is a dangerous enterprise no matter how you look at it, My Emperor” said the old soldier, grimly.
Then his face broke into a smile. “The kind of venture you and I used to get involved in—once upon a time.”
“Yes, old friend,” said the Emperor, echoing that smile. “I still have scars to remind me of those adventures.”
In a world of quick healing soldiers kept scars to remind them of certain lessons earned in the hell of battle. The Emperor had known a man who refused to replace a dead eye for just that reason. He wore a black eye patch. A symbol of both his courage and his mistake. Of course the eye patch had sensors built into it that gave him vision better than any real eye. There are compensation for all things, as the Ancient Celestial Mage is reported as saying.
The Imperial Majesty’s eyes met those of Arenjun and the Time Sorcerer smiled. He’d been involved in quite a few of those adventures himself. In fact he had been the architect of more than a few of them. Though it was doubtful he carried any physical scars.  A Chronomancer carried the memories of many life times as his/her badge of wisdom. No need for physical scars.
“Very well,” said the elder Toreus. “We proceed with the mission to rescue the Taylor family. And we allow the younger Kothar Khonn to proceed with his plan to liberate the Duke. We are committed to this enterprise. And may the Lords of Light show us mercy and favor.”

The meeting broke. The hemophage assassins watched as the members of the Privy Council departed.
Now was not the time. But that time would come__ Very soon.
The Doom Watch was an organization that could trace its existence back to the Old Universe where it had been formed as an Intelligence Branch of Sar-khon Enterprises__ manufacturers of the earliest FTL drives that made starships practical.
Legend had it that it was chartered by the one of the legendary Bernard Sarkhons in the years before House Sarkhon left the continent of West Atlantis, the planet Atlantis and the Old Universe. But no documentation is available to prove__ or disprove__ this supposition.
It was this organization that had been important in keeping Sarkhon ahead of his Tauran and Shai-tannus enemies—as well as his other Atlantean competitors. Those were cutthroat times and the measures taken by the Watch were deemed neces-sary.
The Doom Watch name came about in the times following the discovery of alternate universes be-cause its agents were tasked with looking out for oncoming calamities. Keeping their bosses informed about the dangers that lay ahead and preventing or ameliorating them.
In the beginning it was a completely Time Sor-cerers organization because the Sorcerers specialized in preventing bad histories on the worldlines.
They were charged with carrying out covert op-erations that would prevent the very Dooms they were watching for. And this sometimes called for acts of subversion and violence.
It is no accident that the ancient term for a lord’s chief spymaster comes from the Doom Watch title—Master of Assassins. As is not so much the case to-day, but in ancient Atlantis assassination was a common tool of statecraft.
One can, after all change a monarchy by killing the king. This doesn't work with a democracy. But fools still believe so and act accordingly.
Spies and Master Assassins by Landru Thomas













Chapter 3:
Taxi!

“Things are getting bad,” said Pinkston Tam in the left hand seat of the yellow taxi. He waved one big pink hand toward the crowd gathering in front of the Elevator Station.
Pinky Tam was—as his name suggested—pink. Like a strawberry milkshake.
+His father had been a Red Jovian and his mother a Shavian woman—a wild type human. His father had enlisted in the Thuvian Outworld Legion as a young man and therefore had become a Thuvi-an citizen. He had fought in the Pangean Unification war and had earned a Pangean citizenship by doing so.
The elder Tam had also earned a grizzly death in a prison camp during one of the numerous pirate wars. Pinkston had never known his father.
He had, in fact, been born ten years after his Da’s death via preserved sperm__ the developing fe-tus being carried to term in the womb of a Jovian female because the baby would have killed a wild type female like his mother.
His mother had died as well. Medical treatment was iffy in those years following the war and the Church had insisted that a woman’s body was sub-ject to their archaic and meddling laws. Artificial in-semination was forbidden and therefore Pinkie’s conception was illegal.
 Pinkston had been raised in one of the many Universal Church sponsored orphanages__ since abolished by the Empire along with Church interfer-ence in medical procedures.
The Empire and then Chancellor More felt that such interference was barbaric. They were threat-ened with excommunication but called the Papal Magisterium’s bluff. Toreus I Rhann was not a Uni-versalist. Few Lion Men were. More and he had got-ten along well.
Soon after they revoked the Church’s tax ex-empt status.
That had caused an uproar that still raged to this day with attempts on the Gharvin administration to reinstate the tax exemption and include the churches imprimatur over medical technology. So far they had failed.
     When Pinkston was seventeen standard years old he joined the Thuvian Army and then the Rangers. He wore a tattoo of the Thuvian Rangers on his left arm__ an arm that was always bare when he wore shoulder strapped smart armor over his bare chest, as he did today.
His forearms were covered by shield cuffs and he had an Ezekiel 350 assault rifle cradled across his lap. The Zeke was an imported weapon from a fara-way worldline and a favorite of Pinky’s. It fired 1.72 mm hypersonic flechettes and hit like a charging mammoth. It also had an under slung CO2 laser, generating a1 to10 gigawatt pulse.
 Pinky’s hair was shaved into a thin crest and was shiny black. It was trimmed and shaped so that it looked like ebony feathers. Due to optical im-plants he had ice blue eyes. He sort of reminded Ar-nie of a big bird__ a big dangerous bird with a com-bo rifle. He hoped the kid had the good sense not to use the laz in the car. He’d seen directed energy weapons set fire to the walls in a closed room. They might as easily turn the cab into a Dutch oven.
Pinky had quit the Rangers five years ago at an invitation to join Doom Watch. The Watch had sent him to Arcadia to work with the Vincenzo Cab Company branch there. His cover was as a Mechan-ic though in actuality he was a Doom Watch Outrid-er— a swordsman for the Watch and a bodyguard for the local Vincenzo apparatus.
Arnie Vincenzo liked the big guy and trusted his judgments. A full blooded Jove would not have fit in the taxi but Pinky did and he had as much punch and power as any of his people in his huge frame.
They’d been sitting in the hack in the open air market on the mall in front of the station all evening, waiting for the Watch agent that they were supposed to pick up here. They weren’t informed as to his ex-act time of arrival or what he would look like but they knew he would be here this evening. And that was why they were here.
They’d watched as the crowd began to gather in the market mall, a tight lead ball forming in Arnie’s gut.
 He’d been in combat and he knew when trouble was brewing. He had fought in the Third World War of the Earth he had grown up on.   A nasty affair with a grand total of one billion casualties. Not to mention the plaques and nuke winter that followed. And then there had been an alien invasion__ but that was another story.
Today he had trouble with a capital T. Now that the kingdom had limited the rights of the common folk tempers were growing thin. And a large hunk of the military had deserted when they had been asked to fight beside the Kai’Vhann and treat them as if they were fellow warriors. And their fellow Ar-cadian subjects as the enemy.
Since the majority of the Arcadian military was loyal first to their home fief and second to the nation there was no surprise in that. They’d fight who their lord told them to fight and not until they were told.
And the Barons were not ready to commit them-selves to the further rule of Radu the Red. No siree.
Radu was only popular amongst the most con-servative elements of the plate__ those people who never quite got it until it was too late and preferred a minimalized government that did not stand in the way of their outrageous acts of thievery.
And now this gathering at the Fountain Mall had materialized. One of many such he had wit-nessed today. Most of them had turned violent and been put down by Vhann thugs.
     And each new clash had been between in-creasingly more lethally armed groups. The last riot had seen snipers using hunting rifles firing rounds that had little to no effect on military grade armor and shields.
At first this gathering looked like a bunch of college kids were gonna sound off and parade about with some signs. Pretty much the same sort of thing that happens on most worldlines. Only on most worldlines the authorities had a better grasp of pro-portion and a sense of honor. Except for the Chinese gov back on his home line that hadn’t wised up until the student uprising led to WW III.
 Here the gov was trying to live up to the philo-sophical meanderings of a pair of cruel and selfish bitches. Excuse me, he thought, a cruel and selfish bitch and her popular protégé__ a professional air-head.
Shit, Arnie had tried to read one of older freak’s novels back in his youth. Some chick, whose name he forgot, had been into Objectivism and had rec-ommended them. What drek. He’d never finished the one with the fountain title and couldn’t get past the first chapter of the one with the Greek god refer-ence in the title. Pure, boring shit. There he was in a world ready to go nuke over the slight difference be-tween Eastern Communism and Western Capitalism and here was a dumb book about spoiled rich bas-tards going on strike because they didn’t feel people properly appreciated them. And anyone who was not them was a parasite.
During the war his outfit was short on TP at a time when the Chinese had cut supply lines. They’d wiped their asses with Atlas Shrugged.  It was a good wipe. Lots of pages.
Tonight the students raised their voices and called the powers that be nasty names. On more civi-lized worldlines they would go away satisfied that they had been heard by the establishment. But this was not a more civilized worldline. Not anymore. This was a worldline that served the vacant philoso-phies of Ayn Rand and Vivian Gear and their heap-ing helping of childish libertarianism on a silver platter. Two people who, in Arnie’s modest opinion, should have had parents who had abortions.
Of course on civilized worlds the establishment was not of the opinion that slaves or robots might better serve their needs than the lower classes. That was what made them civilized.
  Arcadia was the robot capital of the Sphere. It also had a 25% unemployment rate among biologi-cals.
Of course on his home worldline such a demon-stration had led to a massacre that had led to a shoot-ing war—and billions dead. Egged on by an army of Supermen that had infiltrated society. So one never knew where these things could hop to. Sometimes they hopped like those blood thirsty Chupacabras some Arcadians kept as pets. Sometimes blood was let. It might just be a few cracked skulls or it might be a major war. Just toss the dice and see how they came up.
+Of course he was hacking in Arcadia on Terra-Prime. If there was a fascist, goose-stepping center to the Cosmos this was it. The nobility worshipped the Prophet Joshua on Sunday and the nutcase Ayn Rand and her prophet Vi Gear the rest of the week.
The temp was rising out there now. The college kids were being supplemented by more middle class types. Workers mostly. Union members who were unhappy with the fact that the monarchy had out-lawed collective bargaining rights in order to in-crease domestic sales of Nipponesan robots. And then declared unions as illegal criminal organiza-tions and terrorist groups. Typical Randite bullshit.
That kind of shit would not have played well in a healthy society but this society was sick and cir-cling the shithole for the last time__ in Arnie’s humble opinion.
Healthy societies__ even ones in the middle of a horrible war__ wiped their asses with Ayn Rand. He knew. He’d done it.
And now young hoodlums had joined the fray as well as a number of zonked looking Stupidol ad-dicts. The kind of kids that showed up looking for action and were not above tossing the odd rock and flaming cocktail to set it off. Some of them carried rounders and cricket bats. Some would also__ as sure as shooting__ be armed with handguns and sawed off rifles.
 Not energy weapons. Those were the expensive playthings of the military and the rich. But one or two of these youngsters just might have borrowed his Da’s civilian model blaster or lasgun. There was always that possibility. College kids tended to come from the more privileged strata of the society. And, despite what Ms. Rand believed that didn’t eliminate assholes from the cadre.
You are not a genius nor a civilized individual just because you have money. He’d grown up among blood thirsty gangsters that had lots of mon-ey. One of them died on a toilet with a girly mag in his lap after he’d been shot thirty-six times.
And here he was, in his cab, waiting for his fare and not at liberty to go anywhere else. He thanked whatever god there might be that he had the Outrid-er with him. And that his cab was armed and ar-mored like a fighting vehicle.
Armed with light weight weapons and armored with molecular armor this cab was a low slung tri-phib model with a large passenger compartment and gull wing doors. You could do that on this world-line, using what they called Atomic Precision Manu-facture or nanotech. Back on his homeline a car tricked out like this would have been as bulky as a tank. Here it weighed less than a homeline car its same size.
That’s why he nicknamed this vehicle his As-ton-Martin, after the wonder car in the James Bond movies. It was a rolling chameleon as well.
 Tonight it bore yellow livery with check bor-ders, but a flip of a switch could change that.
The Vincenzo Cab Company LLC had no offi-cial livery. They were a Gypsy cab company any-where they operated. That was an apt name even if none of them were of Romany stock. Most Vincen-zos were Italian of Siciliano and Tuscan descent__ except on those worldlines where similar people went by other names. Like on that one worldline where the Italians still called themselves Romans.
 The Vincenzos operated just about anywhere that the Doom Watch operated. And that was just about anywhere they were needed. It was a relation-ship going back many years and spread across many alternate worlds.
 And this car had illegal flight capabilities and that was sure to come in handy today. Flying cars were banned from Newer London__ for good rea-son. Assholes still insisted on driving drunk and tossing shit out of open windows__ even though cars had robot pilots and onboard recyclers.
He had considered bringing along his niece, Nikki. He wanted her to meet the Prince. But no, this was danger turf and Pinky was a better fit.
Arnie gave the foam dice that hung from the rear view scanner in the middle of the windshield a punch for good luck and sat back.
“Could be that it’s all just some big trekker con-vention,” Arnie said, laughing. He didn't like Trek-kers much__ he preferred Star Wars and Battle Star Galactica.
 Pinky’s eyebrows went up in question.
Arnie laughed. “On worldlines where they don’t have starships__ and probably never will__ the folks love a vid show about a starship and her crew. You’d like it. You got some things in common with one of the characters.”
“I have never been much for fandom.”
“Live long and prosper, my friend.”
Someone threw a rock at a window. The rock bounced off and hit someone who howled like a banshee. Windows on Terra Prime took some effort to break. Rocks wouldn’t do it. Try an armor pierc-ing shell or a proton blaster,
“Naw, second thought,” said Arnie. “Not a trek-ker convention. Unless there are a lot of Klingons and Feringis at this one.”
“Do we know what this guy we’re waiting for will look like?” asked Pinky.
 “He’ll be disguised. He has nanotech implants that change his skin and eye color as well as the tex-ture and color of his hair. Everyone in our racket does__ goes with the game. And ya can’t have a royal prince walking round a war zone,”
“Then you don’t know.”
Arnie nodded. “He’ll be big. Not as big as you but big. I’ll recognize him. He and his daddy tend to move like cats.”
Heavy footsteps drummed along the approaches to the Mall. That and cadenced chants in a language that Arnie did not know but which sounded a lot like Deutsch.
“Trouble,” said Pinky pointing at the column of Kai-Vhan that marched up to the other side of the market lane across from the station entrance.
 Line after line of pale white and gray faces. Even the Centurions, who supposedly had working brains, looked like Zombies. Not the George Romero shit with pieces hanging off__ just the walking dead android type of friggers.
“Speaking of Star Trek here come the Borg,” Arnie commented.
Pinky had given up asking questions. If Borg was another word for Kai-Vhan then that was that.
They wore standard Vhan battle gear but with armbands that idented them as Royal Arcadian Mounted Police Auxiliaries. And true to Vhan form they carried lethal weapons. Fletch firing rifles and machine pistols and some lasguns__ they’ll set half the town afire with those lasers. Energy weapons were not really preferred for urban combat least of all riot control.
There were also Squad Support Blasters ob-served Arnie. Fire one of those in a closed room and the concussion would knock yez on yer arse.
” Only a Kai’Vhan would bring a CO2 laser to a knife fight” said the Outrider.
“Pinheads,” swore Arnie shaking his head.
More Vhan cops marched around the corner two blocks down. No official Royal Arcadian Mounted Police—which would have been bad enough__ in sight
Kai -Vhan were violence junkies. They liked to stomp heads about as much as a rat likes to chew through cartons.
Violence was programmed into them when they volunteered to be Vhans and had all of their hu-manity drained out by that cyborg pin that was in-serted in their heads. They were cyborg servants of the highest bidder and that highest bidder wanted the dirty nosed students quiet. Even if it meant mas-sacre.
“Okay,” said Arnie, “not our concern. We’re not here to mix it up with the cops even if we’re in agreement with the kids. It’s time for a change here. High time. Radu Wallace and his fam have to go and they have thrown the only dude capable of do-ing it in jail. That’s like throwing a lit match in a tub of Nitroglycerine.”
“Duke Nathaniel is the future and Radu and his retard nephews are the past,” nodded Pinkie.
A group of tough looking characters wearing spacer colors moved by. Among them was a tall humanoid polar bear that wore a black and white checkered shirt under his club cut. His head was white with round black eyes and he had a grim smile on the mouth of his snout. Arnie recognized him. So did Pinky.
“Well, I’ll be dipped in shit,” swore the Pink warrior.
“Probably, if you hang out with me,” said Arnie through tight lips. “Well if it isn’t Speedrow Wilson of the Star Kings SC all the way from Ridge 3261. Another universe and another galaxy.”
“And that’s Lucy Lamb and Hank Berhn with him,” said Pinky. “The president, vice-president and treasurer of the Star Kings club. Why are they here?”
“Could be they’re just on a run.”
“Not bloody likely,” said Pinky. “Speedrow likes the maglev car racing circuit these days. And Arcadia is not a venue. He also likes to hit people. I know. He once took a swing at me.”
“Yeah, dirty deeds done dirt cheap—that’s the Star Kings motto,” nodded Arnie, his yellow leather cabbie cap bobbing in the light of the instrument il-luminated compartment like the skippers cap of some small sea ship.
The skipper of a yellow submarine, thought Pinkie, remembering a song he’d heard in Arnie’s crib. He was certain the song hadn’t been about Ar-nie but it could have been.
“Someone must be buttering the bread thick to get those lads all the way from Ridge in Worldline 3261,” said Pinky.
“Sounds like Watch business,” nodded Arnie.
A tall man with white hair wearing a long black cape walked by. For a minute Arnie thought that it might be Tuzan Thun Sarkhon, the time sorcerer that had recruited the Vincenzo mob for Doom Watch. But it wasn’t. Just someone who dressed similar. There were guys who favored Chrono-mancer garb for the effect. Like the men who wore cowboy hats and boots back home side. Or the punks who garbed up like the Vampire Lestat.
Arnie and his family had been with the Watch for a long time now. Since Tuzan had recruited his ringer Bernie on one of the worldlines.
Bernie was another version of himself from a different worldline, but all Vincenzos considered one another family. Brothers, sisters, cousins one and all. Even alternate worldline ringers. No other family he could think of was so acquainted with the multiverse—other than the families of Time Sorcer-ers that is.
Arnie stretched and slumped back in his couch looking up at the big holoscreen that fronted the Fountain terminal. The face of a man with curly hair and a long, handlebar moustache— much the rage among Arcadian aristocracy__ flashed in the screen. The logo that inched across it said:
Jonny Tripod in Speru and the Seraphian Stone
A Mammoth Production
If it ain’t Mammoth it ain’t big.
Jonny Tripod, thought Arnie. Me and mine aren’t the only refugees from other worldlines. When is Jim Glimmis and his oversized company gonna get done with those awful Speru stories?
And Jonny Tripod__ ex-adult movie star. One of his ringers had died on Arnie's homeline. After making one last flick called Jonny Tripod Has Risen From the Grave. Of course that title had been given it six months after his death. People are naked in the porn business but that don’t mean they’re honest.
Arnie knew Glimmis. Sometimes Glimmis helped the Watch. He was very charitable when he wasn’t helping himself.
Unlike Pinky Arnie was into fandom and he hated Speru—with a passion. He had once taken a girl he really liked to see a Jonny Tripod film and was rewarded for the effort. Too bad he's wasting his time doing Speru shit now. He gets to keep his clothes on and his monument of a cock covered__ but hell those were his real talents.
Some folks think that keeping your clothes on to do crap is nobler than taking them off to do porn.
But it made sense, he guessed. If you jumped to a worldline where nobody knew your past you could reinvent yourself. Go from a 20th Century worldline to a 19th Century one__ go from being an insurance salesman to being a cowboy. So porno ac-tor in one WL and Comedy Adventure for the whole family star in another.
Still a waste though. Tripod was hung like an Apatosaurus__ hence his stage name__ his real name was John Cameron Lupo. But he was tone death as an actor. Arnie believed that people should follow their first best talent.
There was a cloud of swirling fists over by the terminal entrance. Someone overpowered a Vhan and knocked his knife from his hand. The weapon skidded across the concrete and into the door, trail-ing blood. The Kai-Vhan had hurt someone bad and had paid for it.
Arnie rubbed his eyes and looked at the doors of the terminal. A big blonde man in a rugger shirt came out.
“How about him?” asked Pinky.
The man Pinky pointed to was big and muscular and there was no disguising the way he moved. Ar-nie had known the father and that was the way To-reus the Slayer had moved in his prime. Like a cat. A big cat.
And this big cat was stepping right into the heart of the action. Some of the spacers were already scuf-fling with some of the students and a man in a Mr. Brick jacket tossed a flaming bottle full of flamma-ble liquid at a parked car.
The bottle splattered the flaming liquid splash-ing on Vhan troopers. They paid no attention to it as it burned on their armored combat suits. Vhans shunned personal harm. And their armor was fairly good.
Leave it to an ass that’s a Mr. Brick fan, thought Arnie. Arnie really hated that cartoon, too. A talking brick with a high pitched squeaky voice who lived in a wall in an ally. Those people have got bricks for brains.
 The Mr. Brick guy went down and cracked his head on the pavement waylaid by the butt of a Vhan KV-4 rifle.
 A big Jovian—like there was any other kind—in a rugger shirt that was a shade lighter than his green complexion, picked a Vhan up and tossed him into his squaddies. It looked like a game of nine pins to Arnie. And it would have been funny had the Vhans not raised their lethals and taken aim.
The cops didn’t see Toreus fall into a crouch and the fair complexioned face become lined with the colorful nano-tattoos that made him look like a lion. Nor did they notice the shimmer of the carbon plasma shields around his forearms—like big waver-ing gray haloes__ nor the extended blade of a smart sword extending out like some metal erection.
The shields alone could be formidable if some-one pushed you with them. Carbon plaz could de-flect a bullet or bend an energy charge that was trav-elling less than the speed of light. Mere people it could knock on their arses.
And the smart blade had an edge that was mole-cule thin and therefore very sharp. It could slice through just about anything.
“That’s our boy,” said Arnie and gunned the engine.
In quick succession the Prince knocked one cop after another down stunning them with the powerful wall of plasma that flashed each time it made contact with their personal shields and armor. He whirled and danced, the sword flashing out and heads rolled on the tarmac.
The big man ducked low as a Vhan discharged his rifle at him. The flechette whined off the shield.
The big prince swung his leg around and knocked the cyborg's feet out from under him. The merc sprawled on the ground. A sword strike re-lieved him of his rifle and the arm that held it.
Yeah, concluded Arnie, he was The Slayer’s son all right. He’d seen that kind of action before. It was signature. The kind of catlike agility and fighting style that lion men learned from childhood.
Pinky activated the power cell in the caseless ammo loaded Assault Rifle.

Toreus Rhann sized up the situation quickly.
The Vhan riot police were armed with lethal weapons and they were going to use them on the Jovian rugby player. He could not just stand by and let that happen. It was against his nature not to get involved. From years of training his brain went into battle mode, becoming aware of potential threats and how urgently each one needed to be dealt with.
He thought activated his shields__ toroids of gray charged carbon balls enveloping his arms__ activat-ed the blade that was already in his hand and extend-ing to sword length__ and waded in knocking cops right and left like a humanoid triceratops.
In a hand to hand fight with Prince Toreus the
Vhan were like weak children. Only their numbers would give them an edge. And the sword was not a non-lethal weapon. Men fell with heads and arms missing. There was blood all over the ground.
As the Prince moved his skin color began to trans-form into the battle mode tats of a lion man__ a de-sign that made his face look like that of a great cat.
He ducked a rifleman's aim and swept his legs out from under him with one of his own well-muscled extremities. The cyborg went down with a stunning plop.
Two more mercenaries charged at the Lion Man as he popped back to his feet. He punched both of them to the chin and sent them wheeling back to trip over their own heels. He imagined there were no regimental dances among the Kai’Vhan. They were all too graceless for that.
Then two more soldiers grabbed him from behind, trying to restrain him. He hit one and then the other with his arms and sent them back with a comet trail of teeth and blood.
Ahead and left, said the Guider.
The warrior prince plowed into a Vhan with a drawn sidearm and knocked him over atop the wounded man in the Mr. Brick jacket. Two more soldiers tried to rush the Prince. He kicked one in the stomach and chopped the other to the side of his neck.
Behind— right.
 The warrior whirled to face a Vhan cop that had come up behind him with an aerosol can of vomit gas and walloped the cyborg hard with the shield on his right sleeve.  The shields stiffened where they made contact with a solid object__ stiffened to the hardness of a concrete wall. The man flew back and landed across the melons in a veg stand.
The fruit rolled everywhere and the Vhan came to a rest in a bed of crushed pulp and shells.
Right and left, warrior.
Two more cyborgs attacked Toreus from two sides. The Prince hit them in a one two action.
Both victims were rendered unconscious. Getting hit with a Carbon Plasma sheaf tends to shock one as well as knock him over. There was an electrical discharge when the plasma hit metal or ungrounded human flesh.
Toreus retrieved the vomit spray canister and emptied it into a charging crowd of Vhans. They were masked so the gas had no effect save to smear their visors. So he pushed a cart into them and sent them sprawling right and left.
Now he had become the focus of attention of the army of riot cops and they were all converging on his location to stomp him senseless.
Toreus whirled and cleared legs out from under at-tackers. He was in full combat mode now, the Guid-er directing him to punch, kick and slice at the hordes of enemies that fell upon his person.
Six low. Warrior—high seven—ten.
 His muscles flexed with incredible augmented might. The slow and stupid Kai-Vhan were tossed around like rag dolls. Legs, arms and various ap-pendages hit the concrete of the plaza, decorated with blood.
 But there were too many of them and they were fixing to pile onto him. Even the severely injured ones still had fight in their damaged bodies. They had no sense of self preservation. Not a gram.
That was when the taxi cab pulled between Toreus and the bulk of his attackers, running several over two and sending a few more bouncing into the air.
The vehicle stopped. A pink Jovian with an auto-matic weapon—a Zeke__ emerged from the shotgun seat, through a roll up, smart metal door, and fired wildly at the Vhans, flechettes striking their armor with little or no harmful effect.
The flechettes were frangibles that broke up on contact with the shields and armor. Not lethal to an-yone using a shield but causing a barrage of blind-ing flashes to the wearer blanking out their visors and putting blobs of color in their field of vision. Like a hail of tiny flashbang grenades.
“In the car, sir,” said the pink Jove
The back gull wing door of the yellow taxi rolled open and the pink man pushed Toreus into it. The Prince, having sized up the situation offered no resistance. This was an ally. There was only an in-finitesimal doubt. And if this was an enemy he would kill him within seconds of such a determina-tion.
By now some of the rioters had retrieved Kai'Vhan weapons and were firing at the soldiers as they themselves beat a retreat from the mall. A las-gun hit a Vhan and his shield bloomed with hot gas-es. A second pulse from the same weapon and the solider blew apart into two pieces.
A rain of flaming bottles showered down from surrounding roofs. The riot was progressing to a full blown firefight. Automatic weapons, shotguns and lasers flashed, rattled and roared into the night. There was even the distinctive pulsed boom of a plasma blaster.
No sooner were the Prince and the pink man in-side the vehicle than a carbon plasma pulse erupted from the vehicle’s right side, barreling the angry Vhans over and sending several flying into the pro-duce stands and lunch wagons along the plaza. Sev-eral of these became separated from their hand weapons which were recovered by rioters.
The pulse threw out a wall of carbon plasma in a widening bubble on that side of the vehicle. It mowed down anyone whose shield had not activat-ed and left a gray grime on surfaces and people. It also pushed some of the mobile snack carts over and into the crowd of cyborgs.
One cart that had a charcoal grill in it upended and the grill exploded. Grease splashed across sever-al Vhans.
A mushroom cloud of charcoal smoke rose into the night.
The gull wing door closed and the grizzled driver called out. “Welcome to Newer London, Your Highness.”
“Bernie Vincenzo as I live and breathe,” laughed Toreus.
“No,” said the driver. “I’m his brother Arnie—from United Earth worldline. It’s a common mis-take.”
“Are you Toreus Rhann?” asked the pink man.
He was not a full blooded Jovian, Toreus could see that now. He was a hybrid—probably part Ho-mo sapiens sapiens. Of Cro-Magnon descent like himself.
“Let me introduce you to Pinkston Tam, my Nu-mero Uno Outrider.”
Toreus relaxed his war mask, faded down to his natural olive skin. “I am Toreus Rhann.”
Arnie’s hack had Carbon Plasma shields and levi-tation generators—both magnetic and dark energy paragrav. High altitude flying cars were outlawed in most cities of the United Kingdom or limited to low hover. In Newer London they were outlawed since a crazy man had flown one loaded with explosives in-to a public building. History was full of such ass-holes. They were hard to keep track of and plentiful enough to cause harm.
This incident had been the life’s work of one nut case of an off-liner who blamed the Arcadians for assassinating John Fitzgerald Kennedy__ of all peo-ple__ on another worldline. The guy had given his life for that silly shit idea. For a silly fantasy that be-gan__ and ended, as far as Arnie could see__ with another loser who thought that killing a great man would justify his shitty life and his failure to become a communist hero.
As Arnie always said: some people fuck assholes and some people just are assholes. That was a com-mon disorder for people coming from worldlines where a nut had assassinated that man and other nuts built up elaborate fantasy lives around the event.
But not on the worldlines where old Jack Kenne-dy had lived long enough to get killed in a nuclear attack on Washington, D.C. there they hadn’t had to worry about that much. Most of the conspiracy buffs had frozen to death in the resultant nuclear winter.
Anyway, sometimes you needed an edge to escape the bad guys. And more often than not that edge was illegal.
So Arnie cut in the paragravity drive and rose straight up as Vhans fired their pistols and carbines to little affect into the CPS of the vehicle.
Occasionally the rounded glanced off the shield and hit one of the firers__ maybe even the shooter himself.
He could see his passenger looking over the back of the seats with a surprised expression shortly being replaced by one of amusement.
Then the big guy and Pinky were pushed back in-to the couches as Arnie hit the drive and the car zoomed forward.

The taxi had antigravity, Toreus realized just before the force of acceleration punched him back into the seats. There was also that free fall sensation that one only had with gravity generator devices.
This was no ordinary cab and the driver was no ordinary cabbie.
He’d met Arnie’s brother Ernie__ his ringer actu-ally__ a while ago. This fellow could have been his twin, save that he did look a little younger. Inter-Worldline doubles__ or ringers to use the slang term__ need not be the same age nor need they come from the same era. But in the Vincenzo clan all Vincenzos from all worldlines—no matter what—were looked upon as family. After all ver-sions of yourself from alternate worlds all had the same genes. Just different life histories and different memories.
The vehicle came to a hover and settled to ground in an alley. It was a dark quiet alley several kilome-ters from the riot at the Fountain port.
The driver grinned at him from the front seat. ”One more gag, boss.”
Arnie put the vehicle in drive and rushed toward a wall covered by an old fashioned billboard. The billboard showed two women kissing in some long forgotten add for a sex club.
Oh no, thought the Prince for an instant. This guy is nuts and is going to commit suicide with me in the car.
 Just before the car would have struck the wall the billboard slid open separating the lovers and the hack entered a big garage. The door slid closed be-hind it and bioloom globes unmasked shedding light over a line of parked vehicles—several of them cabs__ one that looked like an ancient, crudely ar-mored tank.
The cabby’s hands flew over a panel beside his couch and the color of the vehicle changed from yel-low to black. No doubt the registry plate and tran-sponder signal had also changed.
“This is a Watch safe house,” said Pinky. “It’d be-hind the HQ of my cab company.
“Yeah we should be safe here,” said Arnie as he opened the door of the cab and got out, stretching his portly frame.
 He took his yellow peaked cap off his head and scratched his balding pate and broke an impish grin in a mouth lined with big teeth.
“It’s good to be at the service of a Rhann again, Sire. I’ve worked with your Da. You look a lot like him.”
“Family resemblance,” laughed Toreus as he and Pinky got out of the hack.
“Were you waiting for me or are you just rare vol-unteers?”
“A little of both. We work for Doom Watch and my bosses sent me to make sure you got to your next destination safely.”
Bosses, mused the Prince. Was Arenjun Sarkhon involved in this? Or was it some other Time Sorcer-er? Zacharias perhaps?
Ask rather was there anything on Terra Prime that the Sarkhons were not involved in? Guild re-strictions to the contrary.
Not for the first time since volunteering for this mission Toreus was realizing how deep he was in and how big the stakes were. He wasn’t just here to rescue two kids and a woman. He was in the middle of a civil war and that someone—no doubt one of his family’s allies—was manipulating the hatred and resentment already neck deep in Arcadian society. The Wallaces had deepened the already deep class divide in their plate’s society. Someone else was pouring salt on the wound.
What are we into here, Da? Do you even know?
Kothar junior was charged with covert operations for the Privy Council. He was not required to report all his actions to the Emperor—for the Emperor’s protection. He was also a sworn member of the Watch. Which meant that he would tell as little to the Emperor as possible and much of that lies.
If worse came to worse it would be Kothar Khonn Junior who fell and not the Emperor and his counci-lors. That was the way that things worked in the se-cret world. Good people were paid to do bad things and then fall on their swords if they failed.
A bit of sadness for his boyhood friend washed through the Lion Prince and he quickly shook it off.
I’m behind enemy lines now and there is no turn-ing back. I will save the Taylors and then find out just what my father’s Privy Council and the Doom Watch are up to here.
Very well, warrior, said the Guider who had been silent until then.
I’m glad you agree, Old Ghost.
It was then that a slim young woman with dark eyes and long curly black hair entered the room.
She wore a black leather jump suit that clung to her well-turned body and a small black version of Arnie’s cabby hat wreathed in her dark hair. The zipper of the suit was open low enough to reveal a sumptuous amount of olive skinned cleavage.
To say the least she was breath taking. Dark and exotic looking.
She smiled at Toreus. He felt heat inside him-self__ in his heart in his cheeks, in his loins. The loin part of the sensation grew deeper as the girl moved toward them. Her movements were the cat-like movements of a dancer or a trained fighter.
“Ah, Nikki,” Arnie said to the girl. “Glad you’re here.”
“Where else would I be, Unk?” said the girl. Her accent sounded a lot like Arnie’s, only not as mascu-line.
The cabbie gestured toward the girl. “This is my niece by my younger brother, Joe—Dominique Vincenzo—Nikki for short.”
Hello,” Toreus said. “I’m Toreus.”
The girl laughed. “Isn’t that a kind of wood screw?”
Toreus squinted. “Actually it is derived from an ancient Thuvian word for warrior.”
“Mine means Lady,” the girl said. “Friends ei-ther call me Dom or Nikki.”
“I hope you would consider me a friend,” smiled the Prince.
“Maybe,” she laughed and shrugged. “You don’t look old enough to be the Emperor of Pan-gea.”
“Naw,” interrupted Arnie. “He’s the Prince—heir to the throne. Capo di tutti capi in Thuvia. She’s from off line, Your Highness. She doesn’t know the ropes yet.”
“I’m from Brooklyn,” she said. “But I grew up in South Philly.”
Toreus only vaguely recognized the names. Earth places. “Wonderful places, I’m sure.”
“Nothing compared to the Sphere,” she said.
“It’s alright,” Toreus said. “I’m from The Sphere and I don’t know all the ropes yet either. I am pleased to meet you, Lady.”
“Call me Nikki,” she said and winked.
“Nikki,” nodded the Prince. “In public you have to call me sire. But amongst friends I’m Toreus.”
“The wood screw,” she laughed.
“The warrior,” he corrected. Hormonal coding deep within him made him wish that he could spend several days getting to know this luscious female. But he did not have those days to spare.
“We got business, Boss,” insisted Pinky.
Toreus Rhann could see that the pink Jovian did not appreciate his attention to Nikki. Was there some sort of understanding between them that the uncle was not aware of? He had never had to fight for the attentions of a woman. He felt embarrassed if he had made a mistake here that offended the big man.
“Yeah, we do,” said Arnie.
“Very well, Arnie,” said Toreus Rhann, uncom-fortably jolted back into his role as Prince. “Take me to the nearest jump point terminal and then you can report back to your, boss mission accomplished.”
“We should wait until the hunt for my hack cools off,” said Arnie. “Meanwhile we can get you a change of Idents and clothes and have a cuppa.”
“Could you brew us some Joe, Nikki?”
“Girl’s work, Uncle Arnie?” the girl asked a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
“Junior employee work, besides you do a better job at it than me,” Arnie shrugged. “Mine could take the smart paint off a starship hull.”
Nikki shrugged and turned away toward the pantry. Toreus admired her buttocks as she left. If paradise had an ass it would look like that.
Arnie doffed his hat and scratched his balding head. “We need to arrange you transport that is un-obtrusive. Dominique will take yez where you’re goin. Her small car can make it through the back streets and avoid the trouble spots.”
“Sounds good,” said the Prince of Lions—guiltily happy that the girl would be the driver. “Lead on.”
Arnie nodded and led them to an elevator that took them two floors up to an apartment behind the Vincenzo Cab Company office. The safe house was under the establishment which was mostly a garage for rolling stock.
Nikki was wearing an apron and had removed her cap. She had also taken off the leather shirt and wore a white T-shirt that showed her nipples through its fabric. Breathtaking he thought.
She was carrying a tray of cups from the bever-age maker in the kitchen.
“Nikki is proficient as a driver and has many other talents,” said Arnie.
 “Yes, I can see that,” said Toreus.
The girl smiled at him. She was interested. He could see that.
 The pink Jovian avoided eye contact with eve-ryone in the room.
Toreus felt a twinge of guilt at lusting over what might be an ally’s intended. But he wasn’t sure of that and, when you came done to it, any relationship that he might have with Nikki would, by nature, be only passing.
 His father was cautious whenever he dated common girls. The Prince of Thuvia and the Imperi-al Heir could not be wed to a commoner. Royalty had to wed other royalty—that was politics in a monarchy. There was no clear way around it with-out someone getting hurt.
Toreus’s mother reminded the Emperor that she was herself not born to the purple.
The Emperor reminded her that a sister of the Magdalene Order was above the purple.
His Ma wanted him to marry for love and to be happy. Da knew that his son would have to marry a royal. That was the way the Imperial cookie crum-bled.
The same old problem arose in almost every facet of their lives. How to get the people to aban-don their dependence on the outgrowth of what had long ago started as a tribal chieftain and grown out of control. Kings, Dukes, Barons, Emperors. They weren’t any more necessary than religion. But tell that to the populace. It never played very well. Most of them considered such things a valuable part of life.
Toreus was not looking to marry just yet. There were too many women in the world that he had not met. He was only twenty-two standard years old. There was plenty of time for that later.
Just then several bright flashes lit the sky be-yond the window and there was the staccato sound of automatic weapons firing and the single pops of rifle shot.
The girl looked away and Toreus was suddenly alerted out of his musings about her.
The first shots of a civil war, thought Toreus. By morning it will be a full out fracas__ if it wasn’t that already.
“The Crown has declared martial law and a cur-few,” said Pinky. “That means that they’ll be putting robo-snipers in high places around town and the hell with anyone who didn’t get the word to stay off the streets.”
“That’s beastly,” said Toreus. “Do they do that?”
“They’ve already started that in Edo town,” said Nikki. “A friend of mine was shot just last night.”
“Nice folks those Wallaces,” said Toreus.
“Locals who don’t respect them call them Wal-lies,” said Arnie.
Toreus laughed. “Nice folks those Wallies.”
Arnie laughed. “Always a pleasure to work with a Rhann, Sire.”
“Call me Toreus,” laughed the Prince.

























Many cultures on many worldlines had legends of an an-cient, lost civilization, more often than not identified as Atlantis. Many people on those same worldlines would be amused and amazed to find that Atlantis really existed and that it was not merely a continent, but an entire world. A lost planet in what is called the Old Universe. Fabled Atlantis, home of our line.
Fabian Sarkhon, Oh, Atlantis



I’m not a god, but I’ve been called upon to play one. Peo-ple feel that they need the illusion of a godhead and sometimes it is necessary to give people what they think they need to get them to acknowledge what they really require.
Joshua Sarkhon, Interviews with Nathan Taylor










Chapter 4:
Star Castle

House Sarkhon was forbidden by the Guild Treaty to have an official presence on Terra Prime. And so the Em-bassy was a suite at the Thuvia Arms, the most luxurious hotel in the plate’s capital cities.
The Thuvia Arms maintained residences for most of the Time Sorcerer houses doing business in the Capitol. As well as embassies from many of the alternate worldlines that had relations with the Empire. There was even a Shai-tannis residence there. Though it was way down the other end of the building from Arenjun’s suite__ by design and desire.
It was in the suite that Arenjun held audiences with Priman residents and it was here that he slept when he was on the Pangean plate for extended periods of time. Which was far too often these days.
It would not have done for him to run into Shai-tannises in the hall coming and going. Besides he did not like the Shaitannises. In a word they were creeps of the first order. Scum of the Cosmos.
It was a comfortable residence, if modest in size. And secure enough. A squad of Temporal Guardians from House Sarkhon’s Personal Protective Legion lived in the adjoining rooms and two always stood guard__ in civilian garb__ outside the door of the suite armed with Tesla pro-jectors.
But the real business of House Sarkhon was never con-ducted in the room.  Since there were restrictions on the presence of Time Sorcerers on the Sphere under the Trea-ty his fellow Sorcerers never came there. Not that it was necessary for Time Sorcerers to be in the same room to conduct a meeting. Not when holospace was available, as well as the jump points.
Arenjun entered the suite and let his cat, Black Angel-ique, drop to the floor. Something was wrong. There was a presence in the suite. Someone, or something was here.
He slid the sensor wand out of his staff and scanned the room with it. Nothing read on the scan but something was there.
He moved slowly into the sitting room, ready for any-thing.
There were four of them___ sitting on the couches that formed a conversation square around the holostage in the middle of the room. They were very tall and wore lumi-nescent white robes. All were identical, each having the same face__ a face that looked sort of Celtic. And they had big blue eyes that glowed with an internal light and short, curly blond hair. A rim of light glowed around their heads as one would expect.
All four of the visitor’s heads turned to face him as he entered. But the neutral expression on their countenances did not change and there was no indication of recognition in their eyes. They were, after all, just robot servants of a higher entity.
“I was wondering when your Mistress would send you here,” said Arenjun, trying to sound good humored in the face of decidedly humorless beings. “It’s only been two standard years since I asked El for Her help.”
The Lady has considered your request long and hard, said the one closet to him.
“I should say so,” Sarkhon laughed.  “Two years’ worth.”
The Lady does not get involved in the affairs of mor-tals without consideration, said the second angel. Yes, angels. That was the closest mythological analog that one could find to these beings. Messengers of the Gods.  Or, at the very least, beings that were deluded into the belief that they were such.
“Your mysterious mistress has a habit of sticking her beak in when no one asks for her to do so. Besides a Time Sorcerer is hardly a mortal entity.”
We only report what we are told to say, said the third Seraphian.
Yes, they were Seraphians. The mysterious angelic Seraphians.  And Arenjun knew that the presence he had sensed was not them but their Higgs bees__ the tiny nanites that projected their other worldly image in normal space. Machines that were capable of transcending the barrier between normal space and holospace.
“So are you going to help me or aren’t you?” he asked testily.
We are at thy disposal, said the fourth one.
Just call and we will be at thy command, said the first angel.
“Good__ will that be all?
They nodded as one and faded out__ as one.
Relieved he turned to the cat.
“So you’re hungry,” he said acknowledging the thought transmission between himself and the cat. Yes, thou art hungry. Very funny.
 The cat’s job was to record his mental landscape for future use and so it was in constant contact with his mind.
“Why am I not surprised,” he said and went to the pantry and opened a can of food for the animal. He placed it in a bowl and rubbed the beast behind the ears. She purred and rubbed her slim head against his hand. One should be good friends with the guardian of one’s soul, he thought.
 She was not merely a pet but a storage repository for his persona should he ever be killed and need a reboot.
“No need to thank me, doll. It is my pleasure.”
Not that he was sure that if he were ever killed he would wish to return. Arenjun had lived a long and re-warding life and even the life of a Chronomancer has to have its end. All things—even the cosmos itself—have their ends.
Or so it was widely believed. Universes came to an end and new universes were born every second.
He thought such thoughts a lot these days. He had re-turned from holospace many times in his existence. Not because he clung to life like some cowardly theist, but be-cause there was always a mission that required him—one more job that needed his attention.
Such foolishness, he thought, shaking his head as he went to the bedroom to freshen up and change his garb. He would not wear the grand cloak and garb he had worn at court for a meeting with his wife. Sarkhons tended to be less formal amongst family. Especially among their mates.
Being a Time Sorcerer meant that one had to behave in a formal manner with most of sentient kind. And that made being casual amongst family all the more precious.
He went to the bathroom and took a long hot shower. Being at court made him feel dirty. The Emperor was a good man but there were those in the power structure of Pangea who made his skin crawl—principally the Chan-cellor.
Gharvhan was from old money and even though the Rhanns went back into the ancient past to Starkiller’s time and were much more influential than any Gharvhan could ever wet dream to be, the Chancellor considered them new money and somehow unclean. Bastard.
And the Seraphians did not make him feel any cleaner. The El Lords their Lords thought that they were the mas-ters of all creation and hence had the attitude of omnipo-tence that went with it. But even though the Atlanteans were of the opinion that there were no masters of all the Cosmos the deep seeded doubt that they may be right made his skin crawl.
The Time Sorcerers believed that fate was in the hands of intelligent beings and not in the hands of deities__ who were mostly interfering, heartless immortals with more power than they knew what to do with.
Angelique, entered the room.
“Yes, I know. I should not let minor souls such as the Chancellor bother me. Or great hollow souls like the Lords of Light. But one never gets used to ignorance—no matter how long one lives.”
He had socialized with Gharvhan at one of the man’s boorish social clubs. The kind of place that didn’t allow women or anyone not full blooded Cro-Magnon. That kind of place. A gentlemen’s club.
The event had left him feeling unclean. Like taking a bath in human waste__ which is pretty much how he con-sidered most of the members.
“I know Little Angel,” he said. “We are better than them whether they know it or not.”
Arenjun dressed in a black ship suit and deck shoes and went to the wardrobe to one side of the bedroom. He snapped the wand into the compartment on his staff where it was kept. Then he activated the smart matter of the staff and it shrunk down and was inserted into the scabbard on his belt. On command it could become a knife, a truncheon or a sword. A Sorcerer is never dis-armed, even at home.
The wardrobes always reminded him of an ancient fairy tale popular on a number of the alternate Earths. Something written by a theist named Lewis.
A wardrobe that contained a doorway to another world. Perhaps Lewis had heard stories and had been inspired by them. It was common for Sorcerers to hide jump points in such pieces of furniture. He’d once had an associate who had hidden one in an antique British police call box. What was his name? Arenjun couldn’t seem to recall it at the moment.
Then there was the legend of the Holy Prophet Joshua who escaped death via a jump point hidden in a coffin.
That had started religions on many worldlines. Some-times a good thing at their beginning but usually a bad thing in the long run.
He looked at the cat. “Ready to jump, doll?”
He opened the wardrobe door and stepped in. Angel-ique followed him.
On the other end of the tunnel was his private Star Cas-tle, which was in an orbit around the Great Sphere. As he stepped from the jump connection the two Temporal Guards on duty there snapped to attention and saluted.
The main life system of the Castle was a torus some two kilometers in diameter that rotated when the place was in orbit, thus providing artificial gravity by way of centrifugal force.
Arenjun looked up and down the street that ran by the jump station and all the way around the center of the doughnut. It curved up and up but without the horizon one would see on a Sphere plate. At the farthest point it seemed to join the sky, which was made of diamond glass and allowed light to enter focused by arrays of mirrors. Since the sun of this system was blocked off by the Sphere the castle’s fusion generators were running to pro-vide artificial light.
A pod car pulled up before the station and a tall, blue figure got out.
Nori Vinjon, a Randarian navigator__ the chief naviga-tor of the castle__ approached the Time Sorcerer.
The Randarians were a race of artificial beings that spe-cialized in mathematics and hence in interstellar and inter-dimensional navigation. Nori, like most of his people, was thin, blue skinned and had pointed ears and a balding head. His eyes were dark and Randars seldom if ever smiled.
“Greetings, Your Lordship,” said the navigator.
Just then a platoon of young men and women jogged by down the slope of the torus, chanting a cadence.
They wore the fatigues of the House Sarkhon Temporal Knights Corps. Those would be the Special Forces unit—the Dark Knights—that had been seconded to this project.
Temporal Guardians were the enforcement arm and military wing of every Atlantean Time Sorcerer house. They were also part of the Time Sorcerer League and ex-pected to behave as an arm of the League whenever the League acted as a unit. Which was seldom these days. Gone were the days of League cooperation. Since the Guild Treaty and the Diaspora it was pretty much every house for itself.
The Temporal Knights were the most elite units of Guardians. They formed the Black ops units of the House Guardians. They were the elite of an elite corpse.
The Dark Knights were a special black operations unit of House Sarkhon’s corps. Secret and deniable and that was why they had been sent to help in this mission.
“Greetings, Nori,” Arenjun replied. “Is the Grimoire ready?”
The Randarian nodded. “It is in place in the holospace conference hall, sire.”
He gestured toward the building that contained the con-ference hall. That would be the upper floor of the Control Center right next to the Bridge.
“Thank you, Nori,” said Arenjun and sat in the pod car. The Randar sat in what would have been the driver seat of the vehicle had this not been a robot car. They stopped before the Command Building. They left the car to return to the vehicle pool and entered the structure.
An elevator took them up to the Bridge. They stepped into a big round room with all manner of instruments ar-rayed around it perimeter. The instruments were manned with technicians. There was a helmsman in the pilot couch. The Bridge of the castle was always manned, al-ways ready to depart on a moment’s notice.
The navigator station with its Randarite astrogator sphere was empty. That would be Nori’s position. The sphere was used for normal space navigation but it was best for hyperspace and warped space navigation. In FTL there was no way to navigate save by use of the big Holo-graphic sphere. It allowed the pilot to avoid gravity wells which were deadly to FTL ships.
Forward of the room were three big screens that dis-played space outside the big star castle and instrument readings.
Behind the pilot and astrogator stations was the big cap-tain’s couch. At present it was empty. That was Arenjun’s seat. This was Arenjun’s castle and he was its skipper.
The Time Sorcerer nodded to Nori as the synthetic man took the captain’s couch. Arenjun then entered a side cor-ridor. The corridor was lined on both sides by hibernation cells__ leftovers from an ancient time when such crude methods of suspended animation were still used. The original ship from which the castle had been derived had been a generation ship in the time before FTL.
At the end of the corridor was Arenjun’s ready room and through that the holospace conference chamber.
The walls of the holospace room displayed a holo-mural of the Terra Prime system. Arenjun walked out on-to the dais and sat on the couch in front of the pedestal on which rested the Grimoire.
The cat climbed up on the cat seat on the right arm of the couch and began to lick her paw. It made Arenjun smile. When the reflection of his own recorded persona spoke to him from the cat the creature seemed like any sentient being—a partner as it were. But the rest of the time she was just a friendly, affectionate companion.  A pet. He reached over and scratched her between the ears, Angelique purred and rubbed her cheek against his hand.
He then looked up toward the holoscreen that sur-rounded him. To his left was the great nebula known as the Vault of Heaven and to the right was the Sphere.
At the orbital distance of the palace the Sphere looked like a big wall. You had to get really far out into space to see the whole thing, with its two Astronomical Unit diam-eter. Then you would see that it was not a complete sphere but rather a wide band around the sun. You couldn’t put caps on the Sphere because they would not have orbital stability and it was—at least according the Sidairian Cosmic Engineers—one hell of a trick keeping the plates of the Sphere in orbit as it was.
A wonder of the universes was Terra-Prime. And per-haps the most important hunk of real estate in the entire Cosmos. Certainly it was the most disputed.
In the northern and southern plates of the Sphere were the energy and exotic materials collection plates. There resided machines that collected and produced antimatter, Helium 3, Deuterium, Dark Matter and Vacuum Energy. Most of the materials that made the fantastic technology of the InterCosmic civilization possible,
The Great Sphere also captured much of the stellar en-ergy that came from the G-class star at its center. It was a veritable cornucopia of natural food production. It also had unlimited living space for a nearly infinite number of intelligent beings.
Ages ago the Atlantean Time Sorcerers and their elder race cousins—Sidairians, Seraphians, Taurans, et al, had been involved in a really big, really long war over who controlled Terra Prime and the preserved world habitats that populated it. The war had gone on for nearly a centu-ry with no sign of victory or end in sight for either side.
Eventually a family of Time Sorcerers—the Shaitannis-es, whose named translated in Ancient Atlantese to the Opponents—threatened to use a Nova Inducer on the cen-tral sun of the Terra Prime system. A device that would pour enough antimatter into the sun to cause it to nova, killing everything on the
Sphere.
That brought both sides to the treaty table and led to a cease fire that lasted for ten years while all interested par-ties argued over an end to the hostilities—with the Shai-tannises calling all the shots.
The result was the Guild Treaty named for the Time Sorcerers Guild—that less than perfect, much despised, armistice that had so far maintained what people had come to accept as the peace for nearly four-thousand years.
And now, once again, that peace was threatened and it fell on the shoulders of the Sarkhons—as always at odds with their landsmen the Shaits__to preserve it and, at the same time, push things along in the direction of social evolution.
But this time—if things worked out—the Guild Treaty would be circumvented and over passed and Terra Prime would be the world it had always been meant to be. That was the Sarkhon plan. And it would take much effort and much care to make it work.
The Grimoire looked like an ancient lap top computer in a jewel and gold embossed case that was covered with Atlantean runes. It was baroque and highly crafted like most ancient Atlantean devices.
They really knew how to make things in those days. Even stuff that came from the replicators of Old Atlantis looked like a craftsman worked years on them. Nothing looked mass produced though he was sure that the Gri-moire devices were.
Of course they were rare these days. Guiders had all but replaced them. Though the average Grimoire was much more powerful and one did not need hyper-mentation or special training to use one.
That’s why he would take this one with him. The family in hiding could make use of it. He was certain of that.
The Atlantean device was open to reveal a holo-graphic screen and a control panel with touch sensitive meta-keys. The device was not a computer but an opening into holospace—the mysterious realm where all twelve dimensions of the Cosmos were inscribed in two dimen-sions.
The Grimoire was a much bigger cousin to the Guider gem that Arenjun wore on his forehead. The gem could link with the Grimoire and allowed Arenjun to control the unit by his will alone.
Arenjun placed the palm of his right hand on the Gri-moire control panel.
Lord Arenjun Sarkhon said the Guider voice in his head. The voice of the Guardian of Holospace. Commun-ion is approved.
No one knew exactly who or what the GoH was. It might be one being or a gestalt module of many. Only one thing was certain: it consisted of the preserved personae of some of the greatest people who had ever lived. Aren-jun was willing to guess that many of them had gone by the name of Sarkhon. One of them might even be old Har-lan himself, the founder of the clan.
Or ancient Thrall Khonn who married into Pangean stock and produced the Khonns and Rhanns of that Priman nation.
The image of Terra Prime faded out and was replaced by the figure of a woman with blue eyes and long dark hair bound back in a braid.
Hello, honey, he thought cast to the woman.
She smiled. Hello, love. How are thing on the big Sphere?
Cassidy Arias Sarkhon was Arenjun’s wife as well as his business agent. She had been so for over forty Stand-ards. She was not Atlantean, making theirs the kind of mixed marriage that Atlantean society, for all its other en-lightenments, tended to frown on.
Cass was only seventy standards of age and in excellent shape for an Earther.  Currently she resided on Genesis-Prime and was his contact with Sarkhon enterprises there.
The big Sphere is rotten with corruption and villainy, he replied.
She was not a Time Sorcerer, since non-Atlanteans were not permitted into the society. She had come from one of the more advanced Earths__ Earth 360, which had interstellar space travel and was permitted access to the Dyson Spheres.
Don’t I know it, said Cass.
Cass worked for and with Joshua Sarkhon, the Chief Executive of the house business. Which made her a big wheel on the Dyson Sphere known as Genesis Prime.
Genesis Prime was built around a smaller star in a neighboring universe.  It was named for the ancient world ship that had brought the Atlanteans from the Old Uni-verse some 150 thousand standards ago.
That world ship was still in orbit about the Sphere and was the capital of Atlantean civilization in the part of the Cosmos that included Terra-Prime.
So, all in all, Joshua was an important person. He was the President of Genesis Prime and the Director-General of the Time Sorcerer’s Guild that managed the Guild Treaty. And he was Arenjun’s wife’s boss.
Unfortunately the Shaitannises and four other Hous-es—including Sarkhon—had veto power in all Guild mat-ters since they were founding members of the association. If it were not for this a majority vote would serve to make changes in the situation of Terra-Prime and there would be no problems. But the vetoes always served to thwart any changes.
The Shaitannis had little to do with Genesis-Prime pre-ferring, along with their allies, to rule over Tartaris-Prime—a world ship where they had long ago been exiled for their crimes against Atlantean society, and a place from which they had managed to earn their freedom to continue with such crimes—legally more or less. For when a governing body commits a crime it is called state-craft.
Denied a Sphere to rule over the Shaitannises preferred to manage__ one should say mismanage__ Terra-Prime with the power of their veto and hope for the day when they could rule it outright, as they had tried to do in the Great War.
You look tired, Arenjun, said Cassidy.
Work days are long on the Sphere, dear, he replied.
And progress is scant, said his wife.
Genesis-Prime was in a worldline where the Earth was the center of a Galactic Federation. Joshua Sarkhon had been born there and had a loyalty to that place and time.
That Federation, known as the Elder Terran Federa-tion was currently exploring wormholes that would give them access to Terra-Prime and maybe even its rivals the renegade Sphere of Atlantis-Prime. It was only a matter of time. Joshua, Cass had informed him, was concerned that the Terran Federation might encounter Terra-Prime before that Sphere had its house in order. Which could lead to disaster and open warfare between the Guild and a less advanced, still highly warlike society.
Arenjun grinned at his wife. Progress always seems scant to the impatient and is not easy to discern from in-side the process.
Yet, Cass smiled. The situation in Arcadia continues to decay. Duke Nathaniel Taylor, our best hope for a resolu-tion of the problems in our favor, continues to languish in jail. And his family is still in hiding somewhere in the cap-ital city.
Arenjun frowned.
 I have managed to convince the Emperor of Pangea to send in a covert mission to rescue the family assisted by our local Doom Watch elements.
And you requested an elite Special Forces contingent of the Temporal Knights Guardian to be placed at the dis-posal of this Emperor’s agents, said Cassidy.
If the opportunity presents itself we will use this force to rescue Nathaniel Taylor, said Arenjun.
And once they have been rescued?
Then we will relocate them to a sanctuary worldline, where they will be safe until they are needed.
Hopefully one that is under our control.
Arenjun knew that Joshua hoped that the Taylors would be sent to his beloved Elder Terran Federation but Aren-jun did not share his trust for that Earth Empire and so he did not divulge his plans. The Federation might try to use the Taylors as leverage to grab themselves a piece of Ter-ra-Prime and he did not wish to allow that. The Great Sphere must never be allowed to become a colony of any other civilization—especially a primitive and somewhat warlike upstart of one. After all it was called the Terran Federation—which seemed to indicate a Terran prejudice on the part of its people. And Terra- Prime was only relat-ed to that Terra in name. It was a preserve for species originating on many versions of Terra__ including an-cient Atlantis.
Of course the term prime in Central Atlantese meant a preserve or refuge and so Terra-Prime meant Earth Ref-uge.
I will settle for one where the Wallaces cannot reach them, said Arenjun on the matter of the sanctuary line.
And the father?   Will he join them in exile?
He will be taken to a neighboring plate where a covert center for the resistance has been grown. Nothing like a strong resistance to unsettle a dictatorship.
Cass nodded. Very well, but remember, under the treaty the Shaitannises are allowed to keep their damned anti-matter nova inducers. They still orbit the Priman star ready to move in at a command from House Shaitannis. Whatever we do in Arcadia we must not provoke another Terra-Prime war. It would be the end of everything.
Arenjun nodded. Of course it would, he thought. I will proceed with all necessary caution, darling.
But I will not sacrifice the future to the mistakes of the past.
I will forward your report to Joshua.
I know you will, love.
She blew him a kiss. Be careful, my dearest. This is a dangerous game that we are playing.


Arenjun closed the Grimoire and slipped its thin case into the carry pouch in his cape.
He left the holospace conference chamber and head-ed back to the command bridge of the palace. He passed the rows of hibernation cells. Arenjun had left them in place because he had once had a plan to use them to store replacement bodies for himself and members of his fami-ly. Nothing had come of that plan yet but it was still on the back burner.
The thought of the cells made him cold—not with a re-minder of cold sleep because these had been converted to warm sleep cells that preserved the body by use of a fluid loaded with nanobots.
 No it made him think of all the years he had devoted to his mission as unofficial Sarkhon ambassador to Terra Prime.
The job never seemed to be finished and the rewards for it were few and far between.
Perhaps he would have the reward—soon—of putting the arrogant and sadistic Wallaces in their place. But he knew enough not to count your winnings while you were still at the tables. And this thought was a left over from his long ago youth when he had—to his parent’s displeas-ure—been fond of games of chance.
He nodded to the Randarite and took the elevator down to the promenade. There he caught a pod car that whisked him up the wheel to one of the connecting spokes. He then took a jump point to the center of the castle.
Docked there on huge support gantries was his private Star Palace. He took an elevator up the gantry and entered the huge ship via its airlock.
Once inside he went to the control room and sat down in the central command couch. He was alone in the place__ save for the security guards and the bot support staff.
He opened the comm module on the main screen and saw that he had a message from Genghis—that being Ko-thar Junior’s call sign. When on the castle Arenjun always took Watch messages in his place.
He opened the message and decoded it.
“The cat is in the cradle,” it said.
Good, thought Arenjun. Now we can advance the game one step.
He called up the CO of the Dark Knights, Gemini Syrtis on the screen.
“Colonel Syrtis speaking,” said the woman.
“Colonel are your troops ready to jump?”
“Aye, My Lord,” she answered crisply.
“Very well assemble them for a jump to the first staging area.”
“By your command, my lord.”
“And may the Lords of Light guide you.”
Arenjun closed the channel. Now came the hard part.















The Sisterhood of the Holy Magdalene had originated in the Old Universe on the planet known as Atlantis. It was an order named for the consort of the Holy Prophet Josh-ua of the Universal Church of Atlantis. But in most things the Sisterhood was independent of all organized religions. Its adherents were trained and skilled in the ways of the Sorcerers though they were not themselves sorcerers and it was considered of benefit to any Great House to have a Sister breed with one of its members.
Mother General Corbus Lang, The Sisterhood


We say Gods rather than God because it is widely held, by enlightened minds, that each worldline has its own God and so there are many. God is as infinite as the pos-sibilities that separate all the universes.
Altus Rhann, Holographica.


I never had much use for invisible friends. Give me a good weapon and a target and I’ll do just fine.
Rogue Ranger by Colin O’Brien







































Chapter 5:
The Creed of Resistance
Father Philip Kim was a short balding man, who wore a goatee and data glasses. He was not naturally bald but had depilitated his scalp after the fashion of the Buddhist monks of his homeline of Earth 3261.
He sat behind his desk with a secure panoramic confer-ence stage in front of him. The virtual screen wrapped about him and was visible only to his spex clad eyes.  And the speech was hearable only in his thought trans-mission relay. Which was amazing in itself since priests had been forbidden to have such modifications until just ten standard years prior. The Church had a long history of being anti-evolution, anti-cyborg, anti-genegeneering and anti-you name it. In short, the church was now and always had been an arch conservative force.
But, of course, as always happens the tide of change had caught up to them and it was__ as the evolutionists would say__ adapt or die.
And, of course, these days Church Security was consid-ered paramount. The Church had always realized it had enemies. And if too many secrets got out those enemies would use it against the Holy Mother.
Now it had to consider that it had enemies that could not be dealt with by threats of damnation and excommu-nication.
The Royal Church of Arcadia had its secrets like any great organization and among those secrets was the Holy Resistance, a secret organization consisting of priests, monks and nuns that did not approve of and could not ap-prove of the Wallace excesses.
And considered the teachings of the Earth philoso-pher, Ayn Rand, to be quite unholy. Downright cruel and predatory. A throw back to the dawn times when humans and other intelligent species had been little more than an-imals.
A few centuries ago the Magisterium of the Universal Church of Atlantis and its Magister General had pretty much ruled over the spiritual life of much of Universalist Terra-Prime. And hence had pretty much heavily influ-enced the politics and culture of the Great Sphere. Except in those places where what they would call pagan reli-gions dominated.
Then, as happens in most organized religions, a schism occurred.
The problem had started here in Arcadia where the Taylor King—Leonidas I—had come to disagree with the Magisterium on certain subjects of law and culture.
He had objected strongly to the Church’s influence in internal politics of the realm. Especially their use of the pulpit and tax free funds to influence the election of pub-lic officials.
Leonidas was never considered as being Church friendly. He had come to believe in the ungodly principle of separation of Church and State as well as the freedom of an individual to choose his own religion or lack there-of. His reign had seen the abolition of human slavery and the repeal of the harsh and unenforceable anti-agnosticism and anti-homosexual laws.
 A period of scientific enlightenment the likes of which had not been seen since the days of ancient Atlantis followed.
This made him many enemies in the UCA.
This went against the Church’s interests since such a philosophy would allow citizens to set up faiths that the Magisterium considered false and would afford atheists—God forbid—the right to their beliefs__ or lack thereof. This outrage could not be allowed to stand.
Though the current Magister General denied it the UCA had interfered in United Kingdom politics and orchestrat-ed a scandal that had led to the House of Barons ousting the Taylors and replacing them with House Wallace__ a house that was then considered very pious and therefore Church friendly. Erasmus Wallace, one of the oldest rec-orded ancestors of the house had been canonized as St. Erasmus. No Taylor could claim as much.
Back then the Wallaces were considered good and de-vout Universalists and so the change was cheered by the UCA.
But that didn’t last too long. In the fullness of time it became apparent that the Church had made a big mistake by backing a Wallace as King.
 James I Wallace had wanted a divorce from his wife, Bianca and the Church, being strongly anti-divorce, had denied him his wishes. What God has put together let no man set asunder, the Magister General proclaimed.
The Wallaces told the UCA to go frigg itself.
James had his pet Parliament abrogate all rights of the Church in Arcadia and appointed the Archbishop of Newer London the Magister General of the plate’s churches and King James the President of the Church of Arcadia which would no longer be a part of the UCA.
There followed a civil war which the Wallaces handily won because they controlled all the elite troops and the best weapons.
The then Magister General sent an envoy to Pangea plate to try and get the College of Prince Barons to de-clare war against the United Kingdom and its upstart king.
But relations between the Emerald Empire and Arcadia were too strong, Pangea being the groundside capital of the Gyptian Privateer traders, as well as being a plate where many people believed in many pagan gods owing to the predominance of Norse, Greek, Roman, Cro-Magnon and Egyptian cultures from the worldlines of origin.
So the Magisterium suffered another defeat at the hands of secular authority.
And someone, as yet unknown, had assassinated the then Magister General, Geoffrey Halden.
The new Magister General ordered the Church Militant to recruit a mercenary army of holy warriors to attack Ar-cadia.
The soon after martyred St John Weston pointed out that there was no such thing as a holy warrior. That war is, in fact, the most unholy act in which humans are in-volved.
This led to his stoning by a mob. And though he was not an Arcadian__ in fact he was a Pangean cleric__ the Church of Arcadia declared him a saint and a holy victim of injustice__ a martyr.
The Magister General declared a Holy Crusade to liber-ate Arcadia from its pagan overlords.
The Brotherhood of Saint Sebastian led the first of these crusades and there was yet another defeat for the Magisterium. The MG had not been willing to foot the bill for modern up to date warships and fighters, so the Cru-saders went to war in old, mothballed ships supported by Kaledan mercenary crews. Many of the Kaledons aban-doned their troops and fled with the ships and others died of misadventure when the ancient vessels gave up their ghosts in the deeps of space. To this day many of the ships have not been found.
The war ended without treaty__ one side no longer able to pursue the adventure. A cold war standoff fol-lowed with all the treachery and malevolence that such a war entails. More clerics were assassinated, on both sides. And more saints were ordained.
After that there were two more Holy Wars and two more defeats. And a third would be crusade led by chil-dren who ended up being captured and sold into slavery by pirates from Hydropangea.
Finally a new and more liberal__ or as liberal as the chief of a perennially conservative organization could be__ Magister General took the throne and the Holy Wars ceased—though the Church via its intelligence organ, the Universal Church Intelligence Assembly (UCIA) contin-ued a covert program to undermine the Wallace govern-ment.
For the last two hundred years the Wallace King had been the President of the Church of Arcadia and the peo-ple of Pangea had seen a resurgence of the ancient the At-lantean religion of the Lords of Light and Darkness with its idea that each universe had its own god__ that could either be a lord of light or of darkness, evil or good__ fur-ther weakening the attraction of a central church that wor-shipped one God who was an unnamed entity__ because naming Him would allow you to control Him. A definite no-no.
Also among intellectuals pantheism flourished. The be-lief that gods didn’t really account for much at all. They were just the matches that started the flame.
Then the Guild awarded the Wallaces fiefdom over the worldline of Earth 3261.
When Radu Wallace took the throne he had sent his nephew, Wesley__ the heir to the throne__ to Earth 3261, to Run Wallace Enterprises, their cover company on that alternate Earth.
Earth 3261 was a harsh place. For one thing in the sixth decade of their 20th Century there had been a nuclear war that devastated the United States and totally obliterated Cuba and the Soviet Union. In the harsh nuclear winter that followed survivors clung to extreme philosophies as society crumbled around them. Fundamentalist preachers rose to positions of authority and imposed their views of right and wrong on the world.
By the 1970s civilization was on the mend but liberty and freedom were all but gone.
While there Wesley met the philosopher Vivian Gear__ a disciple of Ayn Rand. Gear had survived the 1963 Atomic war on that worldline and had grown in power and resources. Her mentor had not been so lucky. She had been burned at the stake by fundamentalist vigilantes as an atheist witch.
It was at this time that Vivian Gear started to integrate religion into her philosophy. This lip service to God saved her neck.
Wesley had become smitten with the woman and had arranged for her to get Priman life prolongation treat-ments. And a travel access permit to Terra-Prime.
Wesley could not wait to take her heartless, selfish creed back to Arcadia and his Uncle__ the King__ al-lowed him to begin to implement its philosophy__ called Objectivism for no discernible reason__ in the United Kingdom.
Things went from bad to worse in no time at all.
People of faith had become bonded together in their dislike of Gearism. But the wealthy liked the philosophy because it proclaimed all greedy, selfish people to be ge-niuses with special rights and privileges over the parasites that were their bane.
The labor unions and the secular charities were not amused by the move to the selfish right on the plate. And so they were abolished.
Kim and his fellow rebels were not at all happy with the Wallaces. But they were not free to act as they wished. The Universal Church Intelligence Assembly financed the activities of their resistance underground, more often than not interfering with their autonomy rather than helping their cause.
One of the bishops who looked at him from the holo-graphic stage was an agent of the UCIA and everyone knew it. Though none of them would discuss it openly. They kept his secret because the Assembly was a valuable source of funds for the Resistance. A resistance that was somewhat moot in its affects but nonetheless dedicated to its cause.
Father Phil did not particularly like the Bishop and tried to avoid talking to him whenever that was possible. The man represented many things that Phil did not ap-prove of on many levels. Not the least of which was his membership in the Universalist Church. UCIA hoods re-minded him of the Fundamentalist Fascists in the gov-ernment back home. The people he had long ago fled here to escape.
 But politics and revolution make strange bed fellows and so he had little choice in the matter of association. The UCIA wanted him here to watch out for their interests and so he was here and that was that.
He was the Sub-Archbishop of Newer England, Bishop Thomas Hannigan. His position one step removed from the woman who ran the Church of Arcadia on a day to day basis had made him a first rate recruitment victory for the Assembly. It also rendered him an untrustworthy thug.
If Archbishop Diana Tillson were to die it was very possible that an Assembly agent would be the head priest of the C of A.  Then the only thing standing in their way of reasserting themselves in Arcadia would be the King. But the King was the head of the Church in everything but its daily running so that really was not a triumph.
It is hard to overcome an ancient institution. Whether it be a church or a monarchy. Old ways died hard and new ways tended to become blended into them or if not outright rejected.
The other three rebels were: Reverend Mother of the Magdalenes, Lisa Carbone. A wise woman in her sixties who had made no friends in the Royal Family with her outspoken views on politics__ and women’s reproductive rights. Radu did not try to suppress women’s reproductive rights, he just preferred that no one speak of them in pub-lic__ or leastways in front of him.
Though the Wallaces were Gearist and followed the economic theories of an atheist they were also conserva-tive fundamentalists when it came to religion.
Ayn Rand had been killed in the war so there wasn’t a damned thing she could say about it. Gear was her suc-cessor and anyone who didn’t like it had a way of disap-pearing. Or so it was said.
 Next to the Reverend Mother on the stage was Brother Marco Frank, the most junior of them all and the fellow who did most of the grunt work for the group. That is anything that Phil did not do.
And finally Father Minh Trang who ran what they called the Underground Railroad for the organization__ that branch of the resistance that handled travel in and out of Arcadia.
Yes, this was Phil’s cell and right now he was thinking that they were all less than useless in the current situation. Including, unfortunately, himself.
How are your cares holding up? Hannigan asked him via thought radio.
Well, considering, said Phil. But time is running short. The city is turning into a battlefield that grows more vio-lent by the moment. And it seems that this is the only thing slowing down a RAMP sweep of the entire region for these fugitives.
Hannigan frowned. Then perhaps it is time that we give up on this dangerous course of action and surrender the family to the RAMP.
Yes leave it to him to suggest that. The Assembly and its masters in Angelika had no love for the Taylors. If the ruler of Arcadia were to be replaced they would just as soon not have it be a descendant of Leonidas I.  In fact they desired a puppet that would seal the breach between the Holy City in Angelika and Newer London and bring back the good old days of church rule—of both realms.
Arcadia was their last hope for bringing back the old days of dominant state faith. The Emperor Toreus had made sure that church and state were to be separate enti-ties in his kingdom. No ifs ands or buts about it.
How long would it be before Hannigan dropped a line to the RAMP and turned the Taylors over to them? Not long, Phil conjectured. The man was interested in saving his own skin and pleasing his masters in the Holy City—a bad combination.
Father Minh, Phil asked the Underground Railway conductor. Are you sure that you cannot arrange transport for them?
Trang shook his head doubtfully. There are many peo-ple fleeing Arcadia and we ourselves may shortly be among them. I’m not certain that I could arrange passage for us let alone someone as high profile as the Duchess and her two sons. Already some of my best contacts have been arrested.
The Taylors should be a priority, said Phil, his temper popping.
That is a matter of perspective, said Hannigan. And not a perspective that is widely shared by other cells in our movement.
Yes, and not by your true masters, you Universalist bas-tard.
I would be willing to accompany them, said Brother Marco. Marco was Thulian by genotype but Arcadian by birth. He had the rough flat, heavy browed apelike face of his people and was likewise a small, heavily muscled hu-manoid. Most Thulians tended to be conservative but not Marco. And there was no questioning his loyalty as well.
He was loyal to the Arcadian Church even though offi-cial Church policy said that his people did not exist as a separate race of hominid and were just another breed of Homo sapiens__ though a lower one. Lower even than the blacks and the so-called Celestials such as Phil him-self and Tran.
Good old Marco, thought Phil.  On most worldlines his people had been doomed to extinction but the Sidairian Preservers had gathered all that they could find and moved them here__ to Thulia Plate. And with the help of the Sidairian gene engineers they had managed to survive.
No, Brother, said Hannigan, once more proving that there was no democracy in their cell. The Sub-Archbishop was the boss here as he was of the Mother Church__ the one that traced its roots back to Mother Atlantis. He would only bend over and kiss ass for his Assembly case officer. We cannot have you make heroic risks like that. You are much too valuable.
That almost made Phil boil over. Who was this lap dog to say that?
That still does not fix the transport problem, said Tran. There is no way out. Arcadia is sealed like a drum.
No, there was still the Emperor, thought Phil.  He had promised to help as soon as was possible. But Phil could not divulge this to any of the members of his cell. Be-cause the Emperor did not trust them. He knew that there were Universalists spies in the Resistance. Spies like Hannigan.
The Duchess is a former student of mine, said the Rev-erend Mother. She should understand the need for sacri-fice.
Meaning? Challenged Phil.
Perhaps she should stay behind and allow you to take the two boys away to safety. A smaller group with children might not show up on the enemy’s grid. Especially if such a strikingly beautiful woman were not there and the boys were disguised as mem-bers of a lower class.
Phil did not like this but his reaction to that would reveal feelings that he was not sure he wanted any of these people to be aware of. He wasn’t sure that he wished anyone to know of his feelings for Lois. Some things were best kept below the rose.
And he knew that the Reverend Mother did not even really know Lois. They were from different schools of the order and had never met. She had never been her teacher. Perhaps she had written a text that was used to train acolytes__ nothing more.
The Reverend Mother was nothing short of a liar.
I will discuss it with her, he lied giving up on this bunch of armchair conspirators. I’m signing off now.
He deactivated the stage and shook his head doubtfully.
The Emperor is our only hope, he thought.

The Duchess Lois Wu Chandler Taylor was not a timid person. Not by a long shot. But that did not mean that she was without fear.
And today she was really scared. Shitless, would have been the term her elder son would have used— if she had encouraged him to use such language. Which she did not. The use of profanity made one seem less smart than one was.
Yes, she was scared for the future. But, then again, almost everyone was these days. The tide of political disasters that Radu Wallace had sewn throughout Arcadian life in the past few years were beginning to boil over into the makings of a civil war.
No, not beginning. They were well on their way to that state. Things had been wrong long before Prince Wesley brought the horrible Earth woman’s idiocy back to Arcadia. The seeds for this age of horrors had been sewn long ago.
She was in the parlor of the Rectory of St. Car-son’s Church watching her younger son, Leo as he sat on the carpet talking to his robot bear, Timmy.
The bear stood about a meter tall and was cov-ered in soft, brown fur that could change texture and color as well as thickness. It was designed along the lines of a typical stuffed bear save that it was fully articulated and could move like a living creature__ it could also convert its appearance into any other number of shapes.
Right at the moment its eyes were dark and glassy and its muzzle creased by a welcoming smile.
The boy was fond of the bear and would not leave it even when Joss Carpenter had shown up in the middle of the night to sneak them out of the manor house, past the approaching bike mounted RAMP officers on their way to arrest them.
Joss could not disagree with the boy’s choice—nor could Lois. The bear was a very smart machine with lots of resources and abilities. Whoever had de-signed the thing had been a genius—no doubt about that. Its Seraphian memory banks alone made it a ra-re and priceless possession.
Nathanial had brought the bear back from Hydro-pangea where he had been part of the Peace Force helping Prince Eric Rhann with his pirate problem.
It had been in an antique shop in Desirae City by the Great Hydropangean Sea. The proprietor could not say where it had come from and the machine did not work. He sold it to the Duke and Nathaniel brought it home and presented it to his boys.
Nathan did not take to it as readily as Leo and in no time the younger boy had the mechanical bear working. Or so it was believed. Leo still insisted the machine had come to life all by itself.
That was before Radu Wallace had decided to sever all relations with the Pangean Empire. He had called the Emperor and his family communists and not worthy of trust. More of the Ayn Rand nonsense that formed a backdrop to all the stupidity that had happened before and since.
 Leo loved the machine animal like it was a sec-ond brother. It was for this reason that no one ques-tioned the twelve year olds attachment to it. Timmy was much more than a toy. He was, as far as anyone could determine, sentient. And that put him, poten-tially, among that small class of AI that were afford-ed legal rights under the constitutions of the more advanced worldlines and plates. At least places that recognized the Mechan Laws that gave civil rights to artificial beings.
Unfortunately Arcadia did not recognize such laws. It was widely feared that AI suffrage would harm the plate’s economy, which was heavily de-pendent on Nipponesan robots and synthetic per-sonalities.
Arcadia was once again among those places that still recognized slavery as a valid institution though the slavery of sentient beings of biological origin was not considered as cost effective and efficient as that of artificial beings.
For that reasons Mechans would not work for Arcadian employers and one could not find a Randarite navigator on ships of Arcadian registry. It was a subject that her husband had long campaigned on to no avail. His ancestors had been among the great liberators of Terra-Prime history. It hurt him dearly to believe that he was failing to maintain the tradition.
Father Philip Kim and her older son, sixteen year old Nathan entered the parlor.
“Any news?” she asked them. She tried to keep the worry out of her voice. Her training with the Sis-terhood helped there. She had been a very devoted Magdalene until she was introduced to Duke Natha-nial Taylor. Then she had melted inside. Had fallen in love for the first time in her life. And had never stopped loving him to this very day some twenty years later.
From that day forward she had never looked back to her old life. She had become a member of House Taylor. Which also meant that she had become swept up in the politics of Arcadia and the place that the Taylors held in that politics.
Her Duke wanted to create a Republic in Arcadia. Wanted to put his title and that of his heirs on the trash heap of history in favor of a government by the people, of the people and for the people. Much like what they had had in Western Atlantis some one hundred and fifty thousand years ago, before the Rise of the Supermen and the collapse of Atlantean society.
Father Phil shook his head. “There are riots and firefights throughout the city, they are arresting dis-sidents and conducting house to house searches.”
“No, sign of Dad,” said Nathan, shaking his dark blond head.
Lois looked at her elder son and tried to keep the sadness out of her eyes. Nathan loved his father dearly and she could see that he was anguished over the arrest of the Duke.
“Do not lose heart, Nathan,” she said.  “The sur-vival of our family rests on our shoulders now.”
Nathan sat down in a chair across from her. “It’s just sinking in, Mom. Nothing is going to be the same ever again—is it?”
“No,” she said. “But change is the one thing in life that is always inevitable. And inescapable. The con-servative mind is a mind that is full of the capacity for self-delusion. They believe that change can be resisted or turned back. But that is never true. The very fabric of the Cosmos is dependent on change. If history were as stable as the conservative mind would wish it to be then there would be no alternate universes. Everything would be steady and predict-able and pre-ordained.
“I have always tried to teach you—and your fa-ther—that change must be accepted and guided in a direction that will make it a good and worthy thing. Just because things will not be the same does not mean that they must be worse.”
“But Dad is in the hands of the Wallies,” said Na-than. “The biggest bunch of creeps on the Great Sphere.”
“But we are still free,” said Leo. “And as long as that is true then they haven’t won.”
Nathan threw his brother a harsh look. Like so many elder children he hated to have his kid brother contradict him. But he also appreciated Leo’s innate ability to cut through all the complications of life and state the obvious thing that everyone else was ignoring.
So Nathan smiled at Leo and laughed.
“And as long as we are free we can even up the score.”
Leo held his fist up toward his brother.
“We are the Taylor Brothers.”
Nathan banged his fist against Leo's. “And we never quit.”
The bot banged his paw against those of the brothers, “Excelsior,” said the deep robot voice.
This sent a pang of dread through Lois’ motherly heart. She did not want her children to be warriors—at least not yet. What mother did?
Let them be children for just a while longer.
But she knew that that was a foolish wish. This was another of those changes that was inevitable. Suddenly she felt as if her lecture to her sons would choke her.
“When you are ready,” she said. “Right now you have much growth ahead of you before you are ready to tackle the Wallace Dragon.”
The two boys looked at their mother and then at one another. Lois knew that they were probably passing some wisecracking message along their mental thought net. The two boys were good at that.
Open channels, please, she transmitted to them. There is no need to be rude.
Her ceremonial facial marks became visible when she was angry. The swirling, feathery lines around her eyes made her look like an owl__ a fierce owl.
Yes, Mom, both boys chorused on the family channel.
Satisfied that her children had been reminded of proper hyper-mentation manners, she turned her at-tention to Father Phil.
“Father, has there been any word of Kai’Vhan po-lice searching churches and rectories?”
The priest shook his smoothly shaved head. “So far they have shown the proper legal respect for hal-lowed ground. It is fortunate that our enemies are the Wallaces. They have always used the Church as a means of subjugating people that they feel are their lesser. And, in order to earn the respect of the Church they have to give the Church what it feels is its dues. They won’t search churches and convents and rectories until they have searched everywhere else. Then RAMP will conduct the searches by themselves with the Kai’Vhan standing off some-where—since the Church considers cyborgs to be unholy.”
Lois frowned. “The Wallaces are Gearist__ to them religion is merely a cover, a delusion. They may start searching churches sooner than you think. And, since they are cowards they will send their cy-borg slaves to do the deed. That way only the cy-borgs will be damned to perdition.”
Father Phil could be counted on to tell the truth to her and her family. He was a loyal servant to the Taylor household. He had always been a spy for the Taylors inside the CoA.
And the Church of Arcadia—as a willing pawn of House Wallace—was an enemy of the Taylors. And since the Taylors gave no money to the Church it was an easy hatred for them to maintain.
“To bad all we can do is sit here and wait for Joss Carpenter to get in touch with us,” said Lois. “We can do nothing until then.”
“What if the police come before Uncle Joss gets here?” asked Nathan.
What if, she thought, terror gnawing at her down deep inside. Then I must stand my ground and sacri-fice myself to see that my sons live and escape the clutches of our enemies. Then, and only then, will the enemy have a partial victory but not a complete one. And the name of Taylor will live on to come back and haunt them in some as yet unrealized fu-ture.
There is no such thing as destiny, no such thing as fate. No divine will. The future is always open__ if you have the wisdom to see it and exploit it.
“Then we will change our location,” said Father Phil. “We will enter the basement of the world via the tunnels under the church and seek a hiding place there.”
Yes, the basement of the world. The great under-ground labyrinths below each world plate. Built by the World Builders in a time before people were moved here from their home worldlines.
This church, like so many others on Terra-Prime, had been built atop access ways to the Underworld. Such entries to the tunnels had come to represent doorways to the Gods. Holy places.
The palace itself had been built atop a hill under which was hidden the great Genesis Bunker of Ar-cadia. The place where the Sidairian World Engi-neers and the Atlantean Time Sorcerers kept the templates for the plate mechanisms as well as the emergency controls necessary to maintain an artifi-cial world. The place where it was said all the tools necessary for creation were kept in storage, against the day when they might be needed.
Access to the Genesis Bunker required a key that resembled a sword. She had only seen such a key once, a long time ago, when her father had taken her to Pangea to the Court of the Emperor. The Emperor wore such key in a scabbard on his sword belt. It was also rumored that the King of Arcadia had one but that it was kept locked and guarded in the Tower of Newer London.
The tower where her love was now imprisoned.
“May I inspect the entrance to the underground?” she asked the priest.
“Of course,” he nodded.


Father Phil led her out of the rectory into the Church proper.  The boys and the robot bear fol-lowed along behind them. She had not asked them to do so but the boys were every bit as protective of her as she was of them.
They crossed the knave in low light and entered a hallway that took them towards the back of the an-cient structure. When this building was built the people of this plate had still been using crude ma-sonry. The walls were rough and irregular with much mortar showing between blocks of granite.
But no, Granite did not exist on Terra-Prime. These blocks had to have been synthesized or 3D printed from silicon. Much care had been taken to make it look natural.
Like most of the churches in Arcadia this one had been built centuries ago as a temple of the Universal Church of Atlantis. But when the schism happened it became a part of the Church of Arcadia. Because of this it had many features that were left over from that earlier era and a few changes to accommodate modern times and the sensibilities of the new re-gime.
They stood before a statue of St. Carson, the pa-tron saint of safe travel. Carson wore the robes of a monk and stood atop a celestial globe. He’d been a spacer, so it was doubtful that he had ever dressed in such a manner.
Though his skin was bronze he had the pointed ears and features of a Randarian. Obviously the art-ists had taken liberties with the saint, making the Randarian navigator more human in appearance. And clothed. Something Randars seldom were__ save when wearing hardsuits.
Carson still held favor with the CoA because Ar-cadia, like most nations of the Sphere, was depend-ent on space and time travel. Even though Randari-ans were not well favored by the elite of the Church. It was not so much because they were man made be-ings as that they were man made beings with free will. And there synthesis, using DNA, was further proof that the mechanisms of evolution still made giant strides over their favorite fantasy of Intelligent Design.
However, many other saints had not fared so well. And none of the pagan gods, who had found demo-tion to sainthood in the Universal Church managed to make it into the pantheon of CoA saints.
There were no statues to Zeus, C’thulu, Thor or Moroni in the CoA churches. No Mormon or Ba’al or Zarathustra.
Phil pushed three stars on the globe and the statue slid forward and to the side, revealing a doorway.
They entered the doorway. The space inside was illuminated with glow globes—Atlantean eternal lighting devices.
At the center of the room was a spiral stairwell leading down into the plate—down into the base-ment of the world.
It would be a long walk, Lois knew. And a long climb back up. The plate was 1000 kilometers thick and the shallowest part of the underworld was some twenty five kilometers deep__ beneath the 20X20X20 kilometer cube of the Genesis Bunker that was positioned under the Palace Hill and the Fountain Base.
Down this well would be the machinery of the an-cients. Machines that maintained the world. Among them would be things that the builders had not antic-ipated when they constructed the plates around the sun.
She knew the stories and the myths. Any child who grew up on Terra-Prime did.
Mothers told bad children that if they did not be-have the Trongoroth would come up from under-ground and eat them.
The Trong were real enough. Ancient insectoid organisms that had invaded the Sphere long ago and been finally subjugated and confined to the lower depths. Some of the Trongoroth had even been tamed to do useful work in the underworld.
Youngsters also heard of the Plate Dwellers__ Troglodytes that lived in the underworld. They lived down there like cave dwellers, farming fungus and using taps off the recycling wells to make their live-lihood. They were masters of the Trongs now and of the later alien invaders, the Metrons.
Lois peered down into the dark stairwell and felt a pang of dread. That was the way out if they were trapped by their enemies. Down there and…then where?
The Genesis Bunker would be closed to them. But probably not to their enemies. They would have to emerge somewhere else and find their way off this plate to one more friendly to the Taylor cause.
Would there be secret jump tunnels down there?
The Sarkhons would set up such conveniences for their agents. According to legend a Time Sorcerer could come and go with the silence of a cat. If watched for their approach could not be seen, if lis-tened for not heard. It was said that a Time Sorcerer could materialize in a crowded room and not be no-ticed—until he chose to be.
But I am not a Time Sorcerer, she thought. Though the sisterhood had long trained its acolytes in the ways and philosophies of the Atlantean Time Sorcerers few, if any of the women were allowed in-to the corps and then only those of pure Atlantean blood.
No, I am a woman and a mother. I do not play with the course of the future save to protect my chil-dren and assure their place in it.
“I have been down there,” said Father Phil. “The stairs are dark for several hundred meters. No glow globes were installed to discourage casual visits. Or so I suppose. I considered installing my own but it is hard to buy Atlantean gear without drawing atten-tion from the RAMP.”
Yes, she thought. Atlantean tech meant Atlantean involvement and Atlantean involvement might mean a violation of the Guild Treaty. The Wallaces would want to be informed of that. Even though their own involvement with the Shaitannises was a clear violation of the Treaty. And to the CoA Atlan-tean was the same as Universal Church of Atlantis—even though the Atlanteans had very little these days to do with the
Holy City in Angelika. Atlanteans had returned to a modernized version of the worship of the Lords of Light and Darkness, forsaking the Prophet and his retinue as phony myths.
“Okay,” she said. “I want packs with necessary items and torches stowed here.  If the time comes we will not have time to gather our wears. There will just be time to run.”
“Yes, milady.”
“And also…”
She looked Phil in his almond eyes.
“Have weapons stowed here too.”
“Yes, milady. I’ll get right on it.”
Father Phil closed the door to the basement of the world.
After that they went to lunch. The waiting game began again.














The O’Brien family had a long history of military service on Terra Prime.
The founder of the line, Sinjin O’Brien, fought under the Emperor Thrall Khonn at the battle of the Juran Plains and his son, Aragorn O’Brien was the Imperial Military Agent for Thrall Khonn’s son, Sandor Khonn.
It was not until the 36th Century that the family, led by Alexander Augustus Obrien, turned to mer-cenary work in accordance with the new private contractor military ideals of that time. Alexander was the oldest of five brothers and two sisters and had a gift for politics that served him well in a future in which he became the first elected President of Thuvia.
Landis Mulvedo, Soldiers of Fortune: A history of the Grand Resistance








Chapter 6:
The Soldiers of Fortune

If you had to be stationed in a hot, primitive place you couldn’t beat the Akaia Lands of Jurassica. Or so Alexander__ Alex__ O’Brien thought as he stomped across the muddy soil from his newly con-structed Command Post to where robot and nano-tech were building the Vehicle Maintenance shed in the middle of a pool of matter slurry.
It was easy to build a base. Just dig holes of the right size, fill them up with matter slurry of the proper constituents and toss in the nanotech seed pod and let the bots loose. In a few hours the build-ing would grow and you could start moving in.
There were already six barracks, the Command Post, the power plant and a fence with weapons and sensor towers guarding all the approaches that an enemy might think to use and a few that only a very cagey enemy would consider__ like through the swamp behind the base rather than across the coffee plantation next store. The swamp was full of Saura-pods, which could be dangerous if stampeded by an assault wave. The big beasts could move fast and the weighed about sixty tons fully grown.
It was while he was staring off toward the swamp that his headphone button pulsed. It pulsed a lot these days. He was constantly on the phone talking to someone, cutting deals, making arrangements. This was the hard part of fighting a war__ he told himself. Getting everything that was needed in the right place at the right time. Good old logistics. The old for want of a nail conundrum.
It was easy enough to get materials locally. Juras-sica was a fairly modern country for a country with dinosaurs and flying reptiles. But sometimes you had to get things from farther away and get them quietly. That required spaceships and that meant the Privateer Spacers.
He touched the name tag over his breast pocket and connected the phone to his hyper-mentation network
General O’Brien speaking.
Ops, sir. Six aircraft are inbound to our field.
Thank you Ops. Issue a challenge and report back to me.
That will be Carter Tauron Jr.__ son of the Grande Admiral of the Free Federation__ delivering the planes that the Watch had purchased through Fighting O’Briens LLC. But a challenge would be issued anyway. There was no time to be foolish. Things were heating up in Arcadia and there was no reason to doubt that the Iron Claw might send agents over here to Jurassica to bomb the place.
The IC had a proprietary airline in Jurassica that could be used for such operations. And the camp had an advanced air defense system to deal with it__ if necessary.
Sir, Ops. It is Eagle Six.
Good, permit them to land.

“These old ships are tricky to fly,” Privateer Ensign Carter Tauron said to the women in the co-pilot seat of the Venator  A-270 Avenger fighter that he pi-loted__ one of six purchased from a Kalladonan arms dealer in another worldline. They were mid-22nd Century Earth planes from Earth 1955__ built in the British Isles of that far off worldline and de-signed for jungle and desert use. They carried an as-sortment of heavy weapons not available on Earth 1955 for anti-armor/anti-shield work. They were, of course, propeller driven__ big turbo-props that could substitute as heli blades for vertical takeoff and landing.  Jets tended to fowl up with veg and sand in the environments where these babies were kings of the sky.
They were also human piloted with robo assist. There was a bot pilot behind each pilot seat. Unusu-al for in-atmosphere planes these days. The boys and girls that flew these things in trouble spots in far off planets and plates fought war the old fashioned way__ by risking their lives.
And, of course, so did Carter Tauron II, who had followed his dear ole Da into the space buccaneer trade. Like father like son.
      It was one reason why he was such good mates with Prince Toreus of Thuvia. They were two lads with the big shoes of a giant of a father to fill. As a matter of fact so was his chum Kothar. Though K had taken a more covert and nefarious route, one that his Da never had.
All of Carter’s people were Privateer Spacers for hire wherever someone needed a space fleet. It was their way. Had been since his oldest ancestors came out of the Old Universe and set to drifting among the multiverses.
 They were called Gyptians because that is what they told foreigners they were, after the ancient land of Aegypt__ a land associated with wizard and mysti-cism in the minds of simple minded folk all across ancient Atlantis.
Carter’s ancestors had been from the Tauron con-tinent and__ as far as he knew__ his sir name could be traced back to that people and those times. Though it may also have been taken by one of his forbearers to avoid criminal prosecution. To escape the long arm of the Tauron law.
After all, to escape the terrors that the Supermen of Tauron had visited upon Old Atlantis, the Gyptians had turned to piracy. And one does not steal from the Tauron Hegemony and expect not to pay a hefty price.
In those early times of the Great Atlantese Diaspo-ra only the wealthiest and most powerful people had their own space and star fleets. The Gyptian Priva-teers filled in for all the rest. In fact they were the oldest group of so-called Tauron Pirates. And they were honest to their customers. Unlike the majority of Taurons who were corrupt scalawags and outright terrorists.
When war came between the West Atlantean refu-gees and the Taurons the Privateers offered their services to the WA and managed by doing so to be-come a valuable part of Cosmic society.
His Da was much feared by the many enemies of the Privateers and some enemies within the fold. And part of that fear was Da’s closest friend, the renegade Dalkonian known as Goliath. No one wanted to get in a tussle with a Dalkonian especially one who had broken from the fold of that warrior people and was, therefore considered Gazzi__ a cra-zy berserker. Which Golly could become in a tight situation. Carter had seen that too many times to doubt it.
He might preach the values of logic and rational thought in his better moments but when it came to swords play he was__ well__ an animal.
General Goliath Khane flew the second plane in the formation, leaving Carter Tauran alone with his lovely co-pilot, Ms. Zoe Leader__ former B-grade actress turned InterCosmic busy body and crusader.
She was a small woman with big brown eyes and medium length golden brown hair. And she had a dynamite build. Most girls did these days. They could fix just about any defect with modern medi-cine__ just about as easily as the ancients could fix bad teeth. Carter guessed they hadn’t had to do much fixing to Ms. Leader.
Golly was all too happy to let her fly side seat with Carter__ though you had to have known Goliath all of your life to tell when and if he was happy. He had a Dalkon contempt for anyone who did not fight for a living. Zoe was just a silly human woman to him even though she was an agent of Doom Watch and fought a secret war for justice and freedom. But Go-liath had an old fashioned machismo vision of war. Man against man on the field of honor, no shield left un-wet. Preferably with blood or its nearest substi-tute.
Dalkons were part machine. Getting converted was their rite of passage into adulthood. Their smart matter armor actually sprouted from their skin__ from small implanted buds. Dalkons came equipped for a fight__ they could not be disarmed. Even asleep they were armed.
Carter would never criticize his Uncle__ for that was how he regarded the tall warrior__ for that, even though he personally thought that war was shit and a thing to be avoided if you possibly could.
Zoe looked out the window as they circled the field.
“This place is shaping up fast,” she commented.
Carter interrupted his chatter with the tower and added: “Only in the vids do people build forts with nails and hammers. It’s nanotech all the way, Zoe. Been that way for a long time.”
“That’s good,” she laughed. “I have a yoga lesson on Thorsday and I’d like this war over by then.”
When they had first met Carter had waxed her over the coals for being a Hollywood type playing at war. He didn’t know exactly what “Hollywood” was but he knew it had something to do with the my-thology of show business and that people of that land breakfasted on steak and slept till noon. From that moment forward she made such retorts about her busy schedule of playtime. They laughed at it but he knew he had bent her tail out of true with the remark. She was just good enough at her original trade to conceal the fact.
And now to see how she fared as a pilot. The true test of personhood in Carter Tauran’s world.
“Would you like to take her in, Zo?”
“Be delighted,” she said and took the control yoke in front of her.” I have the plane.”
Good, don’t just grab the yoke and start yanking. She had the protocols down.
“Roger,” said Carter.
Zoe applied the flaps to slow the plane’s forward motion as she gradually tilted the wings up so that the engines turned to helicopter rotors.
She gradually lowered the ship to the ground where it sat on its tripod landing gears that she had unfolded from inside the fuselage. She cut the mo-tors and Carter let out the breath he was holding.it was a good thing most spacers can hold their breath for long periods of time.
“You are a good pilot,” he breathed.
“Did you have any doubt?” she said with a neutral expression on her elfin face.
“Not a one,” he said, swinging up the canopy on his side to make a hasty escape. Carter didn’t trust anyone else’s flying save his own. Even his Da and Ma who were born to it. But Zoe Leader didn’t know that.
A tall man with long white hair and a long mous-tache stepped down the ladder in the side of one of the other aircraft.   He wore a simple flight suit, but still looked naked without his armor.
Carter gave him a thumbs up but the big man didn’t reply.  He just proceeded to walk around his ship on an inspection. Not that his co-pilot__ a tech-nician from the mothership crew wasn’t already per-forming that task. Which was typical. Goliath didn’t really trust anyone to do something if he could do it himself.
Carter Tauran slapped a panel at the cockpit edge and two panels in the fuselage swung open to reveal the same type of ladder that Goliath had just used.
He descended it in two steps. A group of people approached him. Most of them ground crew attend-ed by their herd of service bots and a tall man with well-groomed hair__ despite the sweltering heat__ and a ready smile.
Alexander__”Call me Alex”__ O’Brien, the Pres-ident of Fighting O’Briens Consulting Warriors LLC.
O’Brien offered his hand to the Privateer Spacer and said: “Welcome to Akaia, the garden spot of Ju-rassica.”
Carter looked around himself doubtfully. They were in a clearing in the jungle and insects were buzzing at his ears__ big insects the size of the spar-rows that they had in the gardens of the mothership. “If this was a garden spot I’d hate to see a desert.”
“I know,” laughed Alex. “Hot and damp as hell and smells of rotting vegetable matter. But the oxy-gen content in the air is higher and it takes the strain off of working. It’s the only way you could keep big boys like that alive.”
He gestured at the four really big Saurapod dino-saurs that grazed in the high weeds to the other side of the clearing.
“Apatosaurus__ herbivores. Their shit makes bet-ter fertilizer than horse shit and smells much worse.”
The Spacer wrinkled his nose. “I’ve smelt worse.”
Now Goliath joined them.
Alex turned to him and smiled a wicked grin.
“General, this is unexpected. Haven’t seen you in many a standard.”
“The pleasure is mine, Alexander,” the giant war-rior nodded with no change of facial expression.
“I see you haven’t changed your mind about asso-ciating with lesser mortals.”
Goliath Khane raised a single eyebrow. It either meant amusement, anger or contempt. Even if you knew the General very well you couldn’t tell which one it was. All depended on what kind of relation-ship he and the mercenary had had before.
“That’s a joke, General,” persisted Alex. He didn’t know any better, thought Carter. Or maybe he did.
“The problem with some people,” said Khane lev-elly. “Is that they assume that everyone shares the same sense of humor.”
Alex laughed. “You haven’t change a bit you old berserker you.”
Goliath did smile then. He liked being referred to as the drunken Earth warriors who savaged their en-emies and wore bear skins. Gods only knew why.
The big man claimed to believe that everyone should think logically but when you came down to it he really didn’t think logically__ who the hell re-ally did? Logic is an artificial construct, akin to what many ignorant assholes called Common Sense.
Zoe made a little throat clearing noise. Which meant that she wanted to be introduced. She had left show business behind but not her show business ego.
“General, allow me to introduce you to Ms. Zoe Leader.”
“I know you.” Said Alex, his heavy eyebrows go-ing up. “You’re that actress. You were in one of my favorite movies__ The Unifiers__ the last film where Michael Morrison played Kothar Khonn and Nolan Heston played Toreus Rhann. Great film. One of the Count’s best.”
Alex, for all his political talents was making a big mistake, decided Carter. Never compliment an actor without complimenting the actress you were talking to. Actresses are not normal people but they are normal women.
“And you were the high point of that vid, Ms. Leader.”
She laughed. “Even though my character does not exist in any of the history books.”
Alex O’Brien smiled showing all his white teeth, which reminded Carter of that fictional cat that fades out down to a smile.
“If she didn’t she should have,” said the merc general.
“You’re sweet, General,” she said.
“Call me. Alex.”
Carter, feeling a tug of jealousy, decided that it was time to direct the subject back to business.
“So,” he said with a gesture toward the aircraft. “What do you think?”
Alex looked at the fighters. “They look like muse-um pieces.”
“By our standards they are. But they’re right spanking new off the assembly line on Earth 2045. State of the art, for the 22 Century their calendar. And don’t forget you wanted aircraft that could easi-ly dock with an airship without stalling out.”
“Do they have de-gravity capability?”
“No, where they come from only comic book characters and vid heroes have that. But we can in-stall some from old steeds that will do nicely. Take us no time at all.”
“What about shields?”
“Same deal. Take us no time at all. And we can add some passive armor to toughen them up without too much weight added. World they came from chickened out of nanotech because some noodle head believed it would cause grey goo or some simi-lar shit.”
“Are you sure the folks on the worldline were smart enough to be trusted?” asked Alex.
“They make good planes,” said Carter.
“Good,” said O’Brien and slapped him on the back. “Why don’t you folks join me for lunch and then we can get hopping.”
“Sure can,” said Carter.
“We can perhaps, also discuss payment for ser-vices rendered,” said Goliath.
“Not to problem, you old Berserker,” laughed Alex. “Our client’s cheques are as good as antimat-ter.”
Of course they were, thought Carter. But, of course, Dalkhoni considered it logical to be rude and to never trust anyone__ even if he was on the same side.
They all went to the mess hall__ Alex walking be-side Zoe and jabbering like a school boy.












The Royal Arcadian Mounted Police was once the premier law enforcement agency on the Sphere.
 It had been created in the early days of human settlement in Arcadia as a mobile agency capable of protecting settlers in remote areas as well as protect-ing the frontiers of the United Kingdom of Arca-dia__ which, at the time, only ruled over a small portion of the plate’s central planes.
RAMP officers were expected to be skilled horsemen. And in the days before vehicle manufac-ture plants were available horses saw much use. The Arcadians had come from a horse culture and so had easily adapted to this.
 One Commissioner of the force called his men—they were all men back then— Cavalrymen of Justice.
As the Arcadian Army and Navy brought more and more of the foreign provinces under the rule of the Kingdom the Mounties fanned out across the plate to spread their brand of law enforcement, re-placing such groups as the Nipponesan Samurai as arm of the law on the plate that was now called Ar-cadia.
Its motto was Justice served no matter how far. In later eras the RAMP Law Enforcement Assistance Teams (LEATs) traveled all across the Sphere teach-ing the police forces of other plates the RAMP style of justice.
So it is that many police forces across Terra Prime, in some way, resemble the RAMP. That is, they resemble RAMP the way it was in the early years, before the Wallace Dynasty turned it into an evil and excessive Security Police organization. An organization that countenanced torture, assassination of Arcadian citizens and violations of the basic civil rights of people in the United Kingdom.
Nowadays mention the term RAMP in polite society and people will understand that you are talk-ing about an organization akin to the Gestapo, KGB and Black Fist in evil and treachery.
A History of Lawmen in Terra-Prime and the Colo-nies by Kothar Khonn I

For Justice and the Crown!
Traditional Battle Cry of the RAMP







Chapter 7:
 Royal Arcadian Mounted Police
Griswold Court, the general headquarters of the RAMP, was usually a busy place in the best of times. But today, with the crackdown on dissidents and rioting in the streets it was ten times as busy as usual.
Officers, both Arcadian regulars and Kai’Vhan auxiliaries, came and went all day long on patrols and sorties throughout the city. The ranks of the Special Tactics Squad had swollen in the last few weeks. The RAMP needed more and more shooters and less and less patrollers. Community relations was no longer a concern of the RAMP and the Cit-iCops.
And with many officers calling in sick or simply disappearing, the ranks were being filled up by vol-unteers__ usually stupid thugs and rent-a-cop types__ and worse, Kai'Vhan mercenaries.
The lobby of the ancient building that had once been part of an old royal palace was crowded with a line of detainees that doubled over on itself twice. Everyone was being brought in for interro-gation and biometric mapping—even those guilty of nothing more dangerous to the realm than loi-tering.
 Though no one said it aloud the Kingdom was on the verge of a Civil War.
And the torture chambers—for Arcadia under the Wallies allowed such practices—were busy round the clock. Torture, being at best a pointless exercise beloved of the sadists who enjoy using it.
The inquisitors pretty much used the same tech-niques that their ancestors had used in the  Dark Ag-es on the mother world—with the addition here or there of a hi-tech device or drug. Just to make it look modern.
 But Griswold Court was a study in pandemoni-um that ran nonstop. And not the place of enlight-ened police work that it had once been.

Count Marcus Mithra Easter parked his ground ve-hicle in the RAMP parking lot and got out, smiling at all the bustling activity. This was just what his cousins in House Shaitannis wanted to see, turmoil and persecution. Strong arms putting the peasants in their place. All was working according to plan. All they needed to do was catch the Sarkhon agent and put him on exhibit before the Sphere. Proof that House Sarkhon was the threat to the peace and secu-rity of all.
Still smiling he entered the building.

Dennis Petty Irby, the Commissioner of the RAMP, was in his office at his desk, perusing the reports from the files that scrawled through his H-PAD.
 As was his habit when he was alone in his of-fice, Irby wore a pair of spex that created a virtual environment around him. Instead of being in the cold, austere government office of the Commission-er of the Royal Arcadian Mounted Police, surround-ed by murals of police history and the stern__ some would say judging__ continence of great policemen of the past, he was sitting in a comfortable country cabin that his parents used to rent when he was a boy in the Zumba Mountains of Central Arcadia.
Those had been happy comfortable times for Dennis—despite his mother and father’s cruel, phys-ical disciplinary habits. Even though he still shiv-ered at the thought of that treatment he constantly told himself that the discipline had made him a bet-ter and stronger man.
Nor could he say as much about his Uncle’s sexu-al molestation of himself and his brother. That still sent shivers through him and filled him with rage whenever he thought about it. Which wasn’t often. He’d killed that Uncle long ago. And the brother who had turned into a thing that was less than a man__ in Denis’ black and white no shades opinion. That part of his life was cold and buried. The bodies thrown into the sea.
At thirty- four standard years of age he was the youngest man ever to serve as Commissioner of the Royal Arcadian Mounted Police.
 Many considered him wet behind the ears but in the two years since the King had appointed him to this office he felt assured that he had proven himself to be an asset to the realm and a true patriotic citizen more than capable of performing the tasks of his job.
Even though the King reminded him of his brother and his late, unlamented Uncle. Poofers made his skin crawl.
He was a short heavy set man with mahogany col-ored skin. He wore his stiff, black hair in a short brush cut with a razor straight part shaved along the left side. Classmates at school had said his head looked like a boulder. He had managed to hurt those classmates by informing on them in any transgres-sion he might have witnessed.
At work he always wore the dress-A uniform of the RAMP—a red jacket with gold piping and the archaic riding breaches and black riding boots.
 Though no one in his service__ save the eques-trian team__ still rode horses in this day and age the RAMP held onto that traditional outfit. It was what people thought of when they thought of the Mount-ies. It was the stuff of old vids and operas. A roman-tic image from a bygone age.
People loved and cherished romantic images even if they were, without exception, crocks of smelly shit.
He had not become a policeman to ride horses. He had become a cop in order to wield power over others. If you put them through truth scan most cops would admit that they had joined the force for the same reason. If not that then what? Service to the public. Fuck the public. They were animals that needed a whip to keep them in their places. The money? Money wasn’t as important as it once was in the age of unlimited energy and replicator mira-cles. People pretended that it still was but it wasn’t. Life was cheap and existence even cheaper.
His uncle Hero had taught him that much. Peo-ple tended to step over the line if you let them. And it was Dennis Petty Irby’s job__ his appointment by the King and the Gods Almighty__ to stop them.
His innate ability to manipulate things from be-hind the scenes helped in his job. He was not so much a leader as an administrator. He thought of himself as a laid back fellow who got people to do things for him. Other Mounties might get shot in the line of duty but not Dennis P. Irby. Others would get shot for him. As was most suitable for a man of his lofty position.
And that was how he had gotten rid of his Uncle Hero and his brother Earnest. He had maneuvered desperate men who looked at years of suspended an-imation detention__ if not brain wipe__ and they had done it for him. And those men had disappeared never to trouble him or society again.
No loose ends. That was Dennis Petty Irby’s mot-to.
So far, in his opinion, the Martial Law edict was working out well. The prisons were filling up with dissidents. Mostly college students who didn’t have the sense to know that their childish temper tantrums would not make much difference in the long run. Or deserters from the House Guards and the regular military__ and weak sisters from the Mounties themselves. And with the new political concerns of law enforcement the law did not have time to harass his stupidol merchant friends. They were free to make money and pay him his bribe.
Oh, and labor union hard cases, who didn’t realize that their era was over were a problem. Complaining and whining about the rights of the working class.
Job rights in a robot economy—be real. Their time of job protection policies being rammed down the throats of the cowards in Parliament were done. Parliament was finished. Buried never to rise again. Good riddance.
But there were other, more disturbing dissident el-ements. A large amount of scientists and artists were turning anti-Wallace. And their families along with them. The scientists hated the Monarchy because the Monarchy was pro-Church and the Church did not like science. Science had a way of proclaiming the teachings of the Church of Arcadia to be wrong. And the Church could not have that. Obedience to the will of the Gods after all. That was the Churches position.
Dennis Petty Irby did not believe that people were descended from monkeys and would never accept such nonsense. Ignorant people had called him a monkey because of his dark skin when first he came to Newer London. He would have none of that. Not ever.
Scientists. In his opinion all scientists were simply ignorant racists. We'd be better off without them.
 And the artists were sympathetic to gay rights and gay life styles. This made him shiver again and he thought of his Uncles huge, ugly dick being shoved in his mouth.
Oh let’s face it, mate, artists were all queers and faeries and that was the bottom of it.
 Once again the Church did not approve of such things. And, though he hated the Church, he’d go along with them for a taste of their power.
 And the King did not approve of such things ei-ther. Probably because of the rumors surrounding his orientation and that such an orientation would lose him the support of a publicly homophobic elite. There was a special squad in RAMP dedicated to covering up the King’s dalliances with boy flesh. It was_ to say the least__ a murder squad. He had used it once or twice himself to protect the realm and its most important servant__ himself.
Then there were veterans of the Forces who seemed to resent the current regency and its suspen-sion of the Parliament. Foremost among them were folks who had served with Nathaniel Taylor or his father and uncle. Loyal to House Taylor even though that had proven to be a foolish point of view in the current era.
Then there were the Republicans—those dreamers who thought that the little people could elect repre-sentatives to do their business without a king to bind it all together. Fools of the first order in Irby’s esti-mate.
not that all of the rebels were Republican sympa-thizers. Some were by nature loyal Monarchists. Just not loyal to the Wallaces. Many wanted to put a Taylor on the throne and send the Wallaces into ex-ile.
That would be a dark day for men like Irby. He was a Wallace creature and he knew it. A change in government would certainly mean his removal from office and perhaps criminal trials based on his ac-tions as the Commissioner of RAMP.
Again he shivered. Treason was punishable by brain wipe. The thought that Dennis Irby might cease to exist was very scary to him. He looked up-on himself as the center of all creation. Gods forbid that that center should be wiped away without a trace. Replaced by some lesser mortal.
 Nathanial Taylor’s father had once spoken out in the House of Barons about the possible abolition of the RAMP. There was always the possibility that his son and grandsons might harbor the same foolish ideas.
There were half of the Barons and their loyal re-tainers who also did not seem to want to cooperate. Many of them were under house arrest but soon it would become necessary to build internment camps for them and their kith and kin. Not to mention their uncooperative House Guards who together outnum-bered the RAMP and the armed forces.
One of the greatest problems of Arcadia was that the Baroneys had been allowed to keep their Armies and Fleets by swearing an oath to put them at the disposal of the crown during times of national emergency. The Barons did not always agree with the Crown on such emergencies and so there had been too many times in the history of the United Kingdom that the Barons had had to be forced to cooperate with the throne.
 No one could be allowed to oppose the Wallace family and House Wallace. No one could stand in the way of Wallace supremacy and power.
But Irby was certain that RAMP—with its Kai'Vhan auxiliary detachments, could handle all of that. Even though he did not trust the Vhan and their Zatakhon masters. He did not wish to yield that much authority to off-platers and mercenaries.
There was one benefit to the Vhan though. Their recruiters were likely to carry off many of the trou-ble makers when they finally left the plate. Becom-ing a Kai’Vhan was a one way trip.
While he was contemplating that the holo-image of his personal agent materialized over the holo-stage on his desk.
“Sir, Lord Marcus Mithra Easter is here to see you on urgent business.”
Oh, great, thought Irby. Easter was the Shaitannis Ambassador to the Wallace Dynasty. And he was a particularly nasty bastard. Rumors were many that if all the dead bodies he had buried stood up at once they could inhabit their own plate. He was the Shai-tannis high lord of assassins and since he was not a Time Sorcerer he was allowed residence on the Great Sphere.
And Easter was a solid buddy with the King. Which meant that he would not go away anytime soon.
If Easter was here personally on urgent business it most likely meant that he had something he wanted to rub in and wanted to enjoy doing it himself. Un-like Irby Lord Easter was a hands-on type of guy.
He also had social rank—his father was a Count of Mithra__ forcing Irby to show him all the respect that is due a lord of the realm. Translation: if he feeds you shit smile and say “thank you, your grace.  may I have some more?”
There was one more thing about Lord Easter that one had to keep in mind. He was a cousin by mar-riage of the Time Sorcerer House of Shaitannis. One did not wish to be openly in opposition to the Shaits. Such opposition could be fatal.
House Wallace owed much of its power and wealth to its fealty to the Shaitannises. As well as many under the table deals with the Zatakhons, those humanoid mushrooms. One must never forget the customs of the Wallace Court. Money will buy you anything and everything.
Count Marcus gave Irby the creeps. Easter was so clearly a queen and that typed made Dennis’ skin crawl__ he had killed two of his relatives because of it after all. It was a leftover from his childhood that he had never quite managed to shake. Even the King, whose queerness was ignored by most of the nation, made Irby feel creepy in those few times the Commissioner of RAMP had been invited to court.
Of course the homophobic Church ignored it so why could not Dennis Petty Irby. Especially since it meant his survival as a person and an office holder.
“Send him in,” said the Commissioner realizing that he had no choice but to see the creepy bastard.
The door opened and in stepped the tall frame of the Count Marcus. He was nearly two meters in height, with a full head of bushy black hair and a large, handlebar moustache. Like Dennis he was a descendant of African stock that had been brought to the other worldlines from their home worldline ages ago.
 He wore the uniform of a General in the House Shaitannis Guard, replete with a gold piped, purple jacket and rows of decorations. There was a purple ascot at his throat. Purple was a color that, in Den-nis’ opinion, no man should ever wear. But purple and gold were the Shaitannis House colors.
But, of course, purple was the royal color and when one said that they were born to the color they meant purple and that was that.
The room instantly stunk of the man’s heavy co-logne. Irby would have gagged had he felt safe in doing so.
The Count looked at him with black eyes. It made one feel like he was being examined by an al-ien from another universe when an Atlantean__ or an Atlantean’s prized servant__ looked at one that way. Like you were a small creature of no signifi-cance. A bug that could, with a nonchalant gesture, be swept off the world.
“Good afternoon, Commissioner,” said the giant. “I trust that you are well today.”
Irby nodded. “I am, your lordship. And your-self?”
Easter shrugged. “I have been to see the King. He is not happy. And when the King is not happy then we are all unhappy.”
Here it comes, thought Irby. Marcus Mithra Easter was one of the King’s favorites and he liked to use that position to twist the knife in others of lesser sta-tus.
He wondered if the King let old Easter ram it up his ass. Probably did the pervert. He thought of his late Uncle and nearly shivered.
“And what is it that makes His Grace unhappy?”
Easter pulled a wing chair up to the desk and squatted on it. Damnit if he did not look like a giant toad. Some nightmare from a child’s fairy tale gone wrong.
And that cologne is sure to have been banned by the paragraph of the Great Guild Treaty regarding the use of bio-organic weapons.
Easter was a cruel man. He used his giant size to dominate others and he was a sadist—not unlike Ir-by’s father. As a boy he liked to torture animals and pull the wings off of flying insects—or so Dennis had heard.
Had he not been a favorite of Radu Wallace per-haps he would have been ousted from the Kingdom long ago.  But that relationship put House Wallace at the table of power with the Shaitannis clan and that was always handy to a ruling clan that was as unpopular with the people as House Wallace had become.
“His Grace is unhappy at the lack of progress on the part of the law enforcement community. He does not feel comfortable that certain rebel elements are still at large.”
“We do all that we can,” said Irby, looking down at the H-PAD on his desk as it searching for a clue. Usually he played the great detective in front of dig-nitaries. But Count Marcus always saw through the guise. He knew a fellow poser when he saw one. Ir-by was no more a detective than Marcus was a Time Sorcerer.
“Are you aware that the Duke Milo Flagg was ar-rested for fomenting a riot?”
“I’ve heard. The man is a drunken ass and tried to beat the hell out of several CitiCops. But he is not my problem. He’s a titled Baron and his case will be heard by the King himself __ as is the law.”
“He’s a rebel and a traitor,” said Easter.
“He’s a drunken playboy and womanizer. Any re-bellion he would be part of has already failed.”
“He owns one of the biggest shipping lines on the Sphere. That is a concern of national security.”
“Then let the Navy worry about him.”
“I’m glad that you are not concerned.”
“Let him stew a few days in the Tower and see if that doesn’t bend his edges down.”
Lord Easter sneered at him.
“Take those damned VR glasses off. They make you look like an idiot child. For all I know in your VR image I am a giant gray rabbit eating a carrot.”
Irby took the spex off his face and laid them care-fully on the desk. He hated the way the world looked without his spex. It was, he was sure, an ad-diction, but a harmless one. And Easter looked even uglier without them—if that were at all possible.
He looked like those basalt statues they had on that island in Hydropangea. The ones that everyone called the Sidairian Footballers. One of the many Signatures of the Builders one found all across Ter-ra-Prime.
“I have some information to share with you,” said Lord Easter, obviously pleased with the victory of getting Dennis to remove his spex. “Something that was passed along by our friends in Pangea.”
“Gargoyle?”
Whenever Mithra said “our friend in Pangea” he meant his agent, codenamed Gargoyle, in the Pan-gean Court. This person, whose identity was still unknown to Irby, had been sharing tidbits of infor-mation with Marcus for over a decade. He was their chief source on the Emperor of Pangea and his fami-ly. Popular rumor had it that he might actually be a family member.
“What is it?” he asked Easter.
“In Pangea Prince Toreus Rhann, the heir to the throne, was playing rugby when he suddenly fell over and stopped moving.”
“You mean he died?” asked Irby. “That sounds like good news. He was a troublemaker__ their ver-sion of that fool Milo Flagg.”
Easter shook his bushy head. “No, no. You see an ambulance arrived and transported the Prince off the field. Our contacts in Thuvia tried to get in touch with the hospitals in the area to see what had hap-pened.”
“And?”
“There was no sign of the Prince at any of the hospitals. Apparently the lifeless body of his high-ness disappeared. Like Lazar or Drakul risen from the grave.
“Since then Prince Toreus and that evil lion of his have been missing from the usual functions in Pan-gea. He has not been seen at the usual rugby match-es and social gatherings—including the bedrooms of some saucy Pangean tarts. I imagine profits in the whore business have dropped very low. Soon we’ll be approached by pimps looking to sell their ser-vices to MI-13.”
Irby nearly scoffed at the mention of the Arcadian Secret Service. A joke organization that was, more often than not, riddled with enemy agents.
“Gargoyle learned that the Imperial Security Ser-vice has pulled all of its Personnel Simulator Robots from use for inspection. It seems that the Prince who died at the rugby match was one of these stand-ins. They have never been very reliable you know. That is why we do not use them.”
By we he meant the mighty House Shaitannis__ they who can do no wrong. Arcadia made heavy use of the Life Models. They were, after all, a product of Arcadian industry.
And also, thought Irby, we use surgically altered humans to take bullets and knives for our VIPs. Life is cheaper than robots, the saying went.
“Anyway his absence is quite telling since whenever he is missing from the Court it is most likely because he is on a mission for his father, who is trying to form this spoiled playboy into the image of his younger self__ the Great Unifier.”
“Toreus the Younger,” sneered Irby, trying to suppress the chill that ran up his spine. Few people frightened him as much a Toreus the Younger. And the other few people who did worked for the Em-peror of Pangea as well. His mother was a terrible woman that killed two of the realm’s best assassins with her bare hands.
Kothar Khonn the Elder and his namesake son scared Irby too, as did the spacer privateers Carter Tauran and his son Carter II, both Kothar Khonns and the Time Sorcerer Arenjun Sarkhon. But they did not scare him as much as Toreus. Because To-reus Rhann had long ago promised to kill him. And he was not able to forget that. Toreus always kept his promises.
“Yes, Toreus the Younger,” said Easter. “And if he is missing from the Court at this time the possi-bility is strong that he is on another mission for his father and that buffoon, Kothar Khonn.” Easter imi-tated the drawling voice of the actor that played Ko-thar in a series of vids that were banned in Arcadia for having too much sex and violence.
Yes, it was well known through the Sphere’s In-telligence Community that the Emperor of Pangea, unable because of his lofty position to do so himself, from time to time dispatched his eldest son on spe-cial missions throughout Terra Prime and sometimes beyond.
Easter shrugged his big shoulders and laughed, “His brother, Theseus Rhann, is much more predict-able. He sides with the pacifists at Court and Parlia-ment and is much more likely to council his father against covert or military actions. Rumor has it that he is a vegetarian.” There was a wistful look on the Lord Easter’s face as he said it.
Dennis did not like Theseus Rhann because he had literally held his brother’s coat while the big man proceeded to pound him black and blue. But he did not relish the vision of anyone getting dough holed by Marcus Easter. That was a truly horrible image.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean that Toreus is on a mission that has anything to do with us,” Irby point-ed out hopefully.
“Oh?” said Easter. “Then you don’t think it could have anything to do with the arrest of Nathaniel Taylor, a cousin of the Rhanns. Or the fact that the Emperor is no big fan of King Radu Wallace of Ar-cadia__ and has said so in public on many occa-sions. Once to the King himself at the last Guild Conference.”
It did not seem likely that it did not, thought Den-nis Petty Irby, a chill running the length of his body.
“Then there is your personal history with the Crown Prince of Thuvia,” said Easter with a huge, ugly grin on his face, made even more horrid by his handlebar moustache and that garden hedge he wore on his head. Irby’s head might look like a boulder but Easter reminded him of an evil Feast of St. Sa-maine tree.
“I have no personal history with that…man,” Irby barked.
“Oh?” laughed the Count. “That is not what my sources said. And my sources are usually quite accu-rate—as you know.”
Yeah, Gargoyle again. No doubt one of Easters Ranchero conquests. Another pathetic fay gossip miner turned intelligence source.
“Then your sources have let you down,” said Irby, wishing that the Shaitannis ambassador would drop the subject. ”They weren’t able to spot a LMA were they?”
Lord Easter ignored that.
They probably didn’t even know what a vagina looked like, he wanted to add__ but didn’t.
“As I understand it you had a run in with Toreus Rhann II during the Hydropangea Pirate War. You were in the Reserves back then and not yet the chief national policeman of Arcadia. Apparently the Lion Prince threatened to kill you. I was not able to learn why such a threat was made. The matter was dropped and no charges were made by either side. It must have been something embarrassing for you to let it pass.”
“He was a child of fifteen. A young punk, and the stories were just rumors and old wives gossip,” scowled Irby.
“Perhaps but there were witnesses to the threat and one thing I know: A lion man of Thuvia does not make an idle threat. If they threaten to kill you it is a promise and someday it will be kept.”
“I don’t have time to talk about primitive tribal nonsense,” said Dennis Petty Irby. “Lion men are just men despite all the pulp fiction video sims myths and legends surrounding them. Toreus Rhann is just a bully who spends most of his free time chas-ing women and playing football. His daddy made him a Lion Man so he’d look more like a good sub-stitute for his father when that worthy finally does the right thing and dies.”
Dennis was shaking but he did not want Easter to know that. He remembered the incident well. The hulking warrior had caught him indulging in some-thing best not mentioned with an under aged girl. The man had nearly killed him in a rage and would have had not Kothar Khonn junior stopped him, an-other teenaged punk stepping above his station.
He remembered Toreus' big finger waving in his face and the words washed over him as fresh as to-day. Leave my cousin’s kingdom, monster. Never re-turn and never enter Pangea again. If ever our paths cross I will kill you. This I swear by all the Lords of Light.
“It means little to me,” Easter shrugged. “I just thought that if Toreus is coming to Arcadia—or if he is already here—he might make good on his promise while he is in the neighborhood.”
“He isn’t and he won’t.”
But the statement sounded hollow to Dennis Petty Irby. The attack on his person by the hulking Pan-gean prince, even though it did no lasting physical harm, still sent waves of dread through his being. The man had wanted to kill him and only the inter-vention of Toreus’ friend had stopped him.
No, not stopped. Stalled the inevitable. Because, he knew, that if Toreus Rhann ever laid eyes on him again he would be killed. Dennis still recalled the li-on and how the beast glared at him with golden eyes and saber teeth. Ready to kill at his master’s com-mand.
Dennis had become a dedicated student of Celes-tial and Tauron martial arts after the incident. He had no wish to die and needed to learn to defend him-self. He still was not very good at it but every little tactic would help__ when the days came.
“Of course you have to look at the bigger picture, Dennis,” said the Count.
“Which would be?”
“It would not be good for the King and the Arca-dian government to have its chief of police mur-dered by a member of the Pangean Royal Family. Something would have to be done in the way of re-prisal and…well…face it…Arcadia is nowhere ca-pable of waging war against Pangea and her allies. Nor is the King willing to wage a war that might in-volve infractions of the Guild Treaty on behalf of you. You’re not that important. But, just the same, the act would embarrass Arcadia and leave it with no means of redress. Perhaps cash payments as a penalty but then again the Guild Court might rule in favor of the Rhanns and the Wallaces would get nothing.”
So Toreus Rhann will kill me and perhaps the Ar-cadian Ambassador to the Court of Pangea will send a terse and angry little note that the Emperor will wipe his arse with.
“Nor,” continued Easter. “Will the Kingdom be able to arrest the Prince? Diplomatic immunity and all. He will slaughter you and get away with it, I am afraid. We cannot go to war with Pangea over the loss of one civil servant and even if we did we can-not win a war against the Empire. It is said that their air and space fleets black out the skies.”
Dennis felt as if he were going to lose the contents of his bowels right there in his office. His VR spex would not cover up that mess. They were not pro-grammed to disguise poop.
“And, of course, the rebels will cheer him. They don’t like you. No you are not very popular with them.
“Also, Dear Dennis, if the Commissioner of RAMP can be killed it will only encourage assaults on other—more important—government officials.”
He pointed his big hands toward himself and gestured in the general direction of the place.
“No, that just will not do.”
“So, what can we do about this?” Irby asked.
Easter shrugged. “Well…perhaps if the Prince of Thuvia was to be caught in Arcadia performing an act that is hostile to the government of the plate. And if he were killed in the performance of this act…so that his side of the story would be the side that we tell and not the side that he himself tells…well, then we might be able to shame the Em-peror into backing off from any actions interfering with our national sovereignty. Perhaps cause him trouble at home. Perhaps even give the Republicans who wish to displace the Emperor and replace him with an elected head of state an issue to stir.”
Dennis nearly laughed at that. Such a develop-ment would hurt the Royal Family of Arcadia more than it would the Rhanns. No one who wore a crown wanted a Republican government__ save the Emperor Toreus Rhann.
“Well, what I am saying is that all of that would work out splendidly for us—would it not?”
Kill a democracy to support an absolute dictator-ship. For some reason Irby did not really like the sound of that. But it was not his concern. He was not here to fight for principles. He really had none to speak of. He was here to save his own neck and make sure that Dennis Petty Irby lived the life of power and comfort that he felt he deserved.
“Will I be given a Royal Finding to cover this?” Irby asked.
Easter shook his head. “The King is not to be linked to this in any way.”
“The person who kills Toreus—whether the Em-peror is embarrassed by it or not—will forfeit his life. Am I being asked to fall on my sword?”
Easter shrugged. “I’m sure that you can find someone to do the dirty work for you. Isn’t that your major talent? To manipulate others into doing something unpleasant that advances your cause. I mean when you try to do something yourself you end of under a death sentence by a huge, ill-tempered killer.”
Irby hated that Easter had said that. He personally knew it to be true but he did not like others to point it out to him. He preferred the illusion that he was a brave and stalwart knight of the realm—not a Mach-iavellian coward.
He also did not like others to cast aspersions on his carefully crafted public image. Someday, some way he would make Easter pay for this indignity.
He imagined himself ramming a cartoon dynamite stick up the giant’s ass and lighting the fuse.
But for now he let it slide by. And when he did something occurred to him.
He knew just the man for the job. Yes, just the man. Someone who could take the bullet for Dennis Petty Irby.
Yes, he would do nicely.
Lord Easter took his leave and Irby called his agent.
“Have Inspector Saratoga come to my office, please.”


James Augustus Sharontona was failing upward in                  the RAMP. Which was, as far as he was concerned, the only way to go in such a messed up organiza-tion.
He was in the Rackets Division of the Mounties. The Rackets Division of any police force is that unit in charge of enforcing morality. There was really no other way that you could put it. Most of the crimes he pursued were victimless crimes that went against the morality of the Church and the aristocracy. At least their public morality. Their private morality af-forded him lots of opportunity for hush money.
As the Wallies moved forward in their war for morality and greed the responsibilities of his Divi-sion grew and deepened. And so did the graft paid by pimps, pornographers, bookies and drug peddlers to keep the RAMP off their backs. Especially off-plate practitioners that didn’t want to lose out on the lucrative Arcadia market. Societies that force morali-ty down the people’s throat make the most money for organized crime. Organized crime is the result of vice laws.
Jimmy Sharantona had lined his pockets with the graft and had even accepted the ministrations of numerous prostitutes as a pot sweetener. He was one male that got regular oral sex and it didn’t cost him anything but the soul he did not believe in.
He had wallowed in that corruption. And still he was not happy. And because they knew the truth about the Organized Crime Division of RAMP, his bosses withheld promotions that he should have got-ten for his years of service if not his merit.
That had been the status quo. Until this evening.
That was when the Commissioner had called him into his office and offered him a promotion if he performed a task. A task that he was to discuss with no one else and was to keep no written notes on.
At first Jimmy Sharontona was scared. No notes and no records meant that he and he alone would as-sume all the risks. If it went wrong then he and he alone would kneel in front of the chopping block and take the punishment.
There was no option of blackmailing his bosses. They’d brain wipe him and that was that. All of his memories, cherished and dreaded, gone. And along with them the Jimmy Sharantona he knew and loved.
It also meant that if he tried to talk about it to an-yone—perhaps the still free news media of the Spheric Net—he would most likely be quietly liqui-dated by one of the gangs of killers that the Arcadi-an government kept on tap—courtesy of MI-13.
And the Shaitannises were involved in this shit. That meant Count Marcus Mithra Easter the Master of Assassins for House Shaitannis as well as the most likely candidate for Lord High Executioner for the Guild.
And the task? Oh, that was juicy. If he failed then he might have the Prince of Lions__ fucking To-reus- I- probably- bathe- with- my- cat- Rhann__ gunning for him. Or his family and friends. That frigging big cat was scary enough. Sabre cats were known to be the only confirmed man-eaters among the felidae.
What could Jimmy do?
Well, he was a few years short of retirement and he really hadn’t saved enough of the graft money to keep him comfortable. And it would take quite a lot to keep him comfortable
And one did not refuse a personal request from the Commissioner of the Royal Arcadian Mounted Police. Rumor had it that Dennis Petty Irby had once busted a Mountie down in rank for refusing to wash his car. What would he do to someone who re-fused to do even dirtier work?
No, there was little choice. He had said yes and re-turned to his office to begin working up a campaign.
That’s where he was now. With an open bottle of Jurassican spice wine and slices of lemon. Working up a plan in his head because he did not dare write anything down.
He would do what Irby had done. He would pass the crosshairs of the assassin down to someone else. Make sure that someone else paid the price and not him. That was the way you did things in the Royal Arcadian Mounted Police. That was the way you did things in the whole Arcadian government. The only thing that measured your worth was profit. Honor and decency be damned.
Make sure that someone else bleeds for your sins. Just the way the Prophet had bled for all the sins of all mankind. The Prophet had been the stooge for the Gods and the lesson was clear—always find the right stooge.
This train of thought made Jimmy Saratoga feel much better. In fact it made him downright optimis-tic.
Who knows, if I play this right I might end up the next Commissioner of the Royal Arcadian Mounted Police. Certainly playing games of such high stakes the current commissioner would not last very much longer.
But if I do it wrong I’ll be the next name inscribed on the entry wall of Griswold Court. Killed in the line of duty.
He mentally selected a name from a list he kept in his head. Yes, he would do nicely.
The trick would be to make this death sentence of a job seem like an honor.


Detective Inspector Kenneth Reinhold looked across the scene of the riot and shook his head. This should not have come to this. There was no reason to turn a peaceful demonstration into a blood bath.
There were bodies all over the place—most of them students and bystanders and quite a few of them Kai’Vhan troops with body parts missing. Of course their medics could replace limbs__ that was child’s play. Even an amputated head. That is if the owners of the Vhan were willing to foot the bill.
None of the bodies, as far as he could see, were brother Mounties or CitiCops. But then again most law enforcement had called in sick out of sympathy with the labor unions. Most would not be back be-cause such an action was now looked upon as trea-son.
The world was coming apart and there was Gods little he could do to hold it together. That was why he had become a cop__ to hold things together.
Detective Sergeant Donald Brennan stood next to him. Brennan was a small, piggish man. He had be-come a cop because of control issues. He wanted a hand in controlling the actions of others and not necessarily his own actions.
“You say the Vhans opened fire on the demonstra-tion,” he asked the short middle-aged officer, his partner for the last five standards.
“They were gonna. But they didn’t get the chance.”
Yes, they were going to open up. Because they had orders to shoot demonstrators. Orders from the top__ from the throne itself. A throne that had grown increasingly heavy with power and greed these last few years.
At first Reinhold had been in favor of the changes. He liked the idea that the profits made by the wealthy would trickle down to the poorer members of the community. And that the people who sat on their asses and collected dole would be put to work.
But it hadn’t worked out that way. And the peo-ple__ like himself__ who were charged with enforc-ing the law that went hand in hand with having a so-ciety grew more and more isolated from the com-munity.
His wife had left him over it and taken his two girls with her. They had moved to Angelika and he seldom, if ever, heard from the kids. She had for-mally renounced her Arcadian citizenship after the divorce.
He shook the sad thought out of his head and con-centrated on the job.
Kai’Vhan troops were nothing if not obedient to orders. He’d seen them in the pirate war when he was in the House Wallace Guard. Vhans wouldn’t shit without an order.
“What happened?” he asked Brennan.
“Some big dude in a rugger shirt waded in and started hacking at then with a smarty, most of those dead Vhans were his work.”
“Identification?”
Brennan shook his head. “None—scanners picked up a blob. He must have been wearing something that scrambled them. Then he escaped with help.”
“Help?”
“A taxi picked him up. In it were a gunman and a driver. It had an illegal fly mode and took off. Dis-appeared.”
Reinhold’s eyebrows shot up. “The Phantom Cabby?”
“None other.”
They’d been following reports of the mysterious taxi cab that arrived and transported people from the scene of crimes and possible natsec arrests.
This sounds like Special Branch work, he thought. Too bad. He personally wanted to meet the Phantom Cabby. Wanted to be the one who put the cuffs on him. Wanted to interrogate him and learn why he did what he did.
Just then Reinhold’s comm pulsed.
DI Reinhold, he answered.
Your presence is requested in Colonel Sharanto-na’s office—post haste, said the robot dispatcher voice.
Sharantona, he mused. OrgCrime—what the hell did he want?
I’m on my way, he replied.
“What is it?” asked Brennan.
“Lucky Jimmy Sharantona wants to speak to me.”
“Lucky you,” Brennan shook his clean shaven head. ”Maybe you’re getting promoted to rackets where you can make a fortune sitting on your arse.”
Reinhold hoped not. Whatever he did in Murder Homicide at least there was a sense of honor and in-tegrity attached to it with a chicken grip. Not so in OrgCrime.
He had worked with Jimmy the Entertainer on several cases. The man still made his skin crawl. If a snake could be humanoid and still be a snake he would be James Sharantona.
He got in his car and headed off. What could Sharantona want? The very thought of the greasy little git made him angry. Ken was convinced that it was blokes like Lucky Jimmy and blokes like he alone who made folks hate cops.
The bottom line was that cops like Sharantona were just trouble.
Whatever it was that Sharontona wanted him to do he’d have to take every chance he could of covering his ass.
Sharantona had a reputation throughout the Mounties as being an oily creep that was suspected of being on the take. It was said that Lucky Jimmy Sharantona could go into a jump point behind you and come out ahead.
A bad feeling roiled through Reinhold’s gut. Whatever the chief of OrgCrime wanted of him it could not be good.









The Lion man bonds with his cat until they become as one. It is a relationship that is closer than brother-hood. There are many anecdotal stories of cats dying not long after their men have passed and vice versa. I cannot prove that these stories are true but neither can I prove that they are untrue.
But of one thing I am certain; the ancient bond between the Lionmen of Thuvia and their cats is a strong one. A bond that makes them formidable op-ponents even in this modern age of lasguns and body shields. I would not want to be on the oppos-ing side to them.
Colin O’Brien, Interview TransPriman News



















Chapter 7:
 Shakorja
Toreus sat in the left hand seat of the little sportster ground car. Nikki Vincenzo sat in the driver seat. She wore a short white dress and a little white bell hat__ very fashionable for ladies of the Arcadian ar-istocracy.
The Prince could not help but admire the young woman. She was perhaps one of the sexiest girls he had ever met. And, growing up as a prince he had met more than his fair share of sexy girls. His fair share of dimwitted aristos too. But dimwitted was not something that anyone would accuse of Nikki of being.
The dress showed a generous amount of her deep, tanned cleavage and Toreus could not help but let his eyes wander to that spot from time to time.
She smelt good too. His heightened sense of smell detected the rich scent of woman under the odor of fine perfumes and deodorant__ as well as the clean smell of freshly minted clothing. She had dressed up special for this trip. Had she dressed up for him?
“I’ll drop you off in front of the jump terminal,” she said causing his eyes to flick back to her face. She was smiling and there was a definite twinkle in her dark, brown eyes.
“Sounds good,” he said.
“So,” she said as they paused at a stop light. “Am I going to see you again?”
‘“That’s a possibility,” he said. He did not know if it was truly a possibility just that he hoped it was.
“Good—I’d really like that.”
“So would I,” he said certain that it was the truth.
They pulled up before the jump terminal, a large building where one could dial into a jump point if one had the code. Or where an individual could pur-chase the code for a one-time trip.
“Good luck, Tor,” said Nikki.
Toreus nodded. “Good meeting you. Hope to see you again.”
“You will. We Vincenzos pop up in the

 Damnedest places.” she smiled wrinkling her aqui-line nose as she did.
“So I see,”
He wondered if he should kiss her good-bye but decided that now was not the right time. Thoughts of the luscious Earth girl and the possibilities she promised would be too distracting for someone, like himself, who was bound for harm’s way.
The Prince crossed the pavement and entered the terminal by the wide front doors. He glanced over his shoulder to see the beautiful brunette pull away from the curb and speed into the night.
He felt a lonely longing.
He forced himself to concentrate on the job ahead and not on the girl.
Toreus had the pass code to a jump point that opened into a special cargo module in the freight yard spinward of the Fountain.
 The place where cargo modules were deposited by the Magnetic Fountain and by the older, slower maglev elevator cars.
There was no one inside the terminal at this time in the evening with the martial law curfew looming.
Robots rushed back and forth about their duty—many of them package messengers using the jump points to send parcels to various destinations. Each of the packages had a Mechan rune label that encod-ed in quantum coding the address to which the packages were destined. Almost everyone used Mechan Q coding, even the Arcadians, whom the Mechans did not particularly like.
The Arcadians got around that by referring to the runes as Seraphian Q codes__ even though there was no evidence that the Seraphians had ever relied on such a system. But, then again, Seraphians were mysterious and so one could attribute almost any-thing to the Angel people.
After all optimists considered them to be mes-sengers of the Lords of Light and pessimists looked on them as servants and assassins employed by the Lords of Darkness.
Toreus looked on them as just another example of Elder Intelligence, of which there were many in the Cosmos, all neither good nor evil by nature. No one was good or evil by nature. Such things need be practiced.
 Jump terminals were limited in the range of jumps by law. After all these years it was still feared that spies, saboteurs, terrorists and invading armies from other plates might use the jump point  to gain ingress to the realm. The more paranoid the realm the stricter the regulations regarding the Quantum Entanglement tunnels.
Arcadia's regulations were amongst the most se-vere on the whole world. Arcadia__ the new Arca-dia of the Wallaces and Gearists__ had earned many enemies all throughout the Cosmos. It was, there-fore, wise of them to be afraid.
Toreus sidestepped a large freight robot that was headed for one of the bigger jumpers. The huge ma-chine plodded along on wide machine feet, a bump-er bar before and behind it to avoid collisions.
Arcadian industry made the best non-Mechan bots on the Sphere. The northern continent of Arca-dia—Nippona—was the bot capital of Terra Prime. In Toreus’ opinion, the Arcadians were spoiled by their robots. Hades, everyone was spoiled by their robots.
It looks as if the coast is clear, warrior said the voice of the Guider.
Toreus nodded curtly. If I don't get run down by a bot.
Such would be against the Prime Directories, said the Ghost.
Oh yes, the laws imposed upon artificial intelli-gence by optimistic human lawmakers. But even if it was a violation of the PD a robot truck could still run you down if you were not careful.
The Guider could see the Prince and had no doubt seen the near collision with the bot.
The holographic spirit had access to most of the surveillance systems in this city and the terminal was wired for holographic visuals from the security sur-veillance scanners to the holographic Sphere map at the center of the building.
 Toreus moved down the rows of jump booths, each an opaque plastic tube with a plasma screen containment field.
They came in three sizes. There were the big heavy bulk cargo size. Cylinders the size of a house.  They came in both bulk and modular transport. The modular were filled up with cartons and then the jump was opened. The bulk were tanks that were filled up with the cargo before the jump was opened to another tank.
 Toreus watched as a robo-lorry came to rest near a bulk jump point, unloading a cargo of liquid sugar. Sugar was manufactured by way of APM and was used in many molecular constructions as base material.
Next were the man sized units for individual transport and there were the small carton sized tubes for parcel delivery.
 The bots moved to and fro from these parcel points with their armloads of cargo boxes.
Toreus stepped into one of the personal transport tubes. Inside was a control panel with a touch pad keyboard. He took the jump card out of his utility belt waving it at the panel.
ACCESS PERMITTED flashed on the screen in Arcadia bold type with a Q rune beneath it, accom-panied by a pleasant female voice with a posh Arca-dian accent.
Toreus’ fingers flashed over the keypad entering the twenty digit access number in the Old Atlantean numerical system that was used all across the Sphere.
CODE ACCEPTED flashed on the screen again repeated by the voice. The machine hummed as the jump computer searched for the signature that matched the access code.
JUMP ENTANGLEMENT ATTAINED said the screen and the machine voice.
PORTAL OPEN
Toreus jumped into the interior of a cargo mod-ule, the kind that were strapped to the exterior of star freighters to carry bulk cargo like gases, water ice and grain.
That was why the Imperial Special Forces used them as mobile special ops command posts. They were ubiquitous, found at ports everywhere. And strong Guild laws forbade the opening and search-ing of them by the authorities without a writ from a Guild Court.
He looked down the length of the life system of the module.
 To either side were vehicles parked so as to bal-ance the module when it was weighed by spaceport customs on worlds that did not recognize the power of the Time Sorcerers Guild in matters of Inter-Cosmic customs. It would not do to have customs officers open up an unbalanced cargo module to find troops and weapons inside. It would defeat the whole idea.
 Closest to him were four infantry power suits, the big walking vehicles that troopers could wear in almost any environment. They were armored and armed with various weapons.
Next were two four man Combat Cars, also ar-mored. They were combo vehicles with wheels as well as hovercraft abilities.
Then there were the STEEDs—the smart bikes—Toreus’ favorite vehicles.
 He always carried with him the AI module that housed the persona of his personal vehicle. The module was his personal steed program__ Ebony Night At Dawn__ and he could fit it into any of the Surface Transport Equinoid Electrodynamic Drive vehicles. He would requisition one tonight and place Ebony into its AI receptacle on the command post of the machine.
Beyond the STEEDs were several spacesuits of various adaptations and a rack of various weapons ranging from lasrifles and laspistols to various flechette guns and rocket launchers as well as two proton and two plaz rifles.
Beyond the parking area the cabin was outfitted like the life cabin of a spaceship. To one side there were equipment lockers and a pantry/galley.
To the other side was a sleeping area with upper and lower bunks and a refresher room—partitioned off for privacy, of course.
It was here that the robot challenged him.
A light red beam shot out from the head of the mechanical man, a meter tall android dwarf with a smooth pate and typical android eyes. It wore a one piece military jump suit.
It was the kind of android bot that ran errands and polished things on starships and at military bases. It could also fire the gun that it grasped in its left hand__ a 5.54 mm MicroZeke that could fire 300 rounds of deadly Tungsten Carbide darts a second.
Toreus kicked out fast and knocked the gun from the mech's hand and caught it as it came down, pointing it at the machine.
The bot's eye beam scanned over the Prince’s right green eye and then quickly stopped. The red beam suddenly disappeared. Toreus was sure that other scanners of various wavelengths were at play as well. The retinal scanner, these days, was more or less for show.
“Scan complete,” said a high pitched machine voice. “Welcome to Mobile Special Operations Support Module Alpha 23139087, Your Imperial Highness.”
“For  Thrull Khonn’s sake and Lords of Light,’’ Prince Toreus Rhann cursed  “Why don’t you broadcast it to the other side of the Sphere. This is a secret mission.”
“Thank you, Your Imperial Highness’’ the mech returned. ‘"I thought to avoid further tactical efforts on your behalf. I have been briefed in on the proto-cols of this operation, sire.’’
“Blasted robots,” Toreus muttered. “By the beards of the Gods of Space-time.”
“There is no need for blasphemy or aggression, My Prince.”
“Indeed—a religious robot? And you pointed a gun at me, sir.”
“I am not monitored for violent action, sire, be-ing bound by the tenants of the Prime Directories as interpreted by the High Court of the Pangean Em-pire. It was only an attention getter. Not even load-ed.”
The Prince looked at the load indicator. The magazine was indeed empty.
“Well it got my attention, by Thrall Khonn’s ho-ly shield.”
“Blasphemy, sire,” reminded the bot.
“How does a mech come by such piety?”
“I have been schooled at the Sir Michael Mil-lions School of Social Conventions and am able to respond to all socially acceptable responses. Angry references to gods— whether real or imaginary__ are never appropriate in social discourse.”
Toreus was taken aback. ”There’s only one droid persona in the entire Sphere who would waste his time on a Sir Michael Millions course of bull shit. Why the man was a showman con-artist of the first order.”
“Very little time wasted. Download required 0.00032 milliseconds.”
“Arthur? “ Toreus asked.
“Yes, Sire. I am a copy of Arthur 009__ Butler to the apartments of Toreus II Rhann Crown Prince of Thuvia and Heir Designate to the Imperial Lion Throne of Pangea.”
“I should have recognized you, old son. The mili-tary issue body threw me off.”
“I have been further programmed with the Stand-ard Drill of the Thuvian Military Academy and the Special Operations School at Fort Luray. I am a qualified Ranger assistant.”
“That’s good,” said the Prince not really listening to the bot servant.
He turned his head in all direction scanning the compartment,
“How is my cat doing?”
“He is asleep and awaits your revive command, sire.”
“First things first. I need a shower and a meal for myself and my Saber cat.”
Toreus went to the bathroom section and stripped out of his clothes, emptied the pockets and tossed the wear into the recycler. All evidence of the dis-guise was jumped away and would be dismantled into its component parts for future use by trillions of users.
He took a shower, shaved and brushed his teeth. Though his father now sported a beard Rhann men tended to be clean shaven—as were the majority of Thuvian Rangers and Lion Men. Toreus wore long sideburns but that was the extent of his facial hair. Sometimes family friend Jim Glimmis called him Elvis__ a reference to some singer on the worldline he came from.
Toweled dry he went to the sleeping area and dressed in an undersuit that Arthur had laid out for him. It was the self-cleaning, water recycling kind that one could wear comfortably for days on a bat-tlefield. But from experience the Lion Prince found it best to shower before donning one.
Then he went to the galley where the bot butler had ordered the nano-beverage maker to prepare a glass and a bowl of tea.
 Toreus preferred tea to coffee— Hydropangean blend especially. He usually drank it in a tall glass, with butter, honey and light cream. In summer lem-on, ice and sacra replaced the cream and the drink was served cold in a thermocouple cooler that kept it from warming up as he and his brother played long games of Command.
Arthur knew this since Toreus’ requirements were part of his cloned programming. And Arthur's neuro-pod brain and holo-crystal memories rendered him an intelligent machine__ even if his mind could be transferred from appliance body to appliance body as required.
The bowl of tea would be heavy with cream be-cause it was for his partner. Shakorja liked the cream more than he liked the tea. Cats like dairy prod-ucts__ even nano-produced dairy products.
Toreus and Arthur went to the aft compartment of the module. A touch panel opened the door which slid aside into the bulkhead.
Inside was a hibernation capsule. Just the standard spaceflight warmsleep hibernation cell like the ones used on commercial flights to transport livestock or passengers who did not adapt well to space travel.
“This is a warmsleep unit,” said Arthur needlessly. “Nano-preservative gel is used instead of cold gases. Also a transfusion of nano-blood__ Type 345678 B-Feline. Much safer than the coldsleep units that used to be standard when my program first came online. No chance of frost damage. Also no chance of sleep blindness and loss of hair.
“Many organics died in cold sleep before this sys-tem was developed. Such a shame.”
“Thank you, Arthur,” Toreus said. He knew that warmsleep had been around for generations. He wondered just how old Arthur’s program was. Per-haps the kernel of his program went back centuries. It was not unusual. Machine intelligences were, for all intents and purposes, immortal.
Toreus checked the life signs monitor built into the lid of the hibernaculum. The monitor showed a slowed heart rate, pulse and sleep EEG. Slow but steady.
The Prince touched his hand to the biometrics panel and the machine recognized his DNA signa-ture. A small port opened to reveal a smart plastic panel. The panel morphed and became a revive but-ton.
Toreus pushed the button and held it down until the display panel said: REVIVAL PROCEEDING.
Inside the box machines began to drain the nano-gel and pump oxygen into the chamber as dialysis machines began to circulate fresh blood into the body to replace the nano-blood and circulate revivi-fication drugs and repair nanites into it.
The heart rate, EEG and pulse began to increase.
It will take about thirty minutes to revive our mate, reported the Guider.
 Toreus nodded curtly and went back to the gal-ley and took the cup and bowl of tea out of the bev-erage maker and put them in the microwave oven to keep them hot.


The Lion Prince dressed in a nano-armor suit and selected several weapons. The suit had adaptive camouflage skin and carbon plasma shields that generated doughnuts around the knees, arms and chest. It also had a built in exoskeleton strength augmentation system.
The suit was light weight and comfortable to wear and yielded full range of motion.
The boots that went with the suit had built in pa-ra-gravity assist units that allowed the wearer to jump very high or scale up a wall at high speed. With them he could do anything short of flying. Which would not be necessary with the agility the boots would afford him.
Of course he couldn’t test them in the module. He could still break his neck while wearing this rig un-less he was careful.
Toreus shrugged and donned the headband into which fitted the Guider Gem. Under combat condi-tions that headband would grow into a full helmet with protective visor with spex display.
Next he took the Ebony AI brain he had been carrying in his pocket and installed it in the STEED that sported a detachable sidecar. The sidecar was for his cat.
The AI module was a cylinder about ten centime-ters long and three thick with a socket at one end that fit into the STEED’s input jack__ actually into the universal jacks of any number of machines, in-cluding the power suits. But the Prince preferred the STEED. The young prince had grown up in the Thuvian horse culture and had lately taken to riding motor bikes in his spare time. Not that he had very much spare time these days.
Once the module was seated in its place a telltale light lit and flashed on the bike control panel. The diagnostic sequence had begun. The STEED would now function as a live steed, a loyal and trusty horse—only one that could fly and hover on maglev or para-gravity.
This STEED was a military model with both magnetic levitation and para-gravity drive units. It also had armament and the sidecar for his greatest weapon, the cat.
While he was running the diagnostic a big silver-white saber cat with black spots over its amber eyes came out of the rear compartment and sat on its haunches, licking its left paw and raking itself be-hind its left ear.
How you feeling, pal? Toreus asked the cat via thought radio.
How do you think I feel? Thought radioed the cat. Like I have been on ice in a box for several days.
Only three, said Toreus. And you were in warmsleep—no ice.
How kind of you. Next time you go into warmsleep and I will ride in a nice comfortable space liner.
Toreus laughed. SunLines is not so liberal. They’d make you ride in a cage in the hold. And they’d still insist you be asleep.
Humans have no sense of fair play. That is a clear case of species discrimination.
Have a cup of tea with me, old chum and we’ll discuss this later.
“Arthur, serve the tea and dinner please.”
“Yes. Sire,” said the robot moving to the micro-wave oven.
Is that Art? Asked the lion.
A copy of him. Replied Toreus.
The machine took the glass and the bowl out of the microwave and placed them on the table. Shakorja perched on a stool near the bowl and lapped up some of the hot fluid. The cat considered himself an equal to all intelligent mammals and re-fused to eat on the floor.
Very good, he transmitted looking at his friend with his big, amber eyes. Tell the robot that I am in his gratitude.
I am thought radio enabled, transmitted the robot butler.
Robots! Scoffed Shakorja. The only protocols they respect are their own.
He’s on our side, pal, Toreus transmitted back. The cat said no more on the subject.
So, how was your trip? Asked the cat.
Uneventful, save for one close call at the Fountain terminal.
RAMP?
Toreus shook his head downing some of the tea. Kai’Vhan mercenaries. The place is lousy with them.
Lousy is the proper word, I think. Then this will not be an uneventful trip, transmitted the cat baring his long white ivory canine teeth. The last time we encountered Vhan the body count was impressive.
Indeed, Vhan troopers were wired to the com-mand node of a Centurion and unable to make deci-sions without him. That node was in turn wired to a Commander who was in turn wired to a command and control node.
It was a great way to keep troops in line in the rear areas but not very efficient under combat condi-tions. People tended to die while awaiting instruc-tions from above.
Toreus placed the glass on the table. The incident the feline mentioned had been a raid into the Elysian plate with their Privateer friend Carter Tauran and the Dalkhon Goliath Khane.
A bloody affair. Local pirates had hired Vhan to protect their operation. It had not gone well for them. The Vhan had been easily routed and their Zatakhon handlers killed. Then the pirates them-selves had not fared much better. They now resided in an Elysian prison.
And there was a rumor__ so far unfounded__ that the Zats had put a death warrant out for mem-bers of the Rhann family. Of course the greedy cow-ards wouldn't do it themselves. They'd hire out for it.
 We are going to try and keep the body count down. This is a rescue mission not a punitive raid. No killing unless we have to.
Shakorja lapped some more tea. It usually be-come necessary when dealing with the pinheads.
Toreus frowned. That was what everyone in the merc community called the Kai’Vhan—the pin-heads. Because of the pin that was inserted into their cranium to control all the bionic systems in their bodies and keep them under the control of their Centurions and Commanders.
They were brave and foolish cyborg soldiers with little regard for their own personal safety. This meant that they died badly and in great numbers.
“Well, mate,” Toreus said aloud. “If we have to kill them then we have to. But I never want to kill people just for the hell of it. That’s not our style. That’s their style.”
Agreed, thought Shakorja and nodded his head, one of many human gestures the genetically aug-mented big cat had picked up.
The saber cat was not completely a creature of natural evolution. What was these days?
 Ages ago Capronean genetic engineers had mixed human DNA into those of wild saber toothed cats and had produced Shakorja’s breed. They were as smart as people and with the inclusion of hyper-mentation augments—such as the thought radio__ they were effective partners for the famed lion men of Thuvia.
Before that time the man cat relationship had been merely a symbolic thing with each unit having its mascot big cat. With the import of the Capronean augmented cat that all changed. Now the Lion man teams were actually teams that made up the bulk of the Lion man Corps.
Shakorja and Toreus had been together for most of their lives now. The Prince couldn’t imagine a world without him.


They ate a meal of cultured beef, peas and yogurt. Toreus’ portion was well cooked and Shakorja’s were eaten raw. The meal had been prepackaged in the cupboard of the cargo module Mission Support Unit by Arthur, who knew the duo’s diet card very well. Art, as Shakhorja referred to him, waited on the duo in their residence back home.
There was enough food in the module for seven days even though Toreus and Shakorja would be leaving this MSS after this single meal.
But the module was well stocked just in case the Prince and his cat had to use it as an escape route from Arcadia. The module would be sent up to a cargo ship in three standard days and sent on to its next assignment. Once the module was linked to the frame of a star freighter the only way out would be a jump connection. They would be isolated until they reached a spaceport.
Another reason, Toreus thought as he finished dressing, to admire the layers and complexities of Supreme Marshal Kothar Khonn’s service. As well as the ubiquitous Doom Watch.
He remembered something Uncle Kothar had said to Toreus and Kothar junior long ago when they were both boys.
Wearing a belt and suspenders might seem a bit over cautious, pilgrim. But you’re sure that your pants will not fall down and you have two impro-vised weapons in an alley fight.
The lesson was clear. Belts weren’t just to keep your pants up. Anything could be a weapon or a survival tool under the right circumstances. And sometimes bringing a knife to a gunfight gave one an unexpected edge. Even an amateur seldom missed when stabbing a target at close range.
It was a lesson that Toreus had never forgotten.
The nano-armor suit fit snuggly and bulged only where there was padding. At rest it was olive drab in color but it was capable of adapting to a wide range of camouflage and environments.
The skin had variable refractive indexes. One could blend in just about anywhere, making you in-visible as long as you didn’t move too much.
Over the suit he fitted the combat webbing that had pouches for weapons and gear as well as the bio-med unit that was able to repair and patch com-bat damage. Toreus healed fast—part of his aug-mentation—but he was not indestructible. Often he needed bandages and antibiotics.
He fitted Tesla gauntlets with smart material claws onto his forearms and gloves, and made sure the matter reservoirs for the carbon plasma genera-tors were filled with an initial charge of compressed CO2.
The gauntlets were armored and soft, made of a material that hardened on impact if you used them to hit someone. Built into them were smart material claws that could adapt on command to a wide varie-ty of weapon blades as well as tools.
The gloves were also wired with a pulse genera-tor that could put out high electrical energy pulses or plasma balls to stun or kill an opponent. The pulse generators were referred to by the name of an Earth scientist that had invented similar devices—Nicola Tesla.
The Prince felt very skilled and comfortable with these weapon systems. Like most Thuvian Li-onmen he was an expert in hand to hand and melee weapons combat. The advent of Atlantean plasma shields had made people who fought with fists, feet and cutting edges the elite of Priman warriors.
You had to get real close to use a gun effectively when someone wore a shield. Or else use rounds shielded in superconductors material that was close-ly regulated for weapon use by most plate’s law. The Guild treaty forbade the use of such rounds in war.
 And if you got very close to a shield fighter you were dead.
Finally Toreus slipped his Guider Gem into its place in the head band. In combat the headband would morph into a full helmet as the suit itself would morph into a full protective armor. More of the miracle that was smart material.
Toreus went through a series of exercises to ac-climatize himself to the suit and then activated the full armor and repeated the exercises at that level. The suit was very flexible__ much like a second skin. You could run, jump and crouch in it.
Next the Prince took his two swords out of their carrying cases and slid them into the scabbards that crossed his broad back.
There was the long Katan fashioned out of smart metal ceramic. On command it could become a broad sword or a slashing chopping weapon. It was a Celestial Empire of Hsia design and had over the years replaced the traditional Thuvian sabre, which had, itself, replaced the old style Pangean broad-sword.
Then there was the Shote, similar in design to the Katan but shorter. It was capable of assuming the characteristics of a short, stabbing sword, a machete or a fighting knife. This went into the left side scab-bard.
Toreus added the smart blade he had brought with him to Arcadia in a pouch for good luck.
Finally there were the guns.
In a holster under his left arm he placed a Richards CO2 las-pistol with three spare power packs and a multi-sensor module. It fired high energy lasers and could boil an unarmored man or melt a hole through a metal wall. In a shield fight it usually served as a distraction to enemies. You didn’t want to use a las in a confined space. The heat tended to set furniture on fire and blow out windows.
On his hip he carried a Minerva 20 gigawatt plas-ma blaster. This was effective against shields but carried a limited load. You got ten shots and them you have to change the gas reservoir that supplied the superheated plasma. The power system was a ZP battery and was just about inexhaustible but the mat-ter for the plasma ran out fast. He had read that the Minerva Company was working on a blaster that would recharge from atmosphere gases like his body shields. But that was a way off.
He slid a small Ringer 7.62 mm six flechette pistol into a holster in his left boot and a Ranger fighting knife into a scabbard in his right.
Last but not least was his laser lance. A rod shaped weapon that could be used to fire laser pulses at an enemy or a continuous beam of light that could cut people into pieces. It could also be used as a cutter, a welder or to start a fire and heat up rocks in a sur-vival situation. It was one of those don’t leave the house without it type devices.
The lance went into a holster along the small of his back. Within easy reach if he needed it. It was pre-set for pulse but a twist of the power flange could turn it into a deadly laser sword. It was a solid state laser with no danger of radiation like a graser rifle.
Finally he ordered the suit back to its rest level and helped Shakorja into his combat vest. The saber cat flexed his muscles and stretched, acclimatizing him-self to the harness in which he carried the tools and items developed for his use, including a cat sized personal shield.
When he was finished Toreus took a large metal equipment case off a shelf at the rear of the com-partment.
The bird?  Inquired Shakorja.
We need eyes in the sky, said Toreus. Birds made Shakorja nervous. An ancient part of his feline mind made him want to chase them. Birds were still food to him even though he knew this one to be an avi-anoid robot life form with little to no nutritional val-ue.
Toreus lay the case on a workbench and opened it.
Inside, in foam packing was a Heuristic Avian Wing Cybernet__ an avianoid robot— a lifelike model of a hunting hawk like the ones the Rhann family kept at home at Emerald Palace.
This one was called Ulysses—named for an ances-tor of Toreus’__ and it had abilities that no biologi-cal hawk ever had. And that was why the warrior prince had had it shipped here along with Shakorja.
Guider, he thought transmitted to the gem. Please send the activation signal to Ulysses.
Working, said the Guider Gem. Signal is sent.
Ulysses’ bright eyes opened and the robot bird scrambled out of the foam outline and to its feet, flexing its neck and spreading its wings. His feathers were black and gray for night camouflage but could adapt to day use as well. Either you didn’t see him, or, if you did, you thought he was a real bird.
“Good to see you, pal,” Toreus said, stroking the bot’s head.
Good see you too, boss, thought transmitted the Avianoid. Ulysses had a limited vocabulary and a neuro pack brain that was mostly devoted to flight, surveillance and escape and evasion.
The bird hopped up on his shoulder and a pad formed for it in his nano-armor as the prince ran through a diagnostic of the robot bird’s systems.
He was able to use his optic implant to see through the hawk’s keen eyes. Ulysses was the best flying spy system that one could own.  He would be Toreus’ eyes in the sky. A spy that blended in with the background. Many cities on the Sphere had fal-cons and hawks as part of their pest control systems. They were a necessary part of the eco-system and most plates had strict punishments for killing or abusing them.
Toreus went back to his STEED and keyed the ignition sequence. The motors hummed to life.
How are we for time? He asked the Guider.
We are two hours from the meeting time, said the voice of the gem ghost.
“Time to go, old chum,” Toreus called to Shakorja.
The big cat got up and loped to the sidecar of the STEED, which now sat on its big doughnut tires. Toreus would not fly unless he had to, knowing that flying vehicles were prohibited on the streets of Newer London and would attract much too much at-tention.
Toreus eased up on the maglev throttle and Eb-ony lifted off the deck plates and hovered. He’d need to fly to exit the module. No avoiding that.
 Ready for action, boss, said Ulysses his claws taking a deeper purchase on the shoulder pad.
That’s about all he ever says, complained the li-on.
But it is the truth, Toreus smiled.
Shakorja boxed with his closed claws like a hu-man prize fighter. He only used his claws for climb-ing and killing. But his closed paw punch was often just as lethal. Ready for action, My Prince.
Shakorja hardly ever called him that. The Saber Cat looked upon himself as a prince too. Leave it to a cat to think like that. It is said that dogs have mas-ters but a cat has a court of honor.
We’re on our way, thought radioed Shakorja jumping into the sidecar.
Yes we are, Toreus replied.
He punched the numbers of a cargo jump point in-to the point control on the STEED’s dash and eased the machine forward toward the jump point at the end of the module. Arthur moved away beyond the range of the vehicle's repellant field.
As Toreus and Shakorja disappeared down the quantum entanglement hole the robot waved good-bye.
End of Book One: The Slayer