Part 1: EARTH

Prologue: ABDUCTED?

Daniel Zarek watched the woman from his peripheral vision as he waited to be seated. She sat alone in a sunny booth at the back of the restaurant, wearing a burgundy suit, her black hair pulled away from her beautiful face in an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. She slowly took a bite of salad, then sipped from her glass of water.

As the hostess led Daniel to a table, he took a better look at the dark-haired woman. She really was Lanuvael Vumaul Doshyr--she had to be. Despite the plain Earthon clothing and simple hairstyle, she looked very much like the images he had assimilated on InterMind sixteen and a half years before when she and her twin children had disappeared from the knowledge of Novaun.

Daniel's excitement grew as he approached her, along with his anxiety. Communicating with her would put his mission at risk, but he had to take the chance. In no other way would he learn whether she was on Earth by choice or whether she and her children had been abducted. The answer to that question would tell him whether her children were a danger to Novaun or not.

The hostess seated Daniel in a booth that adjoined Lanuvael's, separated only by narrow oak poles. He removed his hat and coat and set them aside as a waitress promptly arrived at his table. "I just need to warm up a bit," he said. "A cup of hot cocoa will be fine."

"Yes, sir," the waitress said cheerfully, hurrying away from his table.

Daniel didn't attempt to communicate with Lanuvael until the waitress returned and set a mug of hot chocolate on the table in front of him. He expanded his spirit and pressed it against Lanuvael's, inviting her to communicate in a way that couldn't be detected by the monitoring devices the Earthons used to record voices and thought transmissions.

Lanuvael did expand her spirit to partially overlap his, and he allowed his thoughts to flow into her mind. Mineste Doshyr, I'm here to help--

No one can help me! Her thoughts stabbed through him, icy with shock and terror. You have no idea how completely you've compromised yourself, just by seeking for the information necessary to identify me. Get on the next flight away from Earth going anywhere, or you won't make it off Earth at all! Then she wrenched her spirit away from his and refused to communicate more.

Understanding and dread crept through Daniel as he finished his drink. She knew that he was a Novaunian agent and was concerned for his safety, which meant she was still loyal. She had, however, refused to communicate with him in this secure way, which could only mean that even her thoughts were not her own and that the man who appeared to be her husband was really her captor. When the man returned home from work that afternoon and required her to give him the thoughts and events of the day, Daniel's identity would be unmasked.

Daniel arose, slid into his coat and hat, and walked to the front of the restaurant as casually as he could manage. Lanuvael had not exaggerated her danger or his. Daniel paid his bill and left the restaurant, nearly running.

A squad of Executioners waited for him outside the door.

Chapter 1: COVER BLOWN

19th Year of the Divine Emperor

Friday, February 2

Myke Zarek entered his apartment, weary from a long day at work. He extended his arm to set his laptop by the door and nearly dropped it, grasping it again desperately and pushing it against the wall with a slam. He remained stooped there a moment, breathing slowly and forcing himself to relax. He straightened, slipped out of his coat and hung it in the closet, then walked through the tiny, sparsely furnished living area toward the kitchenette.

Myke's father had not been home for several days. Normally this wouldn't be unusual, but they planned to leave Earth for Novaun soon. No matter how hard Myke tried to tell himself that his father was simply finishing business and would be home at any moment, he couldn't rid himself of the fear that something terrible had happened.

Myke opened the small refrigerator and took out the milk. He removed the lid and drank the milk straight from the container, gulping so hard his chest hurt. As he drank, he felt his father's spirit touch his, relaying a telepathic transmission in code. Feeling a rush of panic, and at the same time relief, he quickly set the empty milk container on the counter, relaxed, and prepared to receive the message. Since this communication was weak, it required extreme concentration to receive it.

Get out! Cover blown. Royal twins key. The message was wrapped in emotions of love, confidence, and farewell. Then it was gone from understood existence with his father's being.

Immediately realizing that the authorities would trace the telepathic message to his apartment, Myke rushed into the bedroom and stuffed several changes of clothes, his wallet of computer discs, and a few toiletries into a leather shoulder bag. Within minutes he was moving with the crowds of people down the sidewalk away from his apartment building, watching for Executioners.

Myke pulled the fur collar up over the scarf around his neck to block the frosty air and hide his face, his mind traveling backward in time several years and remembering Tavon, the country that was his home. He could almost feel the warm rain on his cheeks and the beach's white sand between his toes.

A gust of icy wind shattered the nostalgic images. He shivered. There were no seas near Tryamazz, and the rain that fell there was usually cold.

Located in what was once Missouri in the United States, Tryamazz was the capital city of Earth's massive empire. Earth's "Divine" Emperor, Arulezz Zarr, depended heavily on arelada crystal to maintain telepathic control over Earth's billions of subjects, but it was a raw mineral that was not native to Earth. It was mined on several planets, primarily Novaun. Officially, Earth was at peace with the United Interstellar Alliance of Planets. It owned several arelada mines, companies, and a substantial amount of prime territory on arelada-producing planets other than Novaun. Unofficially, Earth wanted control of the arelada trade and was planning to conquer the Alliance to gain it.

Myke and his father had acquired proof that Earth was preparing to attack several primary arelada sources in twelve Earth weeks, and they had collected many specific details that would aid in repelling the attack. Myke's knowledge of Earth's plans was the Alliance's only hope--that and the spirit dimension formula.

Myke nearly dove into the back seat of a taxi that drove up beside him. "Spaceport," he said quickly. The door made a whirring noise as it slid shut. He leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. Why had his father died? They had been so close to returning to Novaun. Two years, and nothing had happened. Why now? Why? Myke had known since they had begun training for this mission that one or both of them might be killed. He had never worried much about his own life, but he had always been afraid that his father's life would be taken. He had tried again and again to bury the fear, to harden himself against possible loss, but he had never been successful.

A tear trickled down Myke's cheek, but he quickly wiped it away. "Oh, God, help me," he breathed. He leaned forward and covered his face with his hands in an attempt to smother the emotion.

Once Myke composed himself, he sat back up and stared out the window for the duration of the trip, analyzing his situation and determining how to proceed. Communication to Novaun had been forbidden. Even if Novaun would allow it, Myke knew that he wouldn't be able to obtain the help he would need to telepathically transmit a message over that distance, because he and his father had not been in contact with any other agents since they had arrived on Earth, and nine months had passed since they had received contact from a courier from Novaun.

Even so, Earth's authorities would be aware of any unauthorized communication. He couldn't steal a ship, because it would never get past the two Star Force fleets he knew were now sitting in Earth's space territory. A hired vessel wouldn't get past the fleets either, so he decided his best option was to use his standing reservation on a commercial flight to Nustydun in the Gudynean Federation, where he would catch a connecting flight to Dinevlea, then on to Novaun.

The sound of air being released signaled to Myke that he had arrived at the spaceport. He quickly paid the driver, then hurried to the ticketing section.

"I have a standing reservation on a flight to Nustydun," Myke explained to the man at the ticketing counter, removing the scarf from his mouth slightly. "I would like to get on the next flight out of here. My name is Lon Brown. Here's my passport."

The man quickly accessed Lon Brown's file on the computer. "Everything checks out. Next flight is at seven thirty-five." He handed Myke a boarding pass. "Flight 1215, Gate 27K."

"Don't you have anything sooner?"

"No."

"Oh well. I guess that will have to do." Myke took the boarding pass and left the ticketing counter, then strode through several lobbies of the huge complex with people waiting for flights to different systems, looking for the gate with his flight number.

Once he found the right gate, he began searching for a place where he could hide until his flight was ready to leave. As he walked, he brushed past a door that read in bold print: "Men." Of course! What better place? He entered the rest room and found an empty stall where he could wait.

The next three hours passed slowly for Myke. He couldn't stop wondering how his father had died. Perhaps it was better he didn't know. What would he tell his sisters when he saw them? If he ever saw them again. Novaun was so far away. He breathed nervously. Everything depended on him.

Myke glanced at the interplanetary time calculator on his wrist. Seeing that only fifteen more minutes remained until his flight would leave, he stood up and stretched his stiff muscles. He took a deep breath and stepped out of the stall, then exited the men's room and rushed toward the lobby where those traveling to Nustydun awaited their flights.

Suddenly he halted. Noticing two Executioners approaching a ticketing counter ahead of where he stood, he slipped into an adjoining lobby. He stood quietly by the lobby's entrance as one of the Executioners began speaking to the ticketing counter personnel. The Executioners both possessed muscular builds under black uniforms with red trim, and arelada crystals that had been cut into diamond-shaped prisms hung on gold chains around their necks.

"We're looking for a boy, nineteen years old," one of the Ex-men said. Myke leaned toward the voices and listened more intently.

"He has brown hair, blue eyes, and is of an average height and build. He's traveling under the name Lon Brown. Here's a photo of him." Fear overwhelmed Myke. The Ex-men would soon have the entire spaceport watching for him. "He's an extremely dangerous criminal. If you see anyone that fits this description, notify us immediately."

"Yes sir," a woman's voice quavered.

Myke heard terror in the ticket attendant's voice. Was she afraid of encountering him, or was she terrified of the Executioners? Myke guessed the latter. He glanced over his shoulder, then hurried to his flight gate.

Once he arrived at his flight gate, he approached the view window and watched workers prepare a large shuttle for flight. The night sky was spitting snow that appeared iridescent against the backdrop of colorful lights. Evidently the craft was the one he would take to the Gudynean transport ship orbiting Earth, for it was almost ready.

"Flight 1215 to Nustydun is now boarding. Repeat . . ."

Myke jumped in surprise at the booming voice. He looked cautiously around the lobby. Not noticing any Executioners, he hurried to the gate.

Holding his breath in anticipation, he waited in line to board the spaceship. Centimeter by centimeter, the line crept as boarding passes were checked and people stepped into the entrance corridor. Only one more person needed to have his boarding pass examined before Myke would undergo the same procedure. His lips trembled and his eyelids dropped shut. Home was so close . . . so close . . .

As he presented his boarding pass to be examined, a hand gripped his shoulder. He felt himself being forced to turn and face two Executioners. Dismayed, he quickly evaluated his situation. Maybe they would think they had made a mistake and would let him go.

"Let's see some I.D."

Myke replied in his most polite tone of voice, "Sirs, you are holding up the line. Please allow me to board my flight in peace." He reached inside his coat for his passport.

One of the Ex-men eyed Myke quizzically. He pulled the hat off his head and the scarf away from his mouth. "It's him!"

Myke instantly slammed his laptop into the head of one of the Executioners, catching him completely by surprise. The Ex-man collapsed, unconscious.

Even as the other Executioner reached for his weapon, Myke slammed his laptop against his head and knee-kicked him in the groin. The Executioner moaned and doubled, and Myke executed a powerful blow to the back of his neck as his computer tumbled to the floor.

Myke knelt and grabbed the Executioners' immobilizers, then yanked the arelada from their necks. He sprang up and pointed one of the pistols threateningly at the crowd that had gathered around the commotion. As the crowd backed away from him, he slowly moved away from it. Then he turned and sprinted toward the spaceport's main terminal, scanning for an exit.

As he ran he saw the two Executioners he had seen earlier bounding toward him at an angle from his right. He halted, aimed his pistol at one of the Ex-men, fired, and ran for cover. A neurodart shot out of his weapon and penetrated the Ex-man's heart. The other Ex-man was only momentarily surprised by the effectiveness of the distant shot as his companion dropped to the floor. Just as Myke was about to duck behind a ticketing counter, the Ex-man fired his immobilizer.

Myke shrieked as the neurodart penetrated his right shoulder. Hot pain seared rapidly through the nerve network of his upper back, inflaming nerves and jamming the neuronal transmissions of the nearby nerves it didn't touch, temporarily paralyzing the muscles in the affected area. Before he had a chance to feel the molecular robots in his spine, his mind fogged, then blackened.

Chapter 2: DRAFTED

Friday, February 2, 19 Y.D.E

Deia Sheldon adjusted the diamond and emerald necklace around her neck as she stood backstage of a Tryamazz concert hall, waiting for the curtain to rise. Of all the concerts she had played, this one was the most important. Her teacher had arranged it, publicized it, and invited Phillip Moreau, Earth's finest pianist-composer, to attend. Phillip Moreau didn't often teach, but he had been so impressed by Deia's recent publicity and the recordings her teacher had sent to him that he was considering taking her on tour as his protégée. He would make his final decision that night after hearing her perform.

Deia watched in anticipation as the members of the orchestra took their positions and tuned their instruments. She and the orchestra represented Divine Empress Jesalya School of the Arts, the prestigious high school she had attended for the past four years. The orchestra had gained a modest level of fame throughout the world, and this was the last concert the senior musicians would give before they separated. Many members of the orchestra had already received full-time positions in the finest symphony orchestras on Earth, and others planned to attend highly accredited advanced schools of music for more extensive training. Deia's dream was to become a member of the Divine Emperor's Court, a position already achieved by Phillip Moreau, a position greatly desired by musicians all over the galaxy.

Maestro Bruce Leonard, the guest conductor, stood next to Deia. He quickly adjusted the long blue brocade sash of his black tuxedo as the red velvet curtain slowly rose. He patted Deia on the shoulder. "Good luck!" he whispered.

Deia again adjusted her necklace, then walked onto the stage and proceeded to the black concert grand piano, her green taffeta gown rustling as she walked. The maestro followed her onto the stage and took his position in front of the orchestra.

Deia sat down at the piano and waited for the maestro to give her the cue to begin. Out of the corner of her eye, she captured a glance of her twin brother Paul, her Aunt Lena, and her Uncle Sanel sitting in their usual seats on the front row. She welcomed their expressions of encouragement, for the concerto she was about to play was the Second Piano Concerto of pre-Day of Liberation composer Sergei Rachmaninoff, and it had not been performed by anyone on Earth for many years. Deia had always been fascinated by pre-Day of Liberation music, and this concerto had always been one of her favorites.

The maestro lifted his hands, and the members of the orchestra lifted their instruments to playing positions. He turned toward Deia and motioned for her to start. Her fingers softly touched the keys as she began the introduction. The power of the introduction grew as she entered the first movement and was joined by the orchestra.

During the next thirty-five minutes, Deia focused on the music, her fingers floating over the keyboard with confidence. The music flowed through her body, moving her spirit with a passion that only it could, and as it moved her, she soared to greater heights of expression.

Deia ran her fingers up and down the keyboard in her solo preceding the finale. The anticipation grew as the music trickled from low notes to high, retarding to a rest. Then she and the orchestra joined again and entered full-force into the finale. The finale progressed to its powerful concluding measures, and the conductor dramatically brought the concerto to a close.

Deia felt drained but knew she had done well. The audience applauded vigorously as the orchestra stood and the maestro bowed. Deia arose and stepped to the front of the piano, bowing slightly, and as she did, the sound of applauding intensified as everyone in the concert hall stood. Deia had never experienced such a feeling of elation. They wanted an encore! She glanced over at the maestro, who simply nodded and smiled.

She resumed her seat at the piano and began playing a piece by Claude Debussy. It was romantic and beautiful, representative of her own time, yet reminiscent of a bygone century. She completed the piece and again took her bow as the curtain lowered, the enthusiasm of the audience no less than it had been after the first piece she had played.

Once the curtain had completely lowered, she removed a handkerchief from the little pocket her Aunt Lena had designed into her gown and used it to wipe the perspiration from her forehead. Members of the orchestra clustered around her, overflowing with praise, and she praised them just as enthusiastically. Finally she slipped away and went to her individual dressing room.

Paul met Deia at the door, already wearing his coat over his black tuxedo. "You were terrific! That was by far your best performance ever! You are supreme!"

"Was he here?"

Paul put his hand on Deia's back and led her into the room. "I didn't see him come in, but that doesn't mean anything. He might have come in just as the performance started."

"Oh, I hope!" Deia proceeded toward the closet to get her coat. She halted for a moment. "Do you think I'll ever be good enough for the Divine Emperor's Court?"

Paul had lost his animation and appeared tired. "I don't know why you would want to be."

Deia felt hurt. "Just because you don't agree with his politics . . . It's still a great honor."

"I know," Paul said with a sigh. "I'm sorry. I know how much it means to you. I guess I'm just a little preoccupied."

Deia frowned. Paul hadn't been himself for the last couple of weeks, but she, in anticipation of her concert, hadn't noticed until now. Any other time she would have felt terrible for being so unobservant, but she was still too delirious over her chance to study with Phillip Moreau to feel too sorry. Before she could ask Paul what was wrong, a knock sounded at the door. "Come in!" she called.

Rachael, Deia's piano teacher, rushed into the room. "You make me so proud!" She embraced Deia. "I hate having to lose you."

"Was he here?"

Deia's teacher nodded quickly. "He certainly was. I don't know whether he'll take you or not yet, but I'm going to speak with him later tonight. Things are looking very promising!"

"Call me as soon as you find out anything." Deia squeezed her teacher's wrinkled fingers. "Oh, I'm so excited!"

Rachael patted Deia's hand. "I know. I'll call you as soon as I speak with him."

After her teacher left, Deia turned to Paul. "Did you hear that? He'll take me, I just know it!"

"That's wonderful, Deia." He didn't smile.

Another knock sounded at the door. Deia laughed. "Come in!" This time one of the cellists entered the room. "Oh hello, Jeff!"

"Deia, you were supreme!"

"So were you."

Jeff nodded confidently. "I guess we all did well, didn't we? Anyway, Deia, everyone's meeting at Antonio's in half an hour. Will you be there?"

Before Deia could respond, she felt Paul's thoughts enter her mind. Not tonight.

But, Paul, Antonio's. Lasagna sounds so good.

Not tonight, Deia. We'll go to Antonio's another time.

"I'm afraid I'll have to pass, Jeff. I'm exhausted."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Everyone will miss you, but I'm sure they'll understand."

"I'll see you later."

After Jeff left the room, Deia turned to Paul. "What is this all about?"

Paul shook his head, a peculiar light in his gray-blue eyes. "Not here. Let's go." He held Deia's white mink coat as she slipped into it. She picked up her purse and followed Paul silently out the door.

Deia shivered as they stepped outside. Paul held his arm out for her. "It looks slick." She took his arm and held tightly as he led her to their silver aircar. They slid into the back seat, grateful it was already warm. Paul leaned forward. "Home," he said to the chauffeur.

The aircar rose into the air and whisked them through Tryamazz. Paul leaned his head back and closed his eyes, while Deia stared out the window, mesmerized by the falling snow and twinkling lights of the city.

In minutes the aircar came to a stop in the landing bay attached to Paul and Deia's penthouse apartment. As they entered their home, the lights came on. "I wonder where Lena and Sanel are," Deia said. "I thought they would be home by now."

"They went to supper." Paul helped Deia out of her coat and hung it in the closet.

Deia stepped out of her green high-heeled shoes, letting her feet sink into the plush, creamy white carpet, then seated herself gracefully on the crimson velvet couch. She removed her necklace and carefully set it on the coffee table, then quickly removed the diamond and emerald-studded pins from her hair, shaking out the curls. Paul removed his coat and wandered over to the piano. He stared out the window-wall, his dark brown hair appearing black against the falling snow that was glowing in the light emanating from the Divine Emperor's Palace and Liberation Court.

Deia stretched her arms and leaned her head against the back of the couch. "So . . . what's wrong?"

"Hmmm? Oh . . ." Paul closed the drapes. "There really isn't any easy way to tell you this."

Deia stared at the floral carvings on the coffee table. "Go on."

"We've been drafted."

Deia sat up straight and turned abruptly toward her brother. "We've been what?"

"We have to report to the Star Force Institute of Science on Monday, and after a day of orientation, we'll be shuttled to the fleet base ship Sovereign of the Stars."

Deia waved her hands. "Oh no. Not me. I have other plans."

"And I don't?"

"How long have you known about this?"

"A few weeks--"

"And you didn't tell me!"

Paul approached the couch and sat down next to Deia. "No. Lena and I thought it would be better to wait until after graduation and your concert."

"Lena? You mean she knows about this too? Does Sanel know?"

Paul grunted. "Oh yes, Sanel knows about it."

"Can't he get us out of it?"

"He says he has no control over the recruiting board. It's under Admiral Laddan."

"Just what kind of fools does he think we are? There isn't a person on that recruiting board who wouldn't jump off the top of the Council's office building if our dear uncle told him to."

Paul nodded in grim agreement. "That doesn't change anything for us though."

"Military service . . ." Deia grimaced. "Just what exactly are we going to do on this spaceship?"

"I'll study to be an electrical engineer, and you'll study to be a neurosurgeon."

Deia couldn't help but laugh. "You have to be joking."

"I wish I were. My training is supposed to last for three years. Yours will last for seven."

"Seven years? I have to be on that spaceship for seven years!"

"Well, no. You may not spend the entire seven years on this particular spaceship, but all together it'll be seven years. I guess it takes a long time to become a neurosurgeon."

Deia shook her head quickly. "This just isn't right. I can represent our culture to billions of people all over the galaxy! What possible use could I be to the government in Star Force? The very idea is ridiculous!"

Paul folded his arms over his chest and stared sulkily at his lap.

Deia scrutinized him. "You know something about this, don't you."

"How should I know why the government wants us in Star Force?"

"But you have an idea."

"All I know is that too many things are wrong."

"Such as?"

"Such as the Science Corps is completely bourgeois. The government doesn't draft aristocrats. Aristocrats buy appointments to Star Force's officer training program. Nobles don't even have to buy their appointments. They're automatically accepted even if they're imbeciles!"

Deia was surprised to feel relieved. "I guess, then, that our situation could be worse. I'd much rather be a neurosurgeon than a military officer."

Paul's eyes shone with hysteria. "You won't feel that way when we're ostracized by the people who are supposed to be our friends and, at the same time, despised by the people we're forced to work with."

Deia knew that she should feel alarmed by Paul's observation, but for the moment, the career implications far outweighed the social ones. "All right, so people like us train to become officers, not--" She stopped, searching for the right word.

"Certified professionals," Paul said.

"All right, so we should be training to be officers, not 'certified professionals.' What else is wrong with our wonderful new situation?"

"I've never known anyone who's gone into the Science Corps, but as for officer training, all applicants are heavily tested for compatibility with space travel. Everyone accepted into the program spends February and March after graduation in orientation and basic training at the Officers Academy before being assigned to a ship. Not only that, but all of my friends received notice of their appointments six months ago!"

"Paul, that is strange."

"It's Sanel. He's behind this, I just know it. That son of Abomination is manipulating our lives again."

"But why? He knows our talents. He knows that Star Force isn't a good fit for either one of us. Not only that, but this is the man who nearly had a heart attack when I went out with the chauffeur. Wouldn't it make him look bad if we joined the bourgeoisie? It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe not, but it makes more sense than anything else."

Deia's voice quavered. "You're probably right." A tear spilled from one of her eyes. Paul quickly brought his anger under control and drew Deia into his arms.

Somewhat later they heard a sound at the door. Deia released her hold on Paul and quickly dabbed her face with her handkerchief. They stood up as Lena and Sanel entered the apartment. Lena and Sanel were the most beautiful couple Deia had ever seen, especially wearing the formal clothing Lena had designed and the jewelry she had crafted. Sanel's black hair was fashionably slicked back over his ears, and an arelada crystal set in an intricately carved pendant hung on a gold chain from around his neck. Lena's soft black hair was swept up in an elaborate style and studded with diamonds set in white gold. Both Lena and Sanel were youthfully lean and had perfect facial features and fair, unlined skin, as if they were twenty-five instead of thirty-nine and forty-five.

Sanel helped Lena out of her coat and smiled slightly at Deia. "Superb, Deia. Absolutely superb."

Deia bowed her head slightly. "Thank you, sir."

Once out of her coat, Lena broke away from Sanel and stepped down into the living room. Deia gazed affectionately at her aunt as she walked toward her. She was the epitome of talent and refinement, and Deia had always longed to be like her. "You were wonderful tonight. You dazzled them all!"

Deia embraced Lena. "Funny, it doesn't matter much anymore. I've wasted my entire life working for something I can never have."

"You haven't wasted your life! You have an extraordinary talent, and you don't have to be part of the Divine Emperor's Court to use it. You've already gained a level of skill that most people can never dream of obtaining, and yes, a level of fame too."

Lena released Deia when Sanel approached them. Sanel gently cupped his hand around Lena's jaw, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "Don't be long, darling."

Lena smiled and rested her hand on his. "Of course not."

After Sanel was gone, Deia embraced Lena again, tightly. "I'm going to miss you so much . . ."

Lena's voice was barely audible. "I'm going to miss you too."

Deia gasped, then leaned her face against her aunt's neck and wept.

Chapter 3: THE SET-UP

Myke slowly regained consciousness in a small room, still wearing his coat. He immediately became aware that his shoulder was burning, and with that awareness came memories of his fight with the Executioners and his father's death. He squeezed his eyes shut, telling himself over and over, Control . . . control . . . keep control . . . you still have a mission to finish . . .

Several moments later, he carefully lifted himself to sitting position and surveyed the room. The floor was covered with gray office carpet, the walls were painted light blue, and the brown leather divan on which he was sitting was the only piece of furniture in the room. He glanced at his time calculator and discovered that he had been asleep all night.

Feeling nauseated, he lay back down. Why couldn't his father have listened? Why couldn't he have agreed to leave Earth sooner? He had always been too stubborn, too meticulous, too concerned about people they didn't even know. He would still be alive had they left two months before on the night the spirit dimension formula had been discovered.

Myke had been lying in his bed, listening to classical music on his laptop, when he had felt an emphatic, Teren! Get in here!

Myke sat up in bed with a start. His father had not called him "Teren," even telepathically, for over two years. He stood up and ran into the unfurnished room next door where his father conducted his telepathic experiments. His father was standing on the other side of the room, his lips dry and trembling, his naturally pale face flushed, and his light blue eyes glazed and feverish. The indentation in his chin seemed even deeper in the soft yellow light.

Myke only had to look at him to know. "You found it." For decades his father and other telepathy scientists all over the galaxy had been searching for the formula that would allow instantaneous movement from place to place by the power of thought. Could the search really be over?

Myke's father nodded, slow but vigorous nods. They overlapped spirits partially, their thoughts flowing back and forth between them. I saw it! It was just for a second, but I saw the spirit dimension!

It exists. It really exists! Then it came. The rush. The delirium of sharing in a discovery.

Myke's father motioned Myke to move closer. I could see it, but I couldn't get there. It isn't as we believed; the spirit energy formula must work separately from the transforming formula, but still in conjunction with it, the neuronal transmissions of both formulas fitting together in just the right pattern.

Myke understood in an instant. To transform their physical bodies temporarily into spirit matter and get to the spirit dimension, two people had to overlap spirits and execute the spirit energy formula and the spirit transforming formula simultaneously in the proper sequence.

Myke mentally executed the spirit energy formula and his father followed with the transforming formula. A burst of vital energy swelled around them, and the room became an unreal, misty, opalescent glow. Myke's father formed images of the kitchen in his mind, but nothing happened. Myke reached his arms forward and attempted to walk toward the door, but his fingers instead touched an undefined barrier. The misty opalescence dissipated around them, and they were again standing in his father's laboratory.

His father's eyes were intense with passion. We're almost there; we're almost there! They executed the two formulas again and again, but it wasn't until the eleventh time that they found the proper combination.

Spirit energy swelled around them again, and they stood in a lucid glow. The items in the room appeared in their natural colors, not in shimmering opalescence, but velvety and amazingly more defined than reality. His father appeared so real that Myke was certain he could touch him. He did, and his hand went right though his father's chest. Everything in the room was sharper than a hologram, yet just as intangible.

Myke's father formed an image of the kitchen in his mind, and in an instant, they were standing in the kitchen. The glow dissipated, and Myke's father clutched Myke's arm in excitement as they returned to the physical dimension. If only your mother could be here. If only your mother could be alive to be a part of this! She waited so long, hoped with me so intensely.

For a moment, Myke was stunned that his mother had even known. No one else had. Then he felt ashamed and embarrassed for being so naïve. Of course she had known! How could she not have?

We have to leave, Father, tonight. This discovery makes us twice as vulnerable, and we need to return to Novaun with it immediately. It's of no use to us here.

His father's face was grave. We can't leave yet. Our mission isn't finished.

But it is! No one in Fleet Command would want us to stay under the circumstances!

You don't understand. I have new information. This doesn't concern only Novaun anymore. There are people who could be in danger.

Who?

I can't tell you that yet. This information is extremely volatile. I'm concerned about your safety.

We need to leave!

Earth will never have the spirit dimension formula from us--no one here will ever know we have it. It won't hurt to stay a little longer.

But these other people . . . certainly someone else could be sent to help them.

Certainly, but not without specific information that we can give them if only we remain a little longer. These people may be in considerable danger. I don't know yet. If they aren't, then they are a considerable danger to us. If we return now, we may cause a delay that will do irreparable damage. Trust me, Teren.

Myke had trusted his father then, but now he wished he had been more persistent in his efforts to persuade him to leave Earth. Helping these people surely couldn't have been as important as his father's remaining alive. If they were so potentially dangerous to Novaun, then he and his father should have returned immediately to Novaun with the information. Myke assumed the royal twins to whom his father had referred in his message would be Earth's primary tool in its attempt to gain control of Novaun's arelada. Were they also part of a conspiracy to destroy these people he and his father had remained on Earth to help? Or were they treacherous people his father had believed in the beginning needed help? It didn't really matter. His father was dead instead of alive.

Myke put his fingers to his throbbing temples and closed his eyes. The Earthons had tried to break into his subconscious, but the mental barriers he had placed there had prevented them from succeeding. He breathed slowly, deeply, attempting to alleviate some of the headache's intensity. He had to think. He and his father had been so careful in their testing of the experimental formula. How could anyone have known what they were doing?

They had tried the formula once with a car late at night to see if it would move a vehicle, knowing that traveling any great distance on the spirit dimension without a vehicle would be too dangerous until the formula was developed and perfected. They had not been able to get the car to move one millimeter. How could the authorities have learned anything from that failed experiment?

Myke's father had decided that moving a vehicle would require two extra people. All of the testing they had done in their apartment using telepathy vision flight simulation had supported this theory, and after extensive testing, they had determined that a four-seat armed shuttle was the smallest existing space vessel capable of incorporating the spirit dimension formula without drastically increasing its arelada load and thus disrupting its delicate balance of weight and rendering it otherwise inoperable.

The only way the Department of Internal Investigation could have discovered their private tests was by electronically monitoring their apartment for thought wave transmissions, but the D.I.I. had to have had a reason for suspecting them of being foreign agents. The only thing Myke could think of was that either he or his father had unknowingly done something to draw suspicion from a neighbor or a colleague. He supposed his father had been arrested and put under mind torture, but why hadn't he been arrested with his father? It didn't make sense.

Myke became conscious of how his father had died with severity. Mind torture. Of all ways to die, mind torture was the most painful, the most degrading, the most dreaded by all agents.

Before he could dwell any further on the way his father had died, he started at the sound of the door sliding open. He sat up as quickly as his body would let him. Two Star Guards wearing the gray uniforms of Star Force's warrior ranks entered the room. One of the guards motioned to the exit. "Come with us."

Myke stood up and walked slowly to the door, analyzing his strange situation. Why in the galaxy was Star Force involved in this? He picked up his bag and laptop and stepped out of the room into a corridor, two more guards waiting for him there. As the guards escorted him through the building, he came to the conclusion that it was a Star Force installation, a very large one. The guards eventually stopped at a door that said "Personnel."

Myke's heart tightened in alarm. What was going on? One of the guards pushed a button to open the door, then led Myke through a large office room, missing most of its staff because of the Sabbath, to an individual office at the back.

The guards halted outside the door, and their spokesman said, "Lieutenant Reymas will see you now."

Myke hesitated. The whole thing felt like a set-up. Realizing, however, there was nothing he could do but play along, he took a step into the office and examined it skeptically.

On one wall hung a huge imitation of the famous painting "Sunset Over Tryamazz," and on another hung a large portrait of the youthful Prince Jahnzel, the Divine Emperor's brother and Director of Defense before dying of a stroke at the unusual age of thirty-two. On the wall behind the lieutenant's desk hung an Earthon flag--a wine-red banner picturing an angel with wings spread, holding aloft a crystal sword with both hands. A bronze statue of Tohmazz Zarr stood in a corner.

The lieutenant was sitting at a huge oak desk, studying his computer screen. He was very slim, almost what Myke would consider emaciated, and his red hair clashed with his navy blue shirt. "Sit down, Zarek," he said without looking away from the monitor.

Myke seated himself in one of the black leather chairs facing the lieutenant's desk. Several minutes passed before the lieutenant turned and looked at him. "I've run across a few young people who've been upset about being drafted, but you're the first one who's dared try to leave the planet. Did you really think you could get away with it?"

"Drafted? You must be mistaken. I was never--"

Lieutenant Reymas leaned back in his chair, his contemptuous green eyes studying Myke's face. "You were supposed to register with this office by 1700 yesterday so that we could be sure you received your orders. When we didn't hear from you, we went to your home. When we didn't find you there, we went looking. And, well, the rest you know."

Myke's eyes narrowed. "Why all the muscle?"

"Let's just say that was our insurance policy."

Myke glared at the lieutenant. "And just what does Star Force want with me?"

"You will be going aboard the fleet base ship Sovereign of the Stars Monday evening. You will train there for the next three years to be an operations engineer."

"I'm already an engineer, and my experience is with speed craft design, not base ship operation."

The lieutenant scanned his screen. "You attended Tryamazz Intermediate School of Technology, where you spent your senior year on a co-op program with Briggs Spacecraft Development. You graduated with a perfect 100. grade average. You were then hired on at Briggs full-time as an associate design engineer, which is where you've been for the last year." He turned his head slightly to face Myke again. "You'll have no trouble making the switch.

"Now for the reason I summoned you. Because of your conduct, you've been put on restriction."

"Restriction from what?"

"You will not be allowed shore leave until your superiors on the ship decide otherwise."

Myke studied the lieutenant's mocking face. Earth's Department of Internal Investigation was setting him up; there was no doubt about it. Earth desperately wanted the spirit dimension formula, and since he was the only person in the universe who knew it, the authorities weren't about to allow him to die under torture until they obtained it from him. And just how much did they assume about the formula? Did they realize he would need help if he wanted to use it to escape?

Of course they did! He had practically shouted that information to them when he had tried to leave Earth on a commercial flight instead of using the formula. Fortunately, however, they didn't know how many helpers he would need. Their surveillance devices would have intercepted the telepathic transmissions between his father and him, but most of the formula's experimentation had been done through spirit expansion and telepathy vision, two processes that could only be penetrated by sophisticated Awareness monitoring devices. If the Earthons had attempted to use Awareness monitors to tap into their communication, he and his father would have detected it immediately. The D.I.I.'s engineering consultants could estimate the number of helpers he would need to use the formula, but there was no way they could know for sure.

"You'll be escorted to one of the men's dormitories, and you'll stay there until tomorrow, when you'll attend orientation and be prepared to board the ship. Your dorm assignment is Payne Hall 712. You are dismissed."

As Myke walked with the guards to the car that was waiting outside to take him to the dormitory section of what he now presumed was the Star Force Institute of Science, he pondered his situation. How long had the D.I.I. been conducting surveillance on his father and him? Several days? A week? Several weeks? They hadn't suspected a thing--alarming evidence of the D.I.I.'s competence. Even so, Myke felt some comfort in the knowledge that he and his father had always taken the precaution of not discussing their work or ties to Novaun unless it was necessary, so the D.I.I. still didn't have much specific information.

Myke reconstructed the events that had occurred on the day he had last seen his father. They had left together at the usual time that morning. His father had taken the attaché case he used to hold his various disguises, hoping to make contact with a person who would give him the final piece of information he had been seeking during the past several months, undoubtedly information about the "royal twins." Had his father's potential informant been the one to betray him? Had his father made contact at all?

Obviously the D.I.I. had had no intention of arresting him with his father, but why his father instead of him? They must have known that a specialist of his father's caliber wouldn't break under torture. Perhaps the only thing they had wanted was the transmission, which led to another question: Why had his father allowed himself to be tortured for three whole days? Though the transmission had been weak, his father's arelada couldn't have been exhausted; both he and his father had replaced their eye contacts only two weeks before. That the Earthons had confiscated the contacts seemed even less likely. The contacts had been constructed of microscopic particles of arelada, interwoven with cells from the fibrous tunics of his father's own eyes. Novaunian engineers had even found a way to disguise the arelada particles so that they would not be detectable to the most advanced sensoring devices, including Awareness monitors. Not only that, but if the Earthons had confiscated his father's contacts, wouldn't they have taken his also?

Myke decided instead that his father had, indeed, made contact with his informant and that he had learned something of such vital importance that he had clung to every second of his life just in case a chance to escape with that information presented itself. Myke slipped into the back seat of the car. Instead of seeing the seat in front of him, he saw his father in a white room on the floor writhing and clasping his head, moaning but never, in the dignity of a Novaunian Fleet officer, screaming. He shuddered and closed his eyes. Control, Myke, control.

Once he forced himself to think again about his predicament, he realized he was a much better target for a set-up than his father would have been. Star Force drafted nineteen-year-olds all the time but rarely drafted middle-aged men. And where better to operate a set-up than in the controlled environment of a base ship? Myke had to give Earth's authorities credit. They were going about this with a great deal of cunning. They weren't about to make things too easy for him, such as train him to be a communications specialist or a pilot, but they were going to give him just enough freedom to make him think he had a chance.

He knew his only hope would be to find three others who would be willing to leave the ship with him. Using the spirit dimension formula was the only way he would get a spacecraft safely past the Sovereign's escort. He also knew that finding those people would be next to impossible; everyone he would meet might be an informer for the D.I.I. agent opposing him.

Discovering the primary informers, finding suitable helpers, and learning their prices would take time, and he had only eight weeks to return to Novaun if the Alliance had any hope of gathering its forces in time to ward off the impending attacks.

The transport stopped in front of a building Myke assumed was Payne Hall. Myke slowly got out of the transport, and the guards escorted him to the building and left him at the door. He walked through the spacious lounge to the elevator, the building empty and ominously silent. Where were all of these new cadets? After only a minute, he remembered that it was the Sabbath and that they were probably all at Worship.

He located his room on the seventh floor and looked out the window for a way to the ground. What he found instead were two guards standing directly under his window and four others in various places on the grounds. Finally resigning himself to the fact that escape from the dormitory was impossible, he decided to go back to the main floor and get something to eat.

Within an hour, the cadets began returning to the dormitory in groups of ten and twenty. Myke sat in the lounge and listened carefully to their conversations. The cadets were baffled. Why were they being sent to the Sovereign of the Stars so soon? Why weren't they going to receive the customary two-month basic training at the Institute? They speculated, questioned, complained, and seemed unable to discuss anything else.

Myke pondered this new information. Bringing the Sovereign of the Stars back to Earth two months ahead of schedule could not have been easy to arrange. Putting so many new cadets on the Sovereign two months early without the required basic training was enough to drastically change the Sovereign's training program for years. Those orders could only have come from Admiral of the Fleet Laddan himself. Myke felt overwhelmed by despair. How could he fight the entire Department of Defense? How?

Chapter 4: BUGGED

Deia trudged into the kitchen Sunday morning in her robe, her head aching and her face swollen. She punched a button on the synthesizing machine. By the time her milk was ready, she heard Paul enter the apartment. She wondered where he had gone so early.

"Hello, Deia!" Paul said cheerfully. "How are you feeling?"

"Kind of numb."

Paul sat down on the overstuffed sofa in the adjoining family room. "Make me a bagel, will you?"

"Sure." Deia punched several buttons and in seconds, removed a hot bagel covered with cream cheese and raisins from the synthesizing machine.

Deia sipped from her glass of milk as she entered the family room. "Where have you been? What's that in your hand?" She sat down beside Paul and handed him the bagel mess.

"I've been out."

Deia snatched the item from Paul's hand and examined it. It was a computer disc in a plain white sleeve. "What is it? Why isn't it labeled?"

Paul began eating his bagel and didn't answer. Deia looked at him skeptically for a few moments, then stood up, walked over to the computer, booted it up, and quickly inserted the disc into the drive. The logotype Star of Freedom appeared on the screen.

Deia spun around in her chair and faced her brother. "Paul, are you completely insane? Sanel will kill you if he finds this!"

Paul didn't appear worried. "Oh, he won't do anything he hasn't done already. Besides, I'm getting so sick of all the biased garbage we get in the news. I want some real news, from a source that the government doesn't control." His eyes shone defiantly. "From a source like the Star of Freedom."

Deia shook her head. "You have to get rid of it, Paul."

Paul smiled sweetly at Deia and set his plate on the floor. "Not until I read it." He stood up and removed the disc from the computer, then stuffed the last piece of bagel into his mouth and hurried out of the room.

Several minutes later, Lena entered the kitchen, wearing slippers, slacks, and a sweater, her hair draped softly on her shoulders. "Are you feeling any better this morning?" she asked Deia as she removed an orange from the bowl of fruit on the counter.

"Maybe a little."

Lena smiled sympathetically. "It'll take time."

"Well, I have plenty of that, don't I?" Deia sat down at the computer. She finished her milk as the logotype Tryamazz Times appeared on the viewing screen, followed by a list of headlines.

After several minutes of reading, she said in amazement, "Lena! You should see this!"

Lena walked into the family room, frowning. "What?" Paul bounded down the stairs in the back of the penthouse.

Deia spun around in her chair to face her aunt. "Friday night, right before my concert, a nineteen-year-old Diron spy was captured at the spaceport as he tried to leave the planet. Apparently, he was working here with his father, who was recently executed. Can you believe it? What amazes me is that they captured him. I don't think I've ever heard of Ex-men capturing spies. They always shoot them."

Before Lena could reply, Paul appeared behind her, dressed in his white fencing jacket and knickers and carrying a face mask and sabre. He immediately responded to Deia's comment, "Not when a spy has something our government wants, they don't."

"Oh, Paul, I didn't even think of that. I wonder what it is."

Paul pushed past Lena into the family room. He placed his free hand on Deia's shoulder from behind and whispered mysteriously into her ear, "Maybe he has a secret formula for producing synthetic arelada, or maybe the D.I.I. is hoping to get from him all the names of Diron agents working in Tryamazz. This nineteen-year-old kid may be the genius behind an entire network of spies."

Deia jerked away from Paul and turned to face him. "Come on, Paul! Be serious! What do you think it is, really? A new weapon?"

Paul shrugged and straightened. "How should I know? If you're so curious, ask Sanel."

Deia hesitated, then said to Lena, "Paul's been talking to the Earthborns again."

Lena's gazed at Paul gravely. "If your uncle finds out--"

"I know, I know. If Sanel finds out, he'll kill me." Paul stepped away from Deia and sliced the air with his sabre. "Well, I'm not afraid of that son of Abomination," he said loudly. "Do you hear that, Sanel?" He looked around the room. "I'm not afraid of you!"

Deia watched Paul in horror. "What's this all about?" Certainly Paul knew that Sanel had already left for work.

"Do you want to know how he knows about everything we do? He has us bugged. Do you hear me? Bugged. It's taken me eighteen years to figure it out, and I'm sick of it! I'm sick of him!"

Deia felt as if she had been punched in her stomach. "Spying on us?"

Lena said calmly, "Paul, I implore you. Control your temper. Your uncle is an extremely dangerous man."

"Well, so am I!" Paul made a thrusting motion in the air with his sword. He lowered his sabre and muttered, "Now my game is going to be off."

"Be back by eleven o'clock. I want to take both of you to lunch," Lena said.

"All right," Paul replied as he left the room.

Deia stood up and moved toward her aunt. "I'm worried about him, Lena."

Lena's eyes were full of sorrow. "So am I." She gently put her arm around Deia and squeezed her. "Where would you like to go for lunch?"

Deia's mood brightened a little. "Antonio's."

"I should have known." Lena patted Deia's shoulder. "Why don't you call Rachael?"

"I can't face anyone right now, especially Rachael. Can't you call her?"

"I could, but I won't. You have to work this out yourself. And besides, she'll want to talk to you, not me."

"I guess you're right." Deia walked slowly to the holophone chairs that were positioned at a right angle to the couch and sat down. She folded her arms and stared at the control panel on the carved oak table between the chairs. Hesitating, she reached over and pushed the button that would automatically put her in contact with Rachael, but before she could hear her teacher's familiar voice or see her life-like image in the other chair, she quickly pushed another button that would stop the communication. She couldn't do it.

Suddenly the phone buzzed. Deia jumped in surprise. Her hand reached for the phone's control panel, then pulled back. She took a deep breath and quickly pushed the receiving button before she could change her mind again.

"Hello?" Deia frantically reached again for the panel and pressed the "audio only" button. She had no desire for anyone to see her in her present condition.

Rachael's image slowly materialized in the other chair. "Hello, Deia! I tried to reach you yesterday to give you the news! Mr. Moreau said he would be happy to have you as his protégée!"

Deia opened her mouth to speak but nothing would come.

"Deia, are you still there? I thought you would be thrilled."

"I . . . I would be but--I can't accept his offer."

"Why not?" Rachael asked in alarm.

"Paul and I have been drafted. We have to leave Monday."

"This is a tragedy. Can't your uncle get you out of it?"

"I suppose he could, but he won't."

Rachael was silent for several moments. "Well, if it's what the government feels is best, then it probably is."

"Yes, of course." Deia pushed the button to end the communication and turned angrily toward Lena. "How can she say that? How can she even think it?"

Lena sat down on the couch. "What a person says doesn't always reflect what he or she is thinking."

Deia softened a little. "She did say she thought it was a tragedy, didn't she?"

Lena nodded, her lips curving into a proud little smile. "Congratulations."

Deia shrugged and shook her head. "As if it makes any difference."

Lena leaned forward, her eyes solemn and resolute. "It does make a difference. Being accepted as a student by one of the finest musicians in the galaxy is a great accomplishment. It's an accomplishment no one can ever take from you."

"It's just so unfair! To have this opportunity snatched away for such a stupid reason! It isn't right. And Star Force. It had to be Star Force. I don't want to be a neurosurgeon. I don't want to go into space. I can't live with this."

Lena could do nothing but gaze at Deia in grief.

"Paul thinks Sanel arranged for us to be drafted," Deia said abruptly.

"Then Paul is either perceptive--or paranoid."

"Is he right?"

"Does it matter?"

Deia was too upset to tolerate Lena's customary crypticness. "Yes, it does."

"You know your uncle. What do you think?"

Deia immediately understood that Lena was pushing her to come to a specific conclusion. She wasn't going to give Deia the answer, because she wanted her to think it through and figure it out on her own.

Lena leaned forward and patted Deia's arm. "Why don't you get ready to go?"

Lena took Paul and Deia's hands across the table. "Before you leave, there are a few things I want to talk to you about."

"What about Sanel?" Deia whispered.

Lena raised an eyebrow. "You've never worried about his listening to our conversations before."

Deia relaxed and squeezed Lena's hand. "You're right. I'm sorry I interrupted."

Lena gazed at them tenderly. "You'll both have some very important decisions to make soon."

Paul frowned. "What decisions?"

"Shhhh," Lena said. "Let me finish. When making these decisions, I want you to remember three things. First, always do what you feel in your hearts to be right. Second, don't allow yourselves to live in fear."

"But Lena, you talk as though we'll never see you again!" Deia said. "There'll be leaves, we'll--" she stopped at Lena's commanding stare.

"Third," Lena continued, "and perhaps this one is the most important. Remember that no matter what anyone tries to do to you, you are in control of your lives, your beings."

Paul and Deia looked at each other, then at Lena in confusion. Then they both started to speak at once. "What decisions . . .? What kind of fear . . .? Why is Sanel bugging us?"

Lena released their hands and looked away from the table. "It looks as though our antipasto is coming."

As the waitress set their antipasto plate in the middle of the table, Paul studied Lena's expression, seeking for any clue that would help him solve this mystery, but she remained impassive. He and Deia were going to be involved in something serious; Lena wouldn't have acted so strangely otherwise. But she had been afraid to tell them more. Or was it fear? Perhaps she couldn't tell them more and still remain in control of the situation, and for some odd reason, Paul felt that Lena was in control.

"Why did Sanel arrange for us to be drafted?" Deia asked.

"I'm not sure."

"You must have some idea," Deia persisted.

"I believe he sees this as a way to increase your dependence on him."

"Isn't there anything we can do about it?"

Lena shook her head. "Nothing at the moment."

Paul slowly ate a piece of cheese. Since Lena didn't seem to be concerned at the moment that Sanel was monitoring their conversations, Paul decided to venture into forbidden subject matter. "Since Deia and I are going away, will you tell us about our parents?"

Lena gazed at Paul and Deia thoughtfully. "Perhaps I can satisfy your curiosity somewhat by saying that you will learn about your parents soon . . . very soon."

"But why don't you and Sanel ever talk about them?" Deia asked. "We've never understood that. After all, our mother was your sister. And what about our grandparents and the rest of our family?"

"So many questions, so many answers. The whole thing was very tragic, which is why I don't talk about it."

Paul was tired of hearing that weak excuse. "You've been telling us that for years, and frankly, I don't think it's the only reason."

"I know you don't, and you're right, but for now, that explanation will have to suffice."

"Can't you tell us something?" Deia pleaded.

Lena hesitated. "Well . . . all right. Your father was a landowner and an industrialist, and an extremely good administrator. He was very dedicated to his family and was honorable in everything he did."

"And our mother?" Paul asked, reaching for an olive.

Lena breathed a short sigh. "Your mother . . . your mother was very devoted to your father, and his devotion to her was no less. They were very much in love and were married young. They adored you two and always wanted the very best for you." Her hand trembled as she reached for a piece of bread. "Are you satisfied now?"

"Not really," Paul admitted, "but at least they seem a little more real to me than they did."

Deia nodded in agreement.

Paul had another question, but he wasn't sure how to word it. After a moment of thought, he asked, "Why did you marry Sanel?"

Lena flinched, her eyes widening a bit, as if the question startled her.

"She married him because she loved him!" Deia declared.

"I already know what you think, Deia, and you're wrong. I want to hear it from Lena herself." Paul had been arguing with Deia about this issue for years. He looked at Lena pointedly. "Well?"

Blood rose in Lena's cheeks. "I can't answer your question."

"Do you love Sanel, Lena?" Deia asked softly.

Lena opened her mouth to speak, but made no sound. Finally she averted her eyes and shook her head once. The movement was so slight it was barely discernable.

Deia had been claiming all along that Lena must love Sanel or she would have left him long ago. Why else would someone like Lena stay with such a horrible man? Paul, on the other hand, had known for as long as he could remember that Lena didn't love Sanel. He didn't know how he knew--he just knew. Paul could see that Lena was in pain, but for Deia's benefit, he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Why don't you leave him?"

The red in Lena's cheeks deepened, and she still wouldn't look at them. "Because I can't."

Paul had told Deia many times that Lena couldn't leave because Sanel would hunt her down and bring her back. A man like Sanel might not be capable of real love, but he desired Lena--Paul had no doubt of that--and she made him look good. Still, Paul had to ask, "But there's always a choice . . . isn't there? You just said--"

"No, Paul," Lena said firmly, finally lifting her head. "I assured you that you and Deia are in control of your lives and beings." She shook her head slowly. "I lost control of my life a long time ago, and the part of my being that is still mine is so small it's almost insignificant. I might as well be Eslavu."

Lena's comment so shocked Paul that he couldn't speak. Neither could Deia. Paul hadn't known what kind of answer Lena would give, but he hadn't expected that.

Lena forced herself to smile. "Look. Our pasta is coming."

Chapter 5: MIND ASSAULT

Later that evening after packing, Deia found Paul in the family room, starting a fire in the fireplace. "Dinner's almost ready," he said. "Do you want to go get Lena? Miriam said we're eating in the dining room tonight."

"All right." Deia ran through the apartment and up the stairs to Lena and Sanel's bedroom. "Lena! It's time for dinner!" She knocked on the door, then stood there for several minutes, waiting for an answer. None came. Puzzled, she knocked again. "Lena, did you hear me? Are you all right?"

Still failing to receive an answer, Deia opened the door and walked as quietly as she could into Lena's room. The green satin drapes were still open, revealing the misty glow of city lights against a starless night sky. Deia turned on the light and saw that Lena was still lying in bed. Deia knelt quietly next to the bed. "Lena," she said softly, gently shaking her, "it's time for dinner."

Deia's heart filled with alarm when she received no response of any kind. She shook Lena vigorously. "Lena! Lena! Wake up! Wake up!" She pulled the bedspread from Lena's body and turned her to her back. Lena's face was sickly white. The hollows of her eyes appeared bruised, and her lips had an odd glazed look.

Deia's lips trembled. "No . . . Oh no . . ." She laid her head on Lena's breast. Her aunt wasn't breathing, and there was no heartbeat. "Paul!" she screamed.

A minute later Paul ran into the room. "What's the matter?"

"She's dead." Deia clutched Lena's body and laid her head against Lena's neck, tears blurring her vision.

Many minutes passed before Deia felt Paul pry her away from Lena. "Why?" Deia choked. "Why!"

Deia heard another person come into the room. "What's wrong?" exclaimed Miriam, the housekeeper.

"She's dead," Paul said.

"Dead? How can that be?"

Paul pulled away from Deia slightly and gazed down at Miriam in bewilderment. "What are we supposed to do now?"

Miriam moved to Lena's bedside. "Perhaps she can be resuscitated." A minute passed before Miriam lovingly covered Lena's body with the bed sheet. When she turned to face Paul and Deia again, her eyes were brimming with tears. "You need to call your uncle."

"Yes, of course," Paul said in relief. He released Deia and hurried out the door.

Miriam led Deia to a chair and helped her sit down. Deia sat very still, her body tense and her heart breaking, breathing shallowly, staring, but not focusing on any object. As she stared she captured a glimpse of something shimmering below the sheet that was covering Lena's body. Her eyes snapped back into focus as she tried to discover what was sparkling. She released Miriam's hand, then slipped out of her chair and knelt on the floor near Lena, gingerly lifting the sheet a little to uncover the sparkling object.

"What are you doing, Deia?" Miriam asked gently.

Deia discovered that the item in question was Lena's mysterious little heart-shaped locket. "Lena was holding her locket when she died. I wonder why."

"She wore that locket all the time. It must have meant a lot to her."

Deia tried to remove the necklace from Lena's hand but couldn't; Lena's grip on the chain was too tight. Deia cupped the locket in her hand, running her finger over the polished silver and solitary diamond, overwhelmed by curiosity. As children she and Paul had often begged Lena to open the locket for them and reveal its contents, but Lena had always refused.

With feelings of anticipation mixed with dread, Deia opened the little heart. Sadness immediately overpowered every other emotion. Inside the locket were photographs of Lena and Sanel that had been mutilated with scratches and drops of blood. Deia wiped away her tears before they could obscure her vision and brought the locket closer so that she could see it better. Stuck in the photograph of Lena, at her forehead, glistened a slightly luminous sliver of crystal that Deia recognized as arelada.

Deia had seen Sanel and other government officials wear arelada, along with members of the Nobility of course, but this was the first time she had ever been this close to it. Sanel kept his arelada in a safe, and although Lena designed and constructed all of Sanel's pendants, she didn't handle the actual arelada. The only way Lena could have procured the sliver in the locket was to have secretly cut a chip from one of Sanel's jewels while he was wearing it. The shard was tiny enough to fit under a fingernail, and not only did Lena have the tools, she was close enough to Sanel to have accomplished such a theft. That had to be what Lena had done, but why?

Suspecting Lena had used the sliver of arelada to scratch up Sanel's photo, Deia lifted Lena's hand and discovered that there were, indeed, cuts and bloodstains on her forefinger and thumb. She kissed the back of Lena's hand and closed the locket, letting it dangle again at the side of the bed.

As Deia replaced the sheet covering Lena's body and stood up, Paul trudged into the room. "Well, he'll be here in a few minutes."

Deia went back to her seat next to Miriam. "How did he take it?"

"He didn't believe me." Paul sat down on the floor and leaned his head against Deia's knees.

Many minutes of silence passed before Sanel entered the room. Deia and Miriam immediately stood up. When Paul didn't stand, either because he was too engrossed in his own thoughts to notice that Sanel had arrived or whether he was intentionally showing disrespect, Deia tapped him with her foot. Paul abruptly arose and remained as silent and as immobile as decorum required.

Sanel didn't acknowledge Deia and the others at all, but strode immediately to where Lena lay on the bed. He pulled away the sheet and stared at her for a long time. Eventually he said, his voice hoarse, "Leave me."

Deia wasn't sure at first whether she had heard her uncle correctly. She looked at Paul and Miriam, frowning. Before any of them could move or say anything, Sanel spun around, his face pale and his features twisted with anger and agony. "Leave me!"

Deia hurried out of the room with Paul and Miriam. To take her mind off of what had happened, Deia helped Miriam put away all of the dinner food and dishes. Paul sat in the family room with his head in his hands until a team of people from Internal Investigation showed up and he was forced to direct them to Sanel and Lena's bedroom.

Once Lena's body had been taken out of the apartment in a bag, Sanel finally turned his attention to Paul, Deia, and Miriam. All three bowed slightly as he approached them. He nodded curtly at Miriam. "You are dismissed."

Miriam hesitated, gazing compassionately at Paul and Deia. After a moment, she said, her voice stiff with repressed indignation, "Yes, sir." She turned and left the room.

"I'll sleep in the guest room tonight," Sanel said. "I don't wish to be disturbed by anyone or anything."

"Yes, sir."

Sanel moved toward the stairs, making it clear the conversation was over. Paul and Deia looked at each other in astonishment, then followed him up the stairs. "What about the funeral?" Paul asked.

Sanel stopped. "I'm afraid your aunt's death doesn't change anything for you two. You still have to report for duty tomorrow morning."

Deia was stunned. "Can't they just ship us out a few days late?"

Sanel shook his head. "The Sovereign leaves port on Tuesday."

Deia turned away from Sanel and stormed to her room.

Once Deia was gone, Paul erupted. "You son of Abomination! You could get us a late pass if you wanted to!"

Sanel grabbed the collar of Paul's shirt and slammed him against the wall, causing several of the framed photographs hanging there to fall to the floor. "No one uses that tone with me."

Paul glared at him, undaunted. Sanel stared back at Paul, a touch of mockery in his eyes. Paul was immediately overcome by a feeling of foreboding, and he suddenly didn't feel so courageous. Sanel didn't speak. Paul shuddered. A feeling of warmth blanketed his head, the same one that accompanied the Divine Emperor's telepathic messages to the population at large. That strange warmth made him feel dizzy, as it always did. He blinked several times as he tried to shake away the dizziness, but as he did, he felt the warmth clamp down on his head with severity. Paul gasped, the foreboding becoming fear as the pressure on his mind became pain.

Once Paul realized that Sanel was trying to break into his mind, his body tightened in outrage. He quickly rid himself of his fear and mustered all of his strength. He gritted his teeth and scowled at his uncle as the pain rose to an agonizing level of intensity. The minutes dragged. Paul closed his eyes and trembled uncontrollably, his face wet with perspiration.

Suddenly the pain shot to an even more excruciating level of intensity, and the pressure nearly crushed Paul's head. He threw his hands over his mouth to muffle his screams, and he would have doubled to the floor had Sanel's strong arm allowed it. Several minutes later, the pressure on Paul's head disappeared.

Sanel looked at Paul in contempt. "You are no match for me, son of Jenan," he said, a loathing emphasis on the word "Jenan." He roughly released his hold on Paul's shirt, turned, and went into his office.

Paul's hands flew to his temples. The pressure was gone, but the pain remained. Jenan . . . that was his father's name. Finally, he knew his name! But why did Sanel hate him so much? Paul closed his eyes and tried not to think. Thinking only made his head hurt more. He was too weary even to be angry.

Paul knelt down and picked up one of the shattered frames, one containing a recent photograph of him with Deia, Lena, and Sanel. He gazed at it desolately. This one he would take with him to the Sovereign of the Stars. After a moment, he chose one of the pictures that still had its frame intact, an older one, and took them both to his bedroom.

Paul sat down on his bed, enveloped in sorrow. Eventually he took the old picture out of its frame, then slid the back off the broken frame to remove the picture he wanted to keep. Astonished, he instead found a medallion made of thin, clear crystal, inlaid with diamonds and gold in a design that appeared to be some sort of insignia. Had the crystal been luminous, he would have assumed it was arelada. The craftsmanship of the piece was superb, but it was so unusual that Paul assumed it was of alien origin. After studying the medallion for several minutes, he gently laid it aside and looked again at the frame.

To his surprise he found a second photograph, a portrait of a man and woman sitting very close together on a delicately carved marble bench in an exotic garden. They were both very young and appeared to be happy, perhaps excited about something. Their clothes were unlike anything Paul had ever seen. The woman was dressed in an exquisite gown of white silk, intricately embroidered with tiny diamonds and sapphires, and she was wearing a dainty diamond tiara on her head, its front piece set with white, opalescent stones and crafted in the shape of a swan. Her hair was long, black, and slightly curly, and her eyes were dark blue. The man's apparel was also white and embroidered with precious stones, and the crystal medallion glowed with arelada's peculiar luminosity on his chest. The man had lustrous, light blond hair, a strong build, and familiar gray-blue eyes--eyes that looked back at Paul every time he looked in the mirror or at his sister's face.

Paul compared the two pictures. The young woman in the second picture was Lena, he was sure of it. Everything was the same--the eye color, the hair color, the shape of the body, the expression. She looked too much like Lena to be anyone but her. Even sisters didn't look that much alike unless they were identical twins.

Revelation struck. The man with the gray-blue eyes was his father, and Lena was his mother! The resemblance between the young woman in the picture and Deia was startling. As he looked again at the recent portrait, he realized that the resemblance between Deia and Lena had always existed. He wondered why he had never noticed it before.

He gazed at the second photo again. Was this man really his father? A feeling of longing overwhelmed Paul. He wished more than anything that he could have known him. Lena's love for him had never died, even after years of separation. Paul had sensed strong emotion in Lena at lunch when she had talked about his parents' devotion to each other, but he had not been able to identify it at the time. Lena had always spoken of tragedy, which led Paul to believe his father had died a violent death.

So many questions remained unanswered. Why had he and Deia grown up on Earth when it appeared their parents were from another planet? Why had Lena pretended to be their aunt when she was really their mother? What he wondered most, however, was who Sanel really was and what his hold had been on Lena.

Paul quickly put the photograph and crystal medallion into the new frame behind the recent portrait, wondering whether he should tell Deia about his discovery. Deciding to wait for a while and attempt to make sense of everything first, he tucked the framed photograph into one of his suitcases.

Deia lay restlessly in bed that night, unable to sleep, feelings of grief, fear, anger, and bitterness battling within her. She wished the awful hurt would disappear, at least long enough so that she could sleep and forget for a while.

She sighed in frustration as she slipped out of bed. She put on her robe and walked quietly to the kitchen, hoping a cup of hot cocoa would help her relax. As she entered the kitchen, she noticed Paul sitting in the darkened family room on the floor in front of a blazing fire.

Deia gazed at him affectionately. It was so like Paul to brood in front of the fire. He rarely communicated to anyone his feelings or allowed them to be released in any way. He just hardened himself on the outside, while his heartaches, disappointments, and frustrations boiled within him, only to be released on occasion in the form of extreme anger. Deia doubted he had ever cried, and by the same token, she knew he rarely demonstrated affection to anyone but her and Lena.

Deia quietly prepared a cup of hot chocolate. If Paul was aware of her presence, he didn't acknowledge it. She walked lightly across the parquet floor of the family room and seated herself in front of Paul at a slight angle, reaching out to him with her thoughts. Would you like a sip?

As Paul's fingers curled around the cup, Deia received his thoughts: I guess you couldn't sleep either.

No.

The room was silent except for the crackling of the fire and the sound of Paul sipping hot chocolate from the cup. Deia watched the shadows of the flames flicker on Paul's face as the minutes passed. He pressed the cup to her lips so that she could drink. She drew a little cocoa into her mouth and allowed it to slide gently down her throat. It warmed her and made her feel more at ease. Rachael called today and told me that Phillip Moreau offered to take me on tour with him as his protégée.

Paul gazed at her compassionately. Why didn't you say something?

I guess I didn't want any more pity. Funny, it seems kind of trivial now. I would never look at another piano again if I thought it would bring Lena back.

Paul's mood was reflective. Lena was a wonderful person. I've been thinking a lot about her, the way she was. You know, she gave us everything, her life.

Which is why we always loved her so much. A tear trickled down Deia's cheek.

Paul nodded slowly. I feel so empty, as if a part of me died too. I'm sure going to miss her.

Deia tenderly laid her hand on Paul's arm. I guess all we have left in the universe is each other.

Paul leaned forward and kissed Deia's forehead. And that's a lot.

Just when Deia thought her sorrow had reached its peak, she saw that there were tears in Paul's eyes. Then her heart ached with his grief as well as her own. She slipped her arms around him, and they held each other and cried until the fire died and only embers remained.

Part 2: THE SOVEREIGN

Chapter 6: A NEW FRIEND

The dorm room was dark and silent except for the sound of breathing and the occasional outpouring of warm air from the room's heating unit. Myke lay motionless on the thin mattress under several scratchy blankets, unable to sleep. His shoulder was on fire and his head felt as though someone had sliced it open with a laser, but these were small hurts compared to the anguish in his heart.

Tears burned in his eyes as they spilled drop by drop down his temples. His father had been killed under the barbaric mind torture of the Executioners. He knew about the mental atrocities Earthons imposed on their prisoners, the sifting, squeezing, and shredding of the yielding mind, and although a strong mind could resist, resisting guaranteed an even more excruciating torment that eventually ended in death. As hard as Myke tried, he couldn't force from his mind the horrifying picture of his father in a little white room, contorted with agony as the Executioners tried to break his mind to take possession of the spirit dimension formula.

Myke squeezed his eyes shut and covered his face with his hands as he prayed. Eternal Father, help me be strong . . . I must be strong . . . Help me know what to do . . . Praying helped comfort him a little, and he was able to find some solace in the realization that his father was with his mother and that they were at peace, excitedly sharing in the discovery of the spirit dimension formula.

This faith, however, did nothing to ease the loneliness that had become such an overpowering part of his life on Earth. Adjusting to Earth's culture had been challenging in the beginning, and working with people with whom he had little in common had never been easy. There had been no friends except for his father, only strange people who wanted to destroy him.

Fear suddenly overcame him. What if he didn't make it back to Novaun? What would happen to Novaun and all the other planets in the galaxy that loved freedom? Perhaps other agents had uncovered much of the same information he and his father had uncovered, perhaps not. The Alliance forces would repel the surprise attacks the best it could and would, perhaps, be victorious, but how many people would have to die in the process?

Myke slipped into an uneasy sleep, but the grief, loneliness, and fear continued to battle within him. As he slept, he relived the night his father had discovered the spirit dimension formula, only in his nightmare he screamed at his father, begging him to let them go home. His father acted as though he didn't hear him, talking on and on about all of the people on Earth he was going to help. The Grieg piano concerto Myke had listened to that night played in the background, becoming louder and louder as he screamed, soon becoming so loud he couldn't hear his father's voice. In only a second, his father was lying face down in a white room, moaning and convulsing, and Myke was still screaming at him and begging him to let them go home, the piano concerto drowning all of his words.

Next, he beheld his brother-in-law Rayel leading his squadron of fighters to the home fleet. All of the pilots were anticipating being grounded for a time so that they could rest from their duties in war. Then out of nowhere, a squadron of Earthon fighters blinked into existence and fired laser beams at Rayel's squadron, vaporizing the ships before the Novaunian pilots could comprehend what was happening. Rayel! Rayel! No! Myke screamed in his mind.

Then he was overlooking Rayel and Lauria's marble house in Shalaun, Tavon's capital city and the center of government on Novaun. Lauria was sitting in her living room sobbing, and Ketina, Alysia, and Ranela were attempting to comfort her while they cried too. Lauria's two little boys and little girl were tugging on her dress, wanting to know where their father and grandfather were, but Lauria just shook her head and told them that Father and Grandfather were never coming home. Then she looked up at him, her eyes full of anger. Teren! Teren! Rayel wouldn't have died if you had come home! Father wouldn't have died if you had made him come home! It's all your fault! It's all your fault!

Myke saw thousands of Earthon fighters descend on Shalaun and heard laser fire. The house where he had spent his childhood exploded. Shalaunians screamed and ran for cover as laser beams and projectiles showered the city and buildings fell all around them. Twin vultures wearing crowns circled the reeking planet, laughing and laughing and laughing . . .

The scene instantly changed to an Earthon base ship flight deck, where he was sprinting for an armed shuttle. Executioners by the hundreds appeared on all sides of him, and as he ran, they fell dead around him and on top of him. He struggled through them, pushing, kicking, and throwing them aside until his body was erupting with cramps. Then a blond-haired Executioner appeared several meters in front of him, holding an immobilizer determinedly at his head . . .

Myke sat up in bed with a jerk. He was panting and dripping sweat, and his head hurt so badly he felt dizzy. His eyes tried to penetrate the darkness of the room. He was still alive! And nothing had changed.

I'm much too paranoid, he told himself. He limply lay back and tried to relax, realizing there was good reason to be paranoid. The Earthon authorities wanted the spirit dimension formula and would stop at nothing to get it. They had already killed his father, and he would be next.

No! I won't be next! I'm a competent agent! I worked on Earth for two years without getting caught! (But they didn't know who I was, then.) And they still don't! They underestimate me! I'm as good a marksman as any of their Executioners . . . my mind power is stronger than all of theirs . . . and I'm smarter than they are! (If I'm so smart, why did I get caught?) Yes, I am smarter, and I'll beat them at their own game! They'll never have me or the spirit dimension formula! Alysia . . . Lauria . . . Ketina . . . Ranela . . . I'm coming home!

Myke wiped his hands, wet with perspiration, on his royal blue Star Force uniform, his heart pounding with reverence and dread as he gazed out the porthole of the shuttle. There it was, a base ship in the Firestar class. One of the four Terrors of the Universe. The Sovereign of the Stars.

The Sovereign was two hulls, a cylindrical inner hull and a cylindrical outer hull that was connected to the inner by a network of transport pod tubes. Each fighter and armed shuttle was attached by one of its wings like a knife to one of the flat launching pads that were connected to the outer hull. The ship reminded Myke of the ancient spiked clubs he had seen in the Tryamazz Museum of Warfare.

Myke imagined the Sovereign in battle, a giant, lidless, bloodshot eye, the inner hull the pupil, the outer hull, its fighters discharged, the iris, and the laser blasts shooting from the empty launching pads the blood vessels. No enemy dared approach that monstrous eye. No frigate could be stolen from it. Myke closed his eyes in an attempt to shut out the foreboding vision. Without the spirit dimension formula, there could be no escape.

Myke's shuttle slowly approached one of three shuttle bays at the front of the ship, passing at least twelve other shuttles that were on their way back to Tryamazz. Several minutes later, his shuttle slid to a stop in a landing tube, then taxied forward several meters into the huge bay area.

Once Myke disembarked, he hurried to the shuttle bay exit, carrying his new laptop, an exact replica of the one he had used to fight the Ex-men at the spaceport. Once in the passageway, he pulled himself to one side of the door and removed the handheld computer from his pocket as members of the ship's crew brushed past him. He brought up a map of the ship and studied it. Once he was confident he could find his compartment, he turned off the handheld and walked to the nearest transport pod. He put his mind into Divided Focus and expanded his spirit into the bulkheads to search for monitoring devices, being careful to use a gentle touch so that any mind guards who might be protecting the devices would not detect him.

As he suspected, holorecorders and listening devices had been built into the bulkheads all over the ship. Those that were not already in use had been programmed to activate when he drew near. The devices he encountered weren't protected by mind guards, which was typical. The Earthons discouraged spies from attempting to telepathically manipulate their monitoring devices by installing thousands of them in one small space and using mind guards only in high security areas.

Only agents possessing the most sophisticated telepathic skills and arelada technology, combined with an intimate knowledge of the devices themselves, could deceive that many devices at once. Myke's exceptional vision abilities and talent for engineering had given him an aptitude for this kind of task that had amazed his father and his commanding officer. Myke felt some comfort in the knowledge that, whatever the Earthons might have deduced about him, they would not suspect he possessed such powerful telepathic abilities. Then again, did it matter? The ability to deceive monitoring devices wouldn't protect him from being deceived himself.

Myke stepped out of the pod into a narrow passageway that was only wide enough for two to walk abreast, with a tiled deck, low overhead, and pale blue bulkheads. He felt no desire to go to his compartment. He knew his new roommates would probably already be there, and he didn't want to meet them yet. Actually, he didn't want them to meet him yet. He was so tired of being "Myke Zarek." The background he had been given was basically a set of detailed statistics that had not only allowed him to move about freely on Earth, but had enabled him to obtain the security clearance he had needed to work at Briggs. Until now, however, there had never been a need to develop "Myke Zarek" into a real person with feelings, desires, enjoyments, and true life experiences.

Besides that, "Myke Zarek" was aloof, unfeeling, and manipulative, and although his assignment on Earth had necessitated he adopt this character, he knew continuing in it on the Sovereign of the Stars would not work to his advantage. He would have to be friends with these people if they were to trust him, and he wasn't sure how to do that as "Myke Zarek." Moreover, he didn't want to become personally involved with the Earthons, and he wished there were a way he could escape without getting close to anyone.

Myke tried to be optimistic. Perhaps the young people he would meet wouldn't be unbearable. He kept reminding himself that it was Earth's government that was corrupt, not necessarily the people themselves. Yes, they had a strange value system, and yes, he sometimes found it difficult not to get provoked when their conversation involved religion or politics, but overall, most of the Earthons he knew were pleasant and their culture in general did have some intriguing qualities. If those with whom he associated were primarily resisters of the Divine Emperor's telepathic communications, as he anticipated, then he didn't doubt he was in for some surprises.

Myke walked leisurely to the cadet lounge, where he hoped to relax and study the information he had received about the ship. Most of the cadets were probably in their compartments unpacking instead of socializing in the lounge, and he was glad. Peace would be nice. He withdrew his spirit from the bulkheads, relaxing his mind back into Blind State as he slipped quietly into the lounge, unnoticed by the few who were there.

Myke halted and listened in wonder to a beautiful piano concerto being skillfully played. His eyes followed the music to a baby grand piano in the corner. Then they flew over the piano and rested on the young woman who was playing. He watched her in fascination. She was beautiful! And so talented. Something about the elegant, self-assured way she moved told Myke that she was an aristocrat, and he wondered how she had ended up in the Science Corps. Although she was obviously a novice, he didn't remember seeing her in orientation. She was, however, strangely familiar.

Suddenly, she banged on the keys, then covered her face with her hands. Her action jolted Myke back to reality, and all of his reservations about the Earthons and his ability to make them believe in him vanished. He wound through the navy blue furniture of the lounge to the piano, completely forgetting his previous plan.

Myke stopped in front of the piano. "Please don't stop. You play so beautifully."

The girl carefully wiped her face with her fingers to avoid smearing her makeup. "Thank you."

Even before he noticed the "D. Sheldon" on the identification badge that was clipped to her front pocket, Myke realized why she seemed so familiar. "You're Deia Sheldon, aren't you? I read an article about you in the news not too long ago. The critics feel like you're the most promising new talent of the decade. After hearing you play, I'd have to agree."

Deia appeared amazed. "You have a good memory. That article was written months ago."

Myke smiled. "I guess I do." He pointed to the bench. "Do you mind?"

She shook her head.

Myke set his laptop on the deck next to the piano and seated himself next to Deia. Then they both turned and looked at each other in a surveying way. Deia's loveliness captivated Myke. She appeared remarkably poised, her exquisite long fingers curling around her bent knees. Her skin was smooth, flawless, and fair; her dark brown hair fell in soft curls around her delicate face, and black brows and lush black lashes topped the most gorgeous blue eyes he had ever seen. Although the royal blue jumpsuit she was wearing was probably not the most flattering article of clothing she owned, he saw that her shape was slender, curving in all the right places. Her expression seemed to indicate approval, perhaps interest.

"You know, you're even prettier in person than you were in your picture." Myke brushed a remaining tear from her cheek. "Yes, even though you've been crying."

Deia tilted her head forward slightly and smiled shyly. "You're sweet."

"I can't believe no one's told you that before."

"Oh, they have. It's just that no one has ever meant it so much." She squeezed his hand in a friendly way. "What's your first name?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Myke, and I'm from Tryamazz."

"So am I! But I guess you already know that. Where in the city did you live?"

"On 53rd Street, Southside. What about you?"

"On Palace Avenue, across from Liberation Court."

So she was an aristocrat. Myke wondered more than ever why she was on the Sovereign but decided not to ask her about it yet--not directly, anyway. "I've never known anyone who could afford to live anywhere near Palace Avenue."

"What did you do in Tryamazz, Myke? Go to school?" She sounded genuinely interested.

"No, I worked as a spacecraft design engineer for a government contractor. I started with the company two years ago during my senior year at TIST on a co-op program. Then I was given full-time status after I graduated."

"This ship is the place for you then."

"Not really. I never wanted to specialize in hyperdrive engineering--my experience and training is designing sub-space speed craft, like fighters and armed shuttles." Myke's gaze floated around the lounge. "I don't know much about base ships yet, and it sounds like what I'll mainly be doing is engine maintenance." He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"So they drafted you too," Deia said grimly.

Myke nodded. "They told me that they need someone with my background, so I guess my next few years will be spent learning all about the Sovereign. And I imagine they'll fill me with a lot of military garbage too."

"You sound just like my brother. He hates the idea of being in the military. Having to answer to anyone really makes him angry."

"Your brother was drafted too?" That really was strange. "When did the government start drafting aristocrats into the Science Corps?"

Deia's lips trembled. "It doesn't. At least that's what Paul claims." Her eyes became shiny with tears. She opened them wide in an attempt to keep the tears from falling. "I had a chance to study with Phillip Moreau. He was at my concert. But that night I found out I had been drafted."

"That's quite an opportunity. Did anyone tell you why you were drafted?"

Deia shook her head quickly. "No . . . I just couldn't believe it! All I've ever wanted to be is a pianist. I've been studying my whole life!" She gasped, then continued in a gush, "Then last night . . . my aunt died . . . She was so young, so young and beautiful . . . she was like our mother . . . Oh, we loved her so much . . ." Deia closed her eyes.

Her anguish permeated Myke's heart. Gently, compassionately, he took her into his arms.

A minute later, she pulled away from him, laughing nervously. "Here I am telling you all of my problems, and I barely know you."

"That's all right." Myke hesitated, then proceeded carefully: "Perhaps I can understand just a little. My mother was killed several years ago in a boating accident. For a long time I hurt so badly that I wished I could die too."

"Did the pain ever go away?"

"No. But it did fade some with time. I think the hardest thing for me was simply accepting the fact that death is a part of life."

Deia nodded slowly. "I know what you mean, about accepting death that is. I've had to accept it my whole life, and it's always been so difficult. My real parents died when I was very young. I don't even remember them. Why did Lena have to die too?"

Myke shook his head and remained silent. Speaking of death caused him to feel the loss of his father more acutely. Deia reached for him again and clung to him, and he held her head against his neck and stroked her hair as she cried softly. He closed his eyes, trying to alleviate some of his own grief. His arms tightened around her. Having her there was so comforting.

They held each other in silence, even after Deia had stopped crying. Eventually Deia withdrew. "I could tell something was bothering you," she said softly, her eyes sincere and full of concern. "Are you feeling any better?"

Myke nodded once and smiled at her with his eyes, amazed by her perception. "Will you play something for me?"

"Certainly. What would you like?"

"How about Chopin?"

"He's one of my favorites too." She rested her fingers on the keys and played a nocturne. When she was finished, she laid her hands on her thighs and stared at the keys.

Myke's fingers grazed the back of her hand. "I could listen to you play all night, but it's almost curfew. C'mon, I'll walk you back to your compartment."

Chapter 7: ROOMMATES

"This has to be a joke," Paul moaned as he entered his room with Connor Carey, the small, blond-haired Australian he and Deia had met on the shuttle. "My bedroom at home was twice as big as this, and I was the only one who used it!"

Two sets of metal bunk beds were built into the pale blue walls on either side of the entrance, and each bed contained a shelf at its head and two drawers under its mattress. A small oval table for studying was positioned with four swivel chairs between the two sets of bunks, allowing only slight space on either side for movement. On the far wall were four lockers and the entrance to the bathroom.

"You're on a ship now, men," greeted their roommate as he folded his duffel bag and put it into one of his drawers. "This isn't a 'bedroom'; it's a 'compartment.'" Their roommate was wearing the uniform of a cadet mentor--royal blue slacks, light blue dress shirt, and royal blue tie. As he turned to face Paul and Connor, Paul noticed that he was medium height, thin, and olive-skinned, with black hair, dark, dramatic facial features, and a thick mustache. "Dr. Luciani," he introduced himself, pronouncing his name with distinct Italian intonations.

"Paul Sheldon."

"Connor Carey."

A smile--actually it was more of a smirk--appeared on Dr. Luciani's face. "The cadet compartments aren't that bad." His Italian accent had disappeared, replaced by one that was distinctly American. "The warrior ranks sleep forty to a compartment." From the way Dr. Luciani drew out some of his vowels, Paul guessed he was from somewhere in the Northeast.

"How long have you been here?" Connor asked.

"Two years."

"Do you like it?" Paul had a difficult time believing that anyone could actually like living on a starship.

"One place is about the same as the next."

Connor walked to the back of the room to get his duffel bag. "Who's our other roommate?"

"The name is Myke Zarek. Hasn't checked in yet, but he's another novice."

Connor motioned to the long leather bag that held Paul's fencing gear. "Looks as though you're a serious competitor."

"I certainly am. Do you fence?"

"No, but I love to watch."

"Well, you'll get plenty of competition here," Dr. Luciani said to Paul. "All of the command cadets are supreme, and they're the first ones to let you know it."

"I don't understand," Connor said, looking from Dr. Luciani to Paul. "They're going to train a swordsman to be an engineer! I guess our leaders can see things we can't."

"It doesn't matter anyway," Paul said. "Anyone who would take a metal blade against immobilizers is an idiot."

"Well, if you're any good," Dr. Luciani said to Paul, "the other pro-cadets will love you. We and the com-cadets have the biggest fencing rivalry in the fleet."

"What are com-cadets?" Connor asked.

"The officer candidates, I imagine," Paul replied.

Dr. Luciani grunted. "Supposedly they're cadets who are hand-picked personally by Commodore Jenkins to train for warship command, but actually, they're a bunch of haughty aristocrats whose officer parents bought them their appointments."

Paul tensed. What would they think of him when they found out that he was an aristocrat? Deciding that silence was the best approach for now, he opened his duffel bag and began carefully laying his new Star Force clothing in a drawer. All of his civilian clothing had been confiscated at orientation that morning.

"Well, the com-cadets won't know what hit them after Paul shows them a few of his moves," Connor said.

Paul heard something that sounded like paper unrolling and turned to see what was making the noise. He watched Connor unroll a small poster of Kent Diamond. A satin brocade band was tied around the musician's head, and he was wearing a purple tuxedo, the top few buttons of his white satin shirt undone, revealing an exotic diamond neck chain.

Connor placed pieces of mounting putty on the corners of the poster and attached it to the inside of his locker, then stood back and examined it to make sure it wasn't crooked. "Ahhhh . . . Kent Diamond . . . a revolutionary . . . and the finest trumpeter Earth's ever seen!"

"No one will argue with that," Paul said. "Do you play?"

Connor nodded, lifting his trumpet case to the table.

"I don't know what the excitement is all about," Dr. Luciani said as he removed a taffuao from the shelf on his bed and lit it. "Laser technology can give you just as good a sound as that son of Abomination Kent Diamond."

"You're wrong!" Connor waved a hand in the air. "No technology, no matter how sophisticated, can give you the same feeling or emotion! He whipped his trumpet out of its case and quickly attached the mouthpiece. He put his instrument to his lips and played some high jazz runs.

Dr. Luciani's eyes widened. "Put a cork in that thing, will you? Curfew's in less than an hour! You wake anyone up, we'll all be put on report."

Connor held his trumpet out, bowed, and slipped it back into its case.

Paul was thoughtful. "There will always be classical artists like my sister--she's a concert pianist you know--but I like this personalized trend in popular music. Connor's right. The music does have more feeling."

"Okay, okay," Dr. Luciani said, lifting the taff to his lips. "I'm convinced!"

"Just wait until you hear Deia play," Paul said proudly. "If you've never liked classical music, you'll like it after you hear her. She's supreme! Is there a piano on the ship?"

Dr. Luciani blew out a gust of purple smoke. "Yeah, several. There's one in the lounge."

"Is she really that good?" Connor asked.

"The great maestro Phillip Moreau thinks so. She had a chance to be his protégée."

"Phillip Moreau's protégée! Why is she here?"

"She was drafted."

Connor shook his head. "That's tragic!"

"Forgive me for sounding uncouth, but who's Phillip Moreau?" Dr. Luciani asked.

"Only the greatest composer Earth has had in centuries," Paul answered.

"The truest artist of our time," Connor said thoughtfully.

Dr. Luciani knelt in front of a small liquor cabinet at the foot of his bed. "Would either one of you like some wine?"

Connor hesitated. "Do you have any beer?"

Dr. Luciani nodded and poured some beer into a glass. He handed the glass to Connor. "My sister can get you in touch with a band if you're interested. She's on the social committee."

"I'll definitely speak with her." Connor turned to Paul. "Does Deia play jazz?"

"She can play anything, and she has a nice voice. She's never had time to be in a band, but she might be interested now."

"What do you want, Paul?" Dr. Luciani asked.

Paul knelt down beside Dr. Luciani and looked at his choices. "You have some good brands. How did you find them here?"

"Didn't. Real thing's too expensive here, and I've never been able to get used to that synthesized garbage. I buy my wine in the Mediterranean State, where I can get it at a reasonable price."

"Is that home?" Connor asked.

Dr. Luciani shook his head. "No, my home is Star Force. Southern Europe is my playground."

Paul stood up. "I'll have some sherry."

Dr. Luciani poured some sherry for himself and Paul. "Enjoy it while you can. Every few weeks Admiral Pierce makes an appearance, and when he does, no one dares to even take a sip."

Paul had heard of Admiral Pierce, but he had never seen him. "Do you mean Admiral Vahro-Pierce, husband of Saintess Myri Vahro-Pierce?"

"The one and only. He's over all the fleets in this sector."

"But drinking in our compartments off-duty isn't against regulations . . . is it?" Connor said uneasily.

"Not technically, but Admiral Pierce is very old-fashioned. Claims drinking and osalaem smoking are bad for discipline and won't allow either on his base ship. If he gets a whiff of alcohol or osalaem, he'll give you a stiff fine."

Paul held up his glass. "Then let's enjoy."

"What field are you training for here?" Myke asked Deia as he walked her to her compartment.

"They want to make me into a neurosurgeon. I could have done worse, I guess. I've always done well in biology, so I suppose that will help."

"That's good. What did they assign to your brother?"

"Electrical engineering."

"How does he feel about that?"

"I don't think he knows. Right now he's more concerned about overcoming his spaceship phobia."

"Spaceship phobia?"

"Small, tight places make him crazy!"

"Poor guy."

"Oh, I suppose he'll live. He was as upset as I was that we were drafted, and for many reasons more valid than that one."

"You and your brother are close, aren't you?"

"Most of the time. Do you have any brothers and sisters?"

"Three older sisters."

Deia's eyes widened. "Three? And all sisters? They must treat you like a prince!"

"I've never really thought about it in that way, but I guess they do."

Deia stopped in front of a compartment and examined the number on the door. "I guess this is it. It wasn't as difficult to find as I thought it would be."

Myke touched Deia's arm. "I'll see you soon."

"I'd like that."

"I'll just look for you at the piano."

Deia smiled and disappeared through the door.

Myke turned and walked to his compartment. Despite everything, he was happy, at least for the moment. He marveled at how instantly he had connected with Deia on such an intimate level. He had never imagined he would be able to communicate so well with an Earthon girl. He knew they would be good friends, and his intuition told him he could trust her. Perhaps Earthon young people weren't all that different from Novaunian young people.

As he walked, he realized that he could be himself and still be "Myke Zarek." Whether from Shalaun or Tryamazz, he was the same person inside, and fortunately, his superiors had given him an Earthon background that was similar in a few respects to his own. Still, he would have to be careful. Everything he did would have to make sense. His roommates especially would not be easy to deceive. People couldn't help but learn a lot about each other when they shared close quarters. He also knew that he couldn't afford to get too close to anyone, for the D.I.I. agent observing him would use any friendship he made against him.

Myke halted in front of compartment B4-PC87. He hesitated, fearing that meeting his roommates would ruin his good mood. Finally he unclasped his badge from his front pocket and slid it through the scanner.

As he stepped into the compartment, his nose was immediately sensitive to the lingering smell of osalaem smoke and liquor. What rotten luck! Drinking he could tolerate, but osalaem smoking was another issue entirely. The living compartments and the commons were the only areas of the ship where cadets were allowed to smoke, so he knew that asking his roommates not to smoke would make them irritable. He also knew that he would be sick if he had to be around it very often. Either way, he couldn't win.

Only one of his roommates was there. He was already dressed for bed, and he was carefully hanging fencing clothes and weapons in one of the lockers. He had the bearing of an aristocrat, and Myke wondered if this was Deia's brother.

Myke replaced his identification badge as he walked to the back of the compartment. "Where is everybody?" The lavatory door was open, but no one appeared to be in there.

Myke's roommate turned abruptly, revealing eyes that were the same dusky blue as Deia's. "Oh, hello! You must be my bunkmate. Connor's in the bathroom--excuse me, lavatory--and Dr. Luciani's having a drink with the guys next door. I guess he's the resident mentor for them also."

Myke extended his hand. "Myke Zarek. You must be Deia's brother."

"That's right, I'm Paul," he said, shaking Myke's hand. "You've met Deia already?"

"She was playing Rachmaninoff in the lounge. I was so impressed that I had to meet her. She's quite a lady."

Paul studied Myke's face. "That she is."

Paul appeared almost suspicious, and Myke wasn't sure whether to laugh or change the subject. Before he could speak, the resident mentor emerged from the lavatory, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and carrying four glasses by their stems with the other. Myke watched the resident mentor in morbid fascination. Not only did the Earthons allow drinking alcohol on their ships, here was a cadet leader giving it to his subordinates! Even the Vaenans, the exporters of osalaem, refused to tolerate such lack of discipline on their ships. It was utterly bizarre.

The resident mentor lifted his eyebrows conspiratorially at Myke, then addressed Paul, "Looks like Zarek here is hot for your sister."

Myke laughed. A frail-looking young man emerged from the lavatory, grinning. "So am I. She's supreme!"

Paul was not amused. "If any of you lay a finger on my sister, you're dead."

The resident mentor chuckled. "Your protectiveness is very sweet, and it's very gallant, but do you honestly believe your sister's liaisons are any of your business? Grow up, Sheldon!"

"My sister is a lady, and she does not have liaisons," Paul said icily.

"I haven't met a girl yet, no matter how cool and proper the exterior, who, enticed just right, won't come begging."

The little guy gasped in delight at the resident mentor's brazenness. Paul exploded in outrage, "You son of Abomination! Don't you even go near her! The last thing she needs right now is to have to battle off an Eslavu degenerate who's just looking for a cheap thrill!"

The resident mentor grinned wickedly. "I could put you on report for disrespect to a superior, Sheldon, or I could merely inform you that I have no choice but to 'get near' your sister since she's my novice."

The little guy laughed. Paul's eyes and mouth widened in horror. Myke pursed his lips to keep from smiling. Paul obviously had no sense of humor, and Myke couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him.

Paul's tormenter extended his hand toward Myke, not taking his eyes away from Paul. "I'm Dr. Luciani, resident mentor and neurosur geon. Nice to meet you, Zarek."

Chapter 8: A SHOCK

Approximately thirty pro-cadets were already assembled in the gymnasium awaiting their orders when Paul arrived the next morning. Since the current novices had not received the usual two months of basic training at the Institute, ten hours of physical fitness and combat training a week were required for each during the entire first two terms.

Noticing Myke in the group, Paul wound through the other cadets to join him. Several minutes later, the cadets came to attention as Master Warrior Jivad entered the gymnasium.

Jivad quickly called roll and read a list of assignments. It sounded to Paul as though several advanced cadets, both command and professional, would test the novices in various forms of hand-to-hand combat to determine potential and levels of experience. Paul and Myke were assigned to a group of ten under Cadet Luciani and Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce.

As Paul and Myke hurried with the other novices to the locker rooms, Myke whispered to Paul, "I didn't see Dr. Luciani in here. You think he's the one who's supposed to test us? I don't know what you think, but he doesn't seem like the warrior type to me."

"No, he doesn't. But he did mention last night before you came in that he has a sister here. It might be she."

The novices required fifteen minutes to check out their gym clothes, have lockers assigned, suit up, and assemble back in the gymnasium in their separate groups. Paul leaned against the wall and Myke plopped to the floor as they waited with the other eight novices in their group for their trainers.

Several minutes later, an impishly cute young woman clad in royal blue gym clothes and carrying a handheld computer rushed toward the group. As she ran, all the novices in the group heard a baritone voice yell at her, "Hey, Luciani! You're going to help me train? You pro-cadets don't know anything about combat!"

The girl halted, then spun around and glared at the muscularly built com-cadet who had come up behind her. "Go sit on your sabre, Pierce." The girl turned back around and approached the group of novices.

"A little cranky today, aren't you love?" Pierce said as he caught up to her.

"Don't push it, Pierce, darling."

"It's Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce to you, babe."

Paul looked down at Myke, amused. "She's Dr. Luciani's sister? That's one cranky family!"

Myke stood up in one fluid motion. "The perfect sword-shrew!"

Paul laughed. Star Force women were reputed to be crude, overbearing, ruthless, and ugly, the butt of more "sword-shrew" jokes than there were women in Star Force.

Paul's laughter slowly subsided, and he turned and watched Jacquae Luciani curiously as she began to speak. He would have considered her olive complexion and square-shaped face becoming had she not been frowning. Her black hair was pulled back, the front strands curled under on her shoulders, and high-arched brows topped a pair of condescending dark eyes. She was medium height, and her slender, straight figure was toned to perfection, every centimeter of her frame radiating independence, excitement, and aggressiveness.

"I am Advanced Cadet Luciani." She motioned to her partner. "This is Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce. We are combat specialists--"

Pierce snickered at Luciani's reference to herself as a "specialist," and Paul suddenly felt sorry for her. With a nobleman as a partner, she had no recourse against these attacks on her credibility.

"Specialists among the cadets," Luciani continued. "Today we'll test your abilities so that you can be placed in the appropriate classes. First, you must get your gear." She motioned to the novices to follow her and Pierce into the storage compartment that adjoined the gymnasium.

Pierce and Luciani began handing out body pads and head guards to the novices. As Luciani handed pads to Paul, her hand accidentally brushed his, and she looked up at him. Her expression softened a little, her eyes lingering on him in interest and her mouth curving into a flirtatious little smile. Paul watched her attentively as she moved to the next novice. This was one sword-shrew who wasn't ugly at all.

Deia entered the lecture room after lunch, feeling overwhelmed. She had taken several general biology classes in high school, but none of them had prepared her for this. She hoped her daily shifts in sickbay would be less grueling than her classes, or at least less tedious. She placed her laptop on a desk and dropped herself into a chair. Her head already hurt.

As Deia waited with the other medical novices for the upperclassmen who would be their mentors, she suddenly had the oddest feeling that someone was looking at her. She turned to face a strikingly handsome young man with black hair and a mustache. He was wearing the uniform of a cadet mentor under a lab coat and was studying her unabashedly, one arm folded across his waist and the other holding his hand to his chin. His extraordinary magnetism lured her into staring back at him for several seconds without saying anything.

"You look more like an actress than a cadet," he said abruptly.

Deia looked at him skeptically. "Aren't you a smooth one." She smiled coolly. "Actually, you aren't too far from right. I'm really a concert pianist in disguise." Realizing what she had just said and to whom, her hand flew to her mouth. She could get put on report for addressing a mentor in such a way.

The young man laughed and extended his hand. "Dr. Luciani, Cadet Sheldon. I'm your brother's resident mentor and your professional mentor."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Luciani. You caught me off-guard."

"I had no idea I was addressing a noblewoman," Dr. Luciani said pleasantly.

Deia relaxed and smiled. "I'm no more a noblewoman than I am an actress."

"But you are an aristocrat. It's written all over you."

Deia's wariness returned. "Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?"

"If you'd like."

Deia could not stand to let him get away with such a cryptic answer, even if he was her mentor. "Perhaps, Dr. Luciani, you can tell me what bourgeois men, in general, think of aristocratic women."

"I wouldn't know." Dr. Luciani smiled mysteriously. "I'm not bourgeois."

Dr. Luciani's response surprised Deia. "What are you, then?"

He chuckled. "A poor son of Abomination from Baltimore, disguised as a neurosurgeon."

Deia laughed. The Divine Emperor had ordered Baltimore burned to the ground during the Dark Years for being the home and headquarters of one of the original "sons of Abomination," Antonio Vaccaro. Only slum rabble and outcasts lived there now. That this sharp, articulate Star Force doctor could have come from such a place seemed preposterous. "You either have a sick sense of humor, Dr. Luciani, or you've done very well for yourself."

"Actually, you're right on both accounts. So you see, Saintess Deia, there are far worse things than being a Star Force neurosurgeon."

Deia nodded slowly, feeling warm all over. He was right. Her situation could be far worse than it was. She decided that she was going to like working with Dr. Luciani.

Deia entered the huge pro-cadet commons with Dr. Luciani immediately following her shift in sickbay. Dr. Luciani had spent the afternoon giving her a tour of the Sovereign's medical facilities. Starting tomorrow, she would spend thirty hours a week following him around as he performed his duties and doing menial tasks. Unfortunately, he often worked at night, and even after those shifts, she was required to be in class the next morning--on time. Deia had no idea how she would manage those sickbay shifts along with fifteen hours a week in the classroom and laboratory and ten hours of combat training.

Deia massaged her neck, sliding her fingers into her hair to loosen her French braid a little. "How long have you been on the Sovereign of the Stars, Dr. Luciani?" she asked as they stepped in line for the food synthesizers.

"Two years. I'll be certified in another two."

"Where did you spend your first three years?"

"On the Prince Jahnzel."

Deia smiled. "Perhaps I shouldn't be saying this, but you don't look old enough to be a mentor."

Dr. Luciani moved forward a little with the line. "I'm not, really. I joined Star Force when I was sixteen."

Deia was surprised and impressed. "How did you manage that?"

Dr. Luciani shrugged as he motioned Deia toward the synthesizing machine to get her meal. "I have a good memory."

As Deia stepped out of line with her tray, she noticed Connor and Myke sitting at one of the long white tables. When Myke saw her, he motioned for her to join them. Anticipation energized her as she approached Myke. She didn't think he was striking in his appearance--definitely not one who would be noticed in a crowd--but he was handsome in a pleasant way, with a lean physique and ruddy cheeks. His shiny brown hair was slightly tousled, and his vivid blue eyes were friendly. His air of serene self-assurance particularly appealed to her.

Deia slid onto the bench next to Connor. "Hello!" She lifted her cup of milk to her lips and took a sip.

"How're you doing?" Myke asked.

"This had to be one of the worst days of my life. Do you know what they made me do? I had to let some guy beat me up so I could show them how well I can fight. And then I had to shoot a light gun at some stupid holograms of Diron soldiers."

Connor laughed. "We're in Star Force, remember?"

"Just be glad you're getting your basic training here instead of at the Institute," Dr. Luciani said as he sat down next to Deia.

Deia turned to Dr. Luciani in surprise. She hadn't expected a mentor to sit with lowly novices. Then again, maybe it was required, at least for a while. He was, after all, required to help the novices that were assigned to him make the transition from civilian to military life. She regarded Dr. Luciani skeptically. "Do you really think it would be worse?"

Dr. Luciani dipped his spoon into his bowl of clam chowder. "A hundred times worse. That's all you do for two months!"

"Why are we doing it here?" Connor asked. "The order I got six months ago said I would be at the Institute for two months."

"Who knows?" Dr. Luciani replied. "Leaves were cut short too. Probably some admiral wanted a fleet escort to his new assignment or some other ridiculous reason." He reached for his glass of water and said softly to Deia, "Be happy you're not in officers' training with the rest of the aristocrats. They have to march."

"March?"

"Yeah, they march, and they have to report for formation three times a day, and a novice isn't allowed to speak to an upperclassmen unless directly addressed."

"That does sound awful," Deia agreed. She turned away from Dr. Luciani and began eating her salad. She wanted to talk to Myke, but he seemed content to eat in silence. Finally she leaned toward him a little and said, "I guess you know that Paul is my brother."

Myke nodded. "I knew as soon as I saw him. You two sure do look a lot alike."

"We ought to, we're twins!"

Myke's fork fell from his fingers. He stared at her. "Twins?"

Deia quickly took another bite of salad, feeling uncomfortable. Why would the fact that she and Paul were twins disturb him? What had happened to the relaxed, open young man she had met the evening before? Hoping to change the subject, Deia asked, "How did your day go, Myke?"

Myke smiled, but it appeared forced. "Like I expected."

"That bad," she said grimly.

Myke nodded, his gaze shifting from Deia to something behind her. "Now how do you like that!" he said in surprise. "Paul's with the sword-shrew!"

Dr. Luciani turned and chuckled. "A man who has truly assessed my sister's character."

Deia twisted her body and saw Paul stepping out of line with a black-haired young woman at his side. Her hair was pulled back, the front strands curled under on her shoulders. High-arched brows topped a pair of lively dark eyes. The girl joked with the cadets she saw and made sure Paul was introduced to each one of them.

"He sure doesn't waste any time does he?" Connor observed.

Dr. Luciani grunted. "You mean that she doesn't waste any time. Figures she would go for Paul."

Deia shrugged. "All the girls like Paul."

Once Paul and the girl arrived at the table, Paul sat down next to Myke, and the girl sat down next to Deia. "I know you! I tripped over you this morning on my way out!"

Deia frowned.

"Your cot was by the door."

"Oh!" Deia said in realization. "You're Jacquae."

Jacquae nodded. "And you're?"

"Deia Sheldon."

Jacquae looked over at Myke in elation. "Hey, Zarek, you gave Pierce a good fight!"

Myke shook his head and looked at Jacquae strangely. "No way. He killed me!"

"But you were the only one who gave him even a decent showing, enough of a showing to make him angry."

"This Pierce sounds like a real animal," Deia commented.

"I wouldn't go that far," Myke said.

"I would," Dr. Luciani said. "Everyone's either too afraid to beat him," he looked pointedly at Jacquae, "or too incompetent."

Jacquae glanced at Dr. Luciani with eyes full of contempt. "And Ton doesn't have the slightest idea what he's talking about. Pierce is an excellent fencer and deserves to be the champion, as much as I hate to admit it."

"Paul's a fencer," Dr. Luciani said. "And an aristocra--"

"I know! We're planning to spar after dinner. Maybe the pro-cadets will finally get a champion!"

Paul appeared uneasy. Deia suspected that he was uncomfortable because these bourgeois cadets now realized he was an aristocrat. "I wouldn't get your hopes up," Paul said.

Deia couldn't believe what she was hearing. Paul had never had such a diffident attitude toward a potential fencing opponent. "Why is everyone so intimidated by this Pierce person?"

"Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce," Dr. Luciani corrected. "The son of the Admiral."

"Ohhh," Deia said, finally understanding.

"I'm surprised that you and Paul don't already know him," Myke said.

Deia couldn't refrain from laughing. "Saintess Myri Vahro-Pierce is the Divine Empress's sister!" She shook her head quickly. "We didn't move in that circle, although I imagine my uncle would have killed for such a privilege!"

"Who's your uncle?" Myke asked.

Paul straightened and said in mock respect, "Sanel King, Second Assistant to Saint Kravim of the Council of Elders." He relaxed a bit and the tone of his voice returned to normal. "Our aunt's husband. They're our guardians."

Noticing Myke's surprise, Deia asked, "Have you heard of him?"

"No," Myke answered immediately. "It just sounds like he has a very important position."

"I'll say," Dr. Luciani said as he pushed his empty bowl toward the middle of the table. "Defense has always been the Council's most powerful Office."

"Did you ever get to meet Saint Kravim?" Connor asked eagerly. "Does your uncle know the Divine Emperor?"

"We have met Saint Kravim," Deia said. "Paul went to school with his daughter. I don't know whether Sanel knows the Divine Emperor, but he might. Paul and I have never met him, but we were presented to the Divine Empress on our Day of Awakening."

"Whew . . ." Connor said, shaking his head.

"What exactly does your uncle do?" Jacquae asked. "Is he Admiral Laddan's counselor or something?"

Paul leaned forward, his eyes mysterious. "Sanel directs the area of defense that no one knows much about."

Dr. Luciani looked at Paul penetratingly. "You mean--"

Paul nodded. "Intelligence. The Foreign Intelligence Agency, the Department of Internal Investigation, and the Department of Assassins are all under him."

Deia shuddered. "I think he must have once been an Ex-man himself. He just has that feel about him."

Paul nodded. "And he may not be an Executioner, but I imagine he's done some of the dirty work in his time." He pointed to his head. "His mind power is staggering, and as Deia said, he has the feel of a murderer."

"When you're talking about spies, the term's execution, not murder," Connor said.

"And is completely honorable," Jacquae agreed.

"Well, you wouldn't feel that way if you were standing at the other end of an Ex-man's immobilizer!" Paul exploded.

"Paul," Deia warned, "not now."

Paul's face was tense, and his eyes were defiant. "Yes, now. Maybe someone can tell me why a citizen who commits a criminal offense against another person or property goes and stands before a judge--the offense could even be murder--and then someone who writes an article for a news disc that is not approved by the government, someone who has done absolutely nothing wrong, is accused of being a spy and is shot down in the street by an Executioner and is given no chance to defend himself!"

Paul paused for a moment to catch his breath. He didn't care that everyone in their section of the commons was staring at him. "Now somebody tell me that it's fair, that it's honorable, that Executioners can murder people in the streets or rape their minds because they're emissaries of God. If they're really emissaries of God, then I want no part of God."

Many moments of awkward silence passed. Finally Paul relaxed and put his crumpled napkin, plastic eating utensils, and cup on his empty dinner tray. "Well, I'm done." He stood up and said to Jacquae, "I'm going to go down to the weight room for a while. Meet me at the gym in an hour."

"Sure," Jacquae said in discomfort.

After Paul left, Dr. Luciani said to Deia, "Is he always like that?"

Deia nodded slowly. "Lately."

"Well, if you want my opinion," Connor said, "he's insane. And I'm surprised he's alive."

"That's what I tell him, but he's too stubborn to listen."

Dr. Luciani stood up with his empty tray. "I'm going to the lounge to examine the new female bodies," he said to Myke and Connor. "Want to come?"

"Need you ask?" Connor said with a little laugh, standing up.

Myke shook his head. "I need to unpack."

Jacquae shot a caustic look at Dr. Luciani. "Have you dishonored Deia yet with a drink invitation?"

"Of course not. Nice girls like Deia aren't any better for my reputation than poor men are for yours."

Jacquae rolled her eyes and shook her head in disgust.

Dr. Luciani and Connor walked away from the table, and Jacquae said to Deia in a low voice, "He never sees women formally. One drink and it's straight to his office. Can you possibly imagine anything so vulgar? And Tev. Tev will never admit it, but she's one of his regulars!"

Deia had no idea what to say.

Jacquae smiled, ever so slightly. "What are your plans for tonight?"

Deia quickly composed herself. "After I unpack, I have to go to the ship exchange to get some mailing discs. Most of my friends at home don't even know I'm here! There just wasn't time to tell anybody. It sounds as if it will be a boring evening, doesn't it?"

"Mmmm, maybe not," Myke said. "I have to go down there tonight too. I left in . . . kind of a hurry, so there are a few things I forgot to pack. I'll meet you at your compartment in an hour and we can go together. Is that okay?"

"Of course!"

Myke stood up and quickly finished the rest of his juice. "Great!" he said, picking up his tray. "I'll see you later, then."

Chapter 9: ROYAL TWINS?

As Myke left the commons, he analyzed the things he had just learned. Paul and Deia's relationship to Sanel King disturbed him, and he wished he had masked his astonishment better at the moment of revelation. Granted, they both appeared to be antagonistic toward their uncle, but how could he trust either one of them under the circumstances? Even more puzzling was Paul's attitude toward the government, and Myke sensed that Deia's attitude was similar, even if she wasn't vocal about it. He thought it strange that young people with their background would be so antagonistic. He felt that, in Paul's case anyway, it was probably an act.

Paul and Deia's entire situation perplexed him. Not only were they King's niece and nephew, they were twins. Myke doubted they were the royal twins to whom his father had referred in his message--the chances of that had to be astronomical--and even if it was possible, he couldn't think of any reason they would be living on a warship. He thought it more likely that the D.I.I. had broken his father's code and had put the twins on the Sovereign in close proximity to him to confuse him. That explained why they weren't training to be officers with the other aristocrats. One of them, at least, was probably an informer.

The thought of Deia as an informer upset Myke. She seemed to be such a sweet girl, so caring and honest. Logically, however, there were too many reasons not to trust her. He clenched his fists at his sides and tried to be callous. He couldn't allow his feelings to cloud his reason.

Now that these twins Paul and Deia had so conveniently become his associates, he felt increased urgency to solve the royal twin puzzle. The only Earthons that were considered "royal" by the majority of the population were those few individuals who had come to Earth with the exiled Diron monarch Tohmazz Zarr as members of his ruling class, along with the children of those conquering nobles. The Zarrists as a race were infertile. Even their strategy of intermarrying with selected natives hadn't done much to increase their ranks, and their religion forbade them to use artificial methods. Myke doubted there had been any twins born into that group for at least a century, and even if any existed, he didn't think they could do anything with regard to Novaun that would significantly benefit Earth.

No . . . Earth wanted control of Novaun's arelada, and it planned to get it from the inside. The only people on Novaun his father would consider "royal" were probably the first families of the twelve Great Houses. Technically the Great House Vumaul was the only ruling monarchy left on Novaun and so could be considered "royal." The island country it ruled, Amaria, was the birthplace of Novaunian civilization and was the most mineral-rich country of Novaun, Novaun being the most mineral-rich planet in the galaxy, but Amaria didn't have arelada. Several of the other Great Houses, although they had not technically been royalty for about two thousand years, did control Novaun's arelada. Myke decided that his father's "royal" twins were most likely associated with one of those Houses.

Myke considered the ways in which Earth might use twins of a Great House to its advantage. He knew that each Great House high patriarch had a seat on the High Council of Judges, Novaun's supreme governing body, but often a member of his family represented him, so perhaps Earth hoped to gain control of someone who occasionally sat on the Council. A spy on the High Council of Judges, however, wouldn't have to come from a Great House, so another possibility was that Earth wanted to sabotage the arelada mining and business ventures of a specific Great House somehow and gain control over its arelada subtly instead of by force. Myke didn't know anything about the Great Houses' business practices, so he hadn't the faintest idea of how successful Earth could be in this kind of operation. The only other possibility he could think of was that Earth planned to kidnap twin children for ransom.

The kidnapping option didn't settle well with Myke. None of the Great Houses had ever been known to submit to blackmail, and he didn't doubt Earth knew it. All the other possibilities necessitated that someone close to the high patriarch of a Great House sell out, which didn't seem likely either, because Novaunians were similar to Earthons in that they just didn't sell out. They were very patriotic to Novaun and especially loyal to each other, and the Great Houses in particular were known to be extremely loyal. Myke had a very bad feeling about the whole thing. If Earth succeeded in its plans, whatever they were, then the seeds of distrust would be planted among Novaunians, and that might well destroy their culture even if Earth's acquisition of a portion of their arelada didn't.

Myke realized there wasn't much he could do about the royal twin problem except return to Novaun with what he knew. His father, no doubt, had had his reasons for being so secretive about the twins, but Myke still wished he had more information. He hoped researchers on Novaun would be able to discover the identity of the twins and what Earth's plans for them were.

Myke nearly froze as he walked. That overwhelming fear that he would never get home alive had returned. His new cadet friends were unlike any Earthons he had ever met. Their political loyalties were as diverse as their values. He knew that each one of them, although potentially a suitable helper, was treacherous in some way. How could he ever hope to make sense out of all the confusing signals they were hurling at him? He clutched his shoulder and massaged it. The invisible wound still burned, a constant reminder of his vulnerability.

Myke forced himself to relax. There was an informer or two among the many, but there were also those who, by whatever means, could be enticed to go to Novaun. He just needed to approach them before his D.I.I. opponent did, and he needed to approach them with the right enticements.

Once in his compartment, Myke immediately set his laptop on the table and opened a music file, putting his mind into Divided Focus and expanding his spirit into the holorecorders hidden throughout the compartment and also into the transmitter that was in his name tag, telepathically manipulating the devices to record him lying down on his bed to read. Myke assumed a mind guard had not yet been placed on the monitoring devices in his compartment because the D.I.I. wanted either to give him a false sense of security or to assess his telepathic abilities. Myke was, therefore, determined to use as many non-telepathic methods to avoid the surveillance as he could. He was tempted to destroy the devices but didn't dare, not wanting to invite the D.I.I. or anyone else who might be watching to kill him too soon.

Myke quickly searched the compartment for information that would help him understand his roommates. He looked first through Dr. Luciani's belongings. There were no mementos, no posters, and no photographs of anything, not even his family. Myke looked next for his disc wallet and was astounded to find five wallets, all stuffed with medical, scientific, and political publications in a least two dozen different languages. There was also a collection of pornography, a large supply of Vaenan taffuaos, and a fine collection of wine, all Earthon Mediterranean, which wasn't surprising since it was considered the best in the galaxy.

Connor didn't have as many belongings as Dr. Luciani did. There was his poster of Kent Diamond and his trumpet, along with a tiny photograph of himself and two younger boys Myke assumed were his brothers. His disc wallet contained all kinds of software that he had written himself; computer texts and periodicals; games; lots of music, both audio and text; and several volumes of the Sacred Writings of Tohmazz Zarr. His laptop was an expensive one with a large memory, a fine stereo system, and a projector that could show holograms at life-size.

Paul had an exhaustive supply of fencing gear, including several foils, a sabre, and an épée. His wallet was filled with discs on many different subjects, none predominating, and there was also a large selection of music, both classical and popular, and a few family holodiscs. There were several bottles of expensive cologne and also several pieces of luxurious jewelry, including diamond cuff links.

Myke picked up the family portrait that was sitting on Paul's shelf, a recent picture of Paul, Deia, and, he presumed, their uncle and aunt. Their Aunt Lena looked like an older version of Deia, and Myke imagined Deia would look like her aunt when she was a few years older, more mature but still breathtakingly beautiful. Myke was struck by the sadness in the older woman's eyes, a sadness he hoped would never cloud Deia's.

Myke frowned. There seemed to be something strange about the photograph, but he couldn't determine what it was. He examined it again and still found nothing, so he reluctantly set it back on Paul's shelf.

Myke dismantled his laptop, disposed of the three monitoring devices he found there in the commode, then put his computer back together and ran a diagnostic check, at the same time taking his mind from Divided Focus into complete Awareness and expanding his spirit into the computer. All of the binary code flashed before one of his spirit eyes as his mind decompiled it in search of hidden hostile programs.

After a few minutes of searching, Myke found a clever program designed to duplicate every piece of information his computer processed and transmit it to another computer, presumably one belonging to the D.I.I. agent opposing him. Still using Awareness, Myke telepathically adjusted the code to dismantle the D.I.I. agent's spy program.

Once he finished that, he withdrew his spirit from his laptop, put his mind back into Divided Focus, and logged onto the Sovereign's computer network. Myke could have telepathically joined with any of the ship's computers as easily as he had with his own, but unlike the monitoring devices, the ship's computer network was undoubtedly guarded by strong minds who would crush his if he made an attempt to join with it. For that reason, he was forced to acquire the information he desired manually. Since the Sovereign's personnel file had the same type of security controls built into it as many of the classified files he had broken into on Earth, he was able to access it rapidly and, for the time being anyway, secretly.

Since Paul and Deia troubled him the most, he would start with them. He brought up Deia's file first. Everything she had done in her life was there. There were school records, family statistics, everything. Myke was most interested in Deia's family background, especially since she had said that her aunt and uncle had raised them and that their parents had died when she was very young. Her aunt's relationship to King also needed to be explored.

The file said that her parents were John and Deborah Sheldon, both Star Force pilots who had been killed in a Diron raid, Earth Date: October 21, 2 Y.D.E., eleven months after the twins' birth. Their guardian after their parents had died had been Lena Sheldon, mother's sister, and she had married Sanel King on July 13, 3 Y.D.E. The file listed their aunt dead as of February 4, 19 Y.D.E., the cause of death cardiac arrest. Myke's eyes scanned the file to the end where religious and government loyalties were recorded. It said: "Worship attendance--regular. Known resister."

Myke couldn't help but feel relieved. As the Divine Emperor telepathically communicated to Earth's citizens en masse and people opened their minds to accept this communication, he took control of a cell in each of their brains, gaining a grip on their minds difficult to break. Only a small percentage of Earthons possessed telepathic skills refined enough to detect it, and even fewer possessed the skill to resist it. That Deia had the strength to resist the Divine Emperor's mind trap said that her mind and will were free.

Myke leaned back in his chair. He still felt Paul and Deia's family background was strange. How had someone like Lena ever come into contact with someone like Sanel King? Not only that, but Paul and Deia's parents, both Star Force pilots aboard the battleship Majestic, had been killed in a Diron raid when the twins were just infants. Both had been killed. Where were Paul and Deia during that time? Myke wished he had access to Earth's personnel directory so that he could study its information on the King and Sheldon families.

Myke quickly accessed Paul's file to obtain the political information. It read: "Worship attendance--regular. Known resister. Associated with Earthborns." Mention of the Earthborns, the most widely known and violent of Earth's few underground organizations, surprised Myke. If Paul really had been associated with them on Earth, then Connor was right; he was lucky he was alive. The government liked to use resisters of the Divine Emperor's communication as leaders because of their strong mind power, but there were enough of those who weren't involved with the underground who were much safer. Then a thought occurred to him. They wanted Paul alive. If he really was being honest about his political loyalties, then he would have been an Ex-man's target long ago--unless the government wanted to use him for something.

Next he opened Jacquae's file. "Worship attendance--occasional. Known resister." Dr. Luciani's file: "Worship attendance--holidays only. Known resister." Connor's file: "Worship attendance--perfect. Known resister."

Myke wasn't surprised that Dr. Luciani was a resister. His eyes were astute, and his mien was assured and utterly lacking in submission and fear. Apparently Jacquae wasn't religious either. And Connor, by all appearances, was very religious and patriotic, the most typical Earthon of the group, but he was also known by the government as a resister of the Divine Emperor's communication. Perhaps this information was correct. Appearances were often deceiving, and Connor could easily be the type of person who was driven by fear.

Myke realized that the records on his cadet associates may or may not have been correct on all accounts, something he would learn as he lived with them a little longer. And discovering whether they possessed the mind power to be resisters would be easy enough for him to do when the time was right.

He quickly checked his own file and discovered the same information he had put there two years before, along with new data concerning his schooling and work at Briggs. His father was listed as a communications specialist for the Office of Defense, his death not acknowledged. Did the D.I.I. not want his commanding officers on the Sovereign to know his true status? Was the D.I.I. that concerned he would be killed prematurely? Or was the D.I.I. withholding the updated information in an attempt to make him think that his Sovereign superiors weren't watching him?

Myke exited the file and turned off the computer, completing his telepathic manipulation of the watching devices in the compartment by adjusting them to holograph him get up from his bed, turn off his handheld computer, and turn off the music. He withdrew his spirit from the bulkheads of the compartment as he withdrew his hand from the computer, then slipped back into Blind State and began unpacking.

Myke quickly put his personal belongings into his drawers and went to the locker to hang up his clothes. Hearing noise at the compartment door, he turned and saw Paul.

Paul glanced at the bag on the deck by Myke's feet, then at Myke, puzzled. "That bag is all you brought with you from Earth?"

Myke shrugged, setting the bag into the locker. "That and my computer."

"That bag's only big enough for a few tiny things. Even Connor brought more than you did. How do you expect to survive?"

Myke studied Paul's face. "I would've brought more if I'd had more time. The fact of the matter is, the minute I found out I was drafted, I grabbed a few things and rushed to the spaceport to leave Earth." He shook his head, grimacing. "The last thing in this universe I ever wanted to do was be in the military. I was delayed at the spaceport though, so the SPs caught up with me."

Paul's eyes grew huge. "Where were you going to go? I don't want to be a warrior either, but another planet? You wouldn't have known anyone, and what about the language?"

"I have relatives on Vaena." Myke closed the locker door. "I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this confidential. After your outburst in the commons, I figured you'd understand, but I really doubt any of the others would." He turned and walked toward the door.

"Of course," Paul replied uneasily. "Where are you going?"

Myke stopped and faced Paul again. "To meet Deia. We're going down to the ship exchange."

"Oh."

Myke didn't miss the skepticism in Paul's eyes. "See you later," Myke said as he turned and walked out of the compartment. In minutes, he was walking with Deia to the transport pod.

"How'd your day go?"

Deia moaned. "You don't know what kind of danger you've put yourself in asking that!"

Myke smiled knowingly. "I think I do."

"It was horrible. I just don't know how I'm going to manage everything. My classes are going to be so difficult. I don't doubt I can do well if I want to, but my heart just isn't in it." She stopped and gripped his arm. "Do you think that if I failed all of my classes they would let me go back to Earth?"

"Not a chance! They'd kick you out of the Science Corps, and you'd probably end up cleaning fighters!"

Deia removed her hand from his arm. "I guess you're right. Myke, I'm not meant to be here. I don't fit. What am I going to do?"

"You do what you have to do. You survive." They started walking again. "And you'll fit in soon enough."

"I don't want to fit in completely! I don't think I'll ever have a warrior mentality, and I don't want to have one."

"Good. I don't think I'd like you as much as I do if you did."

Deia looked up at Myke, smiling as they stepped into a transport pod booth. "Every time I talk to you, you make me feel so much better. Where have you been all my life?"

"You say that, but it's a good thing we didn't know each other before now. I know your uncle wouldn't have approved of me."

"You're probably right."

"What was Paul planning to do before you were drafted?"

"He was going to go to advanced school in Tryamazz."

"What was he going to study?"

"Business and economics. His plan was to graduate, then become Lena's manager. She designed and made all of our formalwear and jewelry and some of our everyday clothing also, but she never sold any of it. Paul planned to market Lena's designs for her, and he intended to make a fortune so that we could break free from Sanel's control forever."

"That sure fits," Myke said as they stepped out of the transport pod.

Deia nodded. "Paul's so funny. He hates Sanel with all the strength of his soul, but he's like him in many ways, even though he doesn't realize it."

"But your uncle isn't your favorite person either, and yet, you don't seem to be so hostile. Why would that be? Was he particularly cruel to Paul?"

"Sanel's always treated us both the same--in a very cool and formal way. He does have a way of controlling our lives that makes us both crazy, but he's never struck us or even yelled at us. And he worshiped Lena." Deia shook her head. "No. Paul hates Sanel because he has a sixth sense about him that I don't have."

Deia's observation surprised Myke. "What do you mean?"

"He knows things he shouldn't know--terrible things--and he's always right."

"Like what?"

"Just . . . things."

Myke knew then that he had pressed a little too hard and that it was time to change the topic of conversation before Deia became suspicious of his questions. Fortunately they were only a few meters away from the ship exchange. He smiled and extended his arm toward the entrance. "Looks like we're here. Let's hurry and get what we need so that we can enjoy the rest of the evening."

Chapter 10: THE BOUT

Myke arrived at Deia's compartment three evenings later at 1830 to take her to the fencing bout Jacquae had arranged between Paul and Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce.

Paul had asked Jacquae to go to the Star Room with him after the bout, and Jacquae had suggested Myke and Deia go with them. Myke had accepted, not wanting to hurt Deia's feelings by refusing. As much as he enjoyed being with Deia, he felt apprehensive about seeing her formally. He was afraid he might become too attached to her.

Myke buzzed Deia's compartment and attempted to relax, telling himself over and over that seeing her formally just this once wouldn't do any harm.

A minute later, Deia breathlessly arrived at the door, wearing her Science Corps dress suit, a light blue tunic and skirt. "Hi! Come on in. I'm not quite ready. It's been hectic here. Maurena received her orders two hours ago and just left."

As Myke walked with Deia into her compartment, he couldn't stop staring at her. He hadn't seen her hair in any other style than the French braid since the first night he had met her, but now her hair was swept up in an elaborate style, with dainty dark ringlets framing her beautiful face.

They stopped by the table. "You look very lovely tonight, Deia," Myke said softly, still oblivious to everything but her.

"Thank you! And you look very handsome." She gently touched his cheek. "You have beautiful eyes."

"I've never had a girl tell me I'm handsome before," Myke admitted, "but it means a lot coming from you."

Deia reached into one of her drawers and removed a bottle of perfume. "I'm glad." She quickly dabbed some of the fragrance on her neck and slipped into her shoes.

"Are you ready now?"

Deia nodded.

Myke took Deia's hand in his and led her to the door. "I suppose your roommates are already there."

Deia nodded as Myke led her to the door. "Jacquae's helping Paul warm up, and Tevaronia and Kristina went to watch. They're all quite taken with Paul."

"Watch out! Your compartment just might turn into a battle ground!"

"I certainly hope not," Deia said as they walked down the passageway toward the commons. "There's nothing more vicious in this universe than girls fighting for the same guy! And the crazy thing is, it wouldn't matter with Paul, because as much as all the girls like him, he likes all the girls. He never lets any one girl get too close, but the girls who like him never give up trying." She shook her head. "I don't think it would be much of a competition anyway. He likes Jacquae, I can tell!"

"The sword-shrew?"

"Don't you notice how he flirts with her? He's always been a flirt, but he's been giving Jacquae special treatment. That's unusual for Paul."

When Myke and Deia arrived at the commons, they noticed that many of the tables were folded and leaning against the bulkheads and that a fencing strip had been attached to the deck in the middle of the room.

"I never imagined so many would be here!" Deia said.

"I suppose any bout that could give the pro-cadets a champion would draw a lot of people," Myke said. "No wonder Jacquae wanted to have it here. I don't think there'd be enough room at the gym."

"You're probably right."

Myke and Deia quickly walked to the strip and joined Dr. Luciani and Connor. Connor was overflowing with anticipation for the bout. Dr. Luciani didn't care to say much to anyone, preferring to concentrate on Paul and Jacquae, who were sparring lightly in the corner.

Ten minutes before the bout was scheduled to start, Paul slipped into his Star Force sweat suit and walked with Jacquae to the strip, where she briefed him on things he might expect from Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce and would undoubtedly expect from Dr. Luciani as the referee.

By 1855, the commons was crowded with hundreds of cadets. Most were sitting and standing on the remaining tables, but many were standing around the strip, pressing forward as closely as Dr. Luciani would allow. Dr. Luciani was already in his position at the center of the strip, and his two com-cadet judges were already in their places to his right and left.

"Is Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce here yet?" Deia asked Myke. "I don't even know who he is!"

"I haven't seen him yet."

"Oh, you'll know when he gets here," Dr. Luciani interrupted. "He has quite an entrance. It's all a part of the psych-out, you know."

At exactly l859, about fifty com-cadets, dressed in fencing clothes and carrying their foils, pushed through one of the entrances of the commons and formed two lines between the entrance and the strip. Everyone suddenly became silent as the com-cadets held their foils up to form a bridge. Then they and all of the com-cadets in the audience cheered as Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce ran under the arch of swords to the strip. He halted when he was one step away from the strip and held up both of his arms. All of the com-cadets yelled, "Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce for Command!"

If the com-cadets were energetic in their support of Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce, the pro-cadets were even more enthusiastic in their support of Paul. They gathered around Paul in several circles and held their foils up toward the center. Then they yelled, "Paul for the pro-cadets!" They continued yelling and screaming wildly as they scattered. Paul ran over to the strip.

Deia looked at Myke in excitement. "This is going to be great!" Then she lifted her arms and cheered for Paul with the pro-cadets.

Paul took off his sweats and handed them to Jacquae, and Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce removed his sweats and gave them to another com-cadet. Both fencers were then handed their foils and masks before they proceeded to their positions behind the on-guard lines on the strip.

Dr. Luciani turned on the tiny microphone that was pinned to his uniform and said in a loud voice, "The bout will now begin! On my right is a pro-cadet and competent fencer, the challenger, Novice Cadet Paul Sheldon!" All the pro-cadets cheered.

"And on my left is the current cadet champion, com-cadet, and future Director of Defense, Saint Cadet Gregory Vahro-Pierce!" The com-cadets chanted: "Pierce . . . Pierce . . . Pierce . . ."

Pierce danced around in his position, flashing his bewitching smile, his arms in the air and his gray-green eyes shining with exuberance.

Deia watched the proceedings in curiosity and awe. She leaned toward Myke. "Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce certainly does have charisma. It's no wonder everyone's so intimidated by him."

"And Paul looks so cool!"

"And he will until the bout is over," Deia said. "He's strong, quick, and precise, but still, his game is primarily psychological. If this nobleman is as good as everyone says he is, then it will be a good fight."

"Quiet!" Dr. Luciani yelled. When everyone became silent again, he continued: "I want no screaming or yelling or name calling. You may clap for a well-executed move." Then he said with a smirk, "Anyone who violates these rules will be personally thrown out by Jacquae!" Everyone laughed, and Jacquae, who was now standing with Myke, Deia, and Connor, bowed.

Dr. Luciani held out both of his hands and motioned for the two fencers to approach him. When they were standing in front of him, he quickly used a tiny cylindrical device to check for tampering in their electromatrix foils and sensor jackets. Satisfied that everything was in order, he nodded that they could return to the strip.

Paul and Pierce stepped behind the on-guard lines on the strip and took stiff positions facing each other, swords directed diagonally toward the deck.

Dr. Luciani said loudly, "Salute!"

The fencers extended their blades toward each other, then swept their hilts to their chins, repeating the motion several times as they turned their bodies to salute the audience and Dr. Luciani.

"Mask on!"

Paul and Pierce quickly slipped their masks into place.

Dr. Luciani extended his arms with palms down, "On!"

The fencers swept their blades toward each other.

"Guard!"

Legs shifted, knees bent, and free arm lifted into an arc. To Myke, it all seemed so formal and foreign--and fascinating.

Dr. Luciani looked from Paul to Pierce, then asked, turning his palms toward the fencers, "Are you ready?" He received one nod of the head from each in reply.

"Fence!"

Paul and Pierce moved aggressively and gracefully with every attack and parry as they tested each other's defenses for weakness. After several seconds of swordplay, Pierce sharply beat Paul's blade with his, then instantly lunged and thrust the tip of his foil into the target area below Paul's armpit, setting off a beeping sound.

Dr. Luciani's voice could be heard all through the commons: "Halt!" Paul and Pierce immediately stopped fencing.

As Dr. Luciani briefly reconstructed the last several movements and received the judges' votes on whether the hit was valid, almost everyone clapped enthusiastically. Deia clapped with everyone else, shaking her head in amazement. "That was a beautiful attack! Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce is a worthy opponent for Paul."

Myke nodded in agreement but didn't speak. Since he didn't know much about fencing, he didn't want to say anything that would make himself appear stupid.

Only a minute later, Dr. Luciani declared the hit valid. The scorer, who was standing across from Dr. Luciani on the opposite side of the strip with a handheld computer, then said loudly, "The score is now 1-0 in favor of Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce." Again, Dr. Luciani gave the command to fence.

After only moments of fencing, Paul parried an attack, delayed a second, then thrust his blade at Pierce and hit him in the target area.

"Halt!" Again, Dr. Luciani took the vote from the judge nearest Pierce, and the hit was determined valid. The scorer marked it and announced that the score was now 1-1.

The fencing resumed again, Pierce scoring the next hit, Paul the two after that. After almost nine minutes of actual fencing time had passed, with brief rests at three-minute intervals, the score was tied, 14-14.

The spectators watched in anticipation as Paul and Pierce vigorously fenced for the deciding touch of the bout. Deia clutched Myke's arm. "Oh come on, Paul, come on!"

Paul executed a feint attack, leading Pierce into making a circular parry. Then he gracefully lunged, the point of his blade moving in a circular motion to bend on Pierce's chest. Deia gasped and began clapping. "Excellent, Paul, excellent!"

Even as Dr. Luciani declared the hit valid and Paul the victor, the pro-cadets exploded with excitement. As most of the pro-cadets scurried to mob Paul, Dr. Luciani quickly and loudly said, "Hold on! They still have to salute and shake!"

Paul and Pierce took off their masks, their faces glistening and hair drenched with sweat, but both wearing expressions of elation. They enthusiastically saluted and shook hands, then handed off their weapons and masks.

"You were lucky this time, Sheldon!" Pierce said. "Next time you'll be shish kebab!"

"Which wouldn't surprise me a bit!" Paul exclaimed. Then to the astonishment of everyone, they patted each other's backs and gushed with compliments to each other.

Murmurs of confusion and surprise rumbled through the commons. Then the fencers' enthusiasm ignited excitement among all the cadets, and everyone in the commons cheered, com-cadets and pro-cadets alike, all thrilled they had witnessed such an outstanding bout.

"Well, how do you like that?" Jacquae said. "Pierce doesn't even mind that he got beat! They're going to be friends! That's disgusting."

"They both fought an excellent game, and they know it," Dr. Luciani said. "And I've never seen two fencers so evenly matched."

A com-cadet rushed up to Dr. Luciani and quickly removed the microphone from his uniform. The com-cadet pinned it on his own uniform and yelled, "With such outstanding warriors as Vahro-Pierce and Sheldon, Earth's enemies don't have a chance for salvation!" Everyone shouted in agreement.

Paul and Pierce took the com-cadet's lead and held up their arms, clasping hands. "Earth will conquer!" Pierce yelled. Everyone repeated the cry with deafening energy.

"Our enemies will die!" Paul cried in turn. Again, everyone repeated Paul's words.

"Long live the Divine Emperor!" Pierce yelled. Everyone repeated these words, then stomped their feet and cheered hysterically.

Myke thought the whole thing was frightening. He made some token gestures at clapping but didn't yell. Deia didn't yell either, and she appeared to be as disturbed as he was. What struck Myke the most, however, was that Paul had cheered energetically on the first two cheers, but had frowned and hesitated on the last one, finally deciding not to cheer at all.

The com-cadet threw up his fist and cried, "Onward Earthon Soldiers!" Then all the cadets began singing Earth's favorite battle hymn:

Onward, Earthon soldiers!

Marching on to war,

With the sword of God

Going on before.

Zarr, our royal master,

Leads against the foe;

Forward into battle,

See our banners go!

Onward, Earthon soldiers,

Marching on to war,

With the sword of God

Going on before.

Everyone cheered vigorously, then began dispersing. As Connor and Jacquae ran over to the strip to congratulate Paul, Deia's hand tightened on Myke's arm. "Why do they have to do that?" She shuddered. "It's just horrible, as if everyone really wants to go to war. I just want to go home."

Myke unconsciously put his arms around Deia and held her tightly. "So do I," he whispered.

Several moments of anxious silence passed. "Are you all right?" Deia asked.

Myke wished he could tell her about the terrible fear, about the foreboding nightmares, and about the burning pain in his shoulder. "I'm fine, really," he answered instead.

Deia laid her head against Myke's neck and held him lovingly. "I'm always here for you," she whispered with emotion.

Her caresses gradually sent Myke's fear back to its lurking place in his subconscious, but he found himself clinging to her more tightly than ever. He suddenly became aware of her warmth and the soft feel of her, and an electrifying excitement, an anticipation, surged through him. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the embrace, not remembering another moment of such exhilaration.

Chapter 11: A CLASSY LADY

Deia completed playing Chopin's "Heroic" Polonaise, and Myke, who was sitting on the piano bench with her, clapped and whistled and cried, "Bravo!" Three other enthusiastic voices immediately joined his. He and Deia looked up and saw Paul, Jacquae, and Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce approaching the piano.

Paul and Jacquae, like Myke and Deia, were in their dress uniforms. Pierce smelled of expensive cologne, his wavy blond hair meticulously styled as usual.

"It sure took you long enough!" Myke said to Paul and Jacquae as he took Deia's hand and helped her off the bench.

"It certainly did. I'm starving!"

Paul didn't appear concerned. He turned to Pierce. "Greg, you already know Myke." Greg nodded once and looked at Myke with a peculiar expression, and Myke was immediately uneasy. What had been an insignificant practice fight to Myke--not worth participating in, much less remembering--had unsettled Pierce as much as Jacquae claimed. Myke hoped the only thing troubling him was hurt pride.

Paul held his hand out toward Deia. "This is my sister Deia. And Deia, this is Greg Pierce."

Delight immediately replaced the wariness in Pierce's eyes. He took Deia's hand in his and kissed it. "You're even more beautiful than I expected from what Paul told me, and I can't believe I haven't seen you before now."

Deia laughed a little and gave a brief curtsy. "That's hardly surprising since Paul and I are pro-cadets! But thank you for your kind words anyway."

Pierce squeezed her hand and drew her closer, his face becoming solemn. "I'm going to get you and Paul out of this bourgeois sewer and into the officers' training program where you belong."

Deia's smile faded, and her countenance seemed to tense. "Thank you for your concern, Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce, but until you really are Director of Defense, I don't think that even you will have the power to counteract our uncle's wishes."

Pierce patted Deia's hand, his eyes glowing with amusement. "It's 'Greg,' Deia. And your uncle doesn't have to know anything about it. My father will transfer you like that." He snapped his fingers.

Paul's eyes widened in hope; Deia's widened in dread. She shook her head quickly. "I don't want to march."

Pierce laughed. "You'll get used to it. Besides. It'll be temporary. My mother's coming in for the holidays, and after she hears you play, she'll petition my uncle for your discharge."

Pierce's reference to the Divine Emperor brought blood into Deia's cheeks. "Thank you . . . Greg," she said softly, bowing her head slightly.

Pierce squeezed Deia's hand and released it. "It's the least I can do for my beautiful prodigy. You'll save a dance for me tomorrow night, won't you?"

"I didn't know com-cadets were invited," Deia replied in a low voice.

"If you agree now to dance with me, I'm invited."

Deia raised her eyebrows. "If I invite you to the pro-cadets' dance, I could be put on report for fraternization." Myke couldn't tell whether Deia was teasing Pierce or reprimanding him.

Pierce chuckled. "I'll take that as a 'yes.' Until tomorrow then." Pierce snapped his hand to his forehead in a salute to Paul. Paul saluted back and they both laughed.

After Pierce walked away, Deia blurted, "He sure has a lot of gall! Flirting like that when I'm with someone formally! I almost wish he would get put on report for fraternization!"

Paul smiled. "Well, you know that won't happen, so you might as well relax and flirt back."

"You should be flattered!" Jacquae said. "You're the only pro-cadet I've ever seen him flirt with, and this is the first time he's made an appearance in our lounge."

"Despite all the unkind words Jacquae has for Greg, she really doesn't think he's all that terrible," Paul said to Deia and Myke. "And to tell you the truth, he isn't. But now on to more serious business--dinner!"

The four strolled down the passageway, laughing and discussing the bout. They headed to a transport pod and took it to deck A2, the section of the Sovereign where fleet personnel went for formal entertainment, the only area of the ship where civilian guests were allowed.

A few minutes later, the four arrived at the Star Room, which was located at the front of the vessel, directly under the bridge and above the three shuttle bays. Its huge window-wall was the single best view of the universe available on the ship, unless one received the rare opportunity to visit the bridge. The view and a quality Earthon cuisine gave the restaurant its popularity. Paul, Jacquae, Myke, and Deia stepped into a foyer with gilded bulkheads and approached the reservation counter, the chandelier crystals tinkling above their heads. "I have a reservation for four under the name Sheldon," Paul told the headwaiter.

The headwaiter, a shipman first class in the warrior ranks' deep gray dress uniform, quickly typed the name "Sheldon" on his computer keyboard. "Follow me," he said as he stepped away from the counter.

Once they were seated, a cocktail waitress, shipman second class, approached the table. "Would you like something to drink?"

"A bottle of your best champagne!" Paul said. He turned and looked at Deia and Myke in question. Both shook their heads. Paul looked up again at the waitress. "We'll have only two glasses with the bottle."

"What's the matter with you two!" Jacquae said to Myke and Deia after the waitress walked away from their table. "Even Ton doesn't have the quality of champagne you'll get here! Why do you think he demanded a bottle for officiating the bout?"

Myke wanted to laugh. The Earthons had an obsession with chemicals that scorned common sense. He couldn't believe Jacquae could be so concerned about something so trivial. "Sorry to disappoint you, Jacquae, but I don't drink. I couldn't care less about the quality of the Star Room's champagne!"

Deia said to Myke, looking at Paul sidelong with an amused expression, "It was always a big joke when we went out to eat with Lena. Paul always wanted wine, and she always said 'no.'"

"Now don't you try and make me feel guilty, because it won't work!"

Deia smiled sweetly at Paul. "Who said anything about guilt?"

Myke decided this was a good time to ask the question that had been in his mind since he had learned Dr. Luciani would be officiating the bout. "It seems a little strange to me, Jacquae, that your brother would be a fencing referee. How did that come about?"

"I'm not sure exactly, but however it started, he's superb at it. He sees everything and has a photographic memory. He's the only unofficial referee that both the pro-cadets and the com-cadets will accept."

"Does he ever actually fence?" Paul asked.

"Yeah, he gets down to the gym a couple times a week."

Deia shook her head. "I can't see it."

Jacquae shrugged. "Everyone in Star Force fences. We're required to stay in shape, and fencing's the most enjoyable way to do it."

"I don't fence," Deia said.

"You will."

The waitress arrived with two tall tulip glasses and a bottle of champagne in ice. She removed the bottle from the ice, gently removed the cork, and poured some of the beverage into a glass for Paul to sample. Paul sipped from his glass, then nodded. The waitress poured more of the champagne into Paul's glass and filled Jacquae's. A little later a different waitress came with menus.

"Mmmm . . . everything looks so good!" Jacquae exclaimed as she studied her menu. "I don't know if I'll be able to decide!"

"Do you like shrimp?" Paul asked. "The shrimp platter looks good."

Jacquae handed her menu to Paul. "Let's go for that, then."

"What would you like, Deia?" Paul asked.

Deia closed her menu. "Do you know what I would really like? A big plate of spaghetti!"

Myke and Jacquae laughed, and Paul rolled his eyes. "Only you would come to the Star Room and order spaghetti, Deia! But it isn't on the menu!"

"I've desperately wanted some good spaghetti since I arrived here. That synthesized food tastes like plastic!"

"Antonio's pasta has spoiled you!" Then Paul said to Myke and Jacquae, "Deia's a pasta lover. I don't know how she's ever managed to keep her figure."

Deia looked at Myke, who was sitting quite close to her. "What are you going to have?"

"The prime rib."

Deia smiled radiantly at Myke. "I'll have a steak too, then. Filet mignon." She handed her menu to Myke, who set it with his at the front of the table. Then their hands found each other's under the table.

After the food arrived, the four ate slowly as they continued talking and laughing. When they were done, Deia managed to talk the waitress into finding her some fresh strawberry ice cream for dessert. After a considerable wait, the waitress finally brought Deia a half-liter of Earth's finest strawberry ice cream, which she and Myke devoured straight from the container.

Paul poured more champagne for himself and Jacquae. "Tell us about Baltimore," he suggested, returning Jacquae's glass to her. "I've never been there myself."

"Don't you know?" Jacquae said merrily. "It's the sin-city of North America! That's the only reason Ton claims he's from there."

Myke chuckled. "And I thought it was Tryamazz!"

"No, Tryamazz may be full of hypocrites, but Baltimore's the home of the honest sinners. The pious community has all but moved out, as you can well imagine!" Jacquae twisted her face into a mock frown and shook her head. "It's so very sad." She finished her glass of champagne in one gulp and refilled it.

Paul shot Jacquae a silly look, clinking glasses with her. "Hear, hear! To Jacquae, the queen of the sentimentalists!"

The corners of Jacquae's mouth quivered, as if she were about to burst out laughing. "You three would like my neighborhood. It's a real old, trashy place. Somehow it survived the Dark Years. We lived in a tiny apartment in the city. Mamma's two German shepherds stay on the balcony. I should've fed Ton to them when we were home. He's so ungrateful. He only visited Mamma once the whole time he was in Baltimore--rented a room downtown for a couple days, then off to Europe with that son of Abomination Adrian. He's never forgiven me for being stationed on the Sovereign with him, you know." She poured herself another glass of champagne and took a sip. "He detests me. I remind him of the old neighborhood, and he doesn't like that."

"Why did you decide to be an engineer?" Myke asked.

Jacquae sighed dramatically. "As much as Ton's always wanted to be a doctor, I've always wanted to be an engineer. I guess you have to have big dreams to pull yourself out of a dump like that; at least that's what Mamma used to say." She sipped again at her champagne, then held up her glass. "Hear, hear! To me! The queen of the sentimentalists!"

"Hear, hear!" Paul exclaimed.

"I think you two have had enough," Deia said. "You have class tomorrow, remember?"

"Deia, Deia, Deia . . . relax!" Paul said. He held up the bottle and swished the remaining champagne around in the bottom. "We still have a little more. Here, have some! Forget everything for a while and have some fun!"

Myke and Deia barely spoke as they walked back to the cadet section of the ship. Deia replayed Paul's actions at the restaurant over and over in her mind. The more she thought about all the ridiculous things he had said and and done, the more disturbed she became.

Myke suddenly asked, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Deia said gloomily.

"You aren't a very good liar."

"I guess not." Deia stopped abruptly and turned to face Myke. "Do you think we did the right thing, leaving Paul and Jacquae up there? I hope they don't decide to drink another bottle of champagne."

"I think they'll be okay. As long as they don't have another bottle, they'll make it back without any problems. And I don't think they will since they have class tomorrow."

"I suppose you're right. Myke, I'm worried about Paul. It isn't like him to drink so much. He's never been one to have more than a small glass of wine, maybe two, at a party. He must be awfully depressed. I just wish he would talk to me instead of drink."

"He's taking Lena's death a lot harder than he lets on, isn't he?"

Deia nodded sadly. "He's absolutely devastated that she died, but he won't talk about it. Last night we talked for a long time, but when I asked him how he's managing, he just said, 'We're talking about you, not me.'"

"I figured you were his confidante."

"Oh, I am. He's always talked to me more than he's talked to anyone, even Lena. But that isn't very often. Most people he doesn't trust enough, but I think with Lena and me it's always been that he feels he has to be the strong one and that admitting his frustrations somehow makes him weak." Deia sighed. "Who knows what kind of pain he's carrying around."

Myke smiled. "The more I get to know you and Paul, the more amazed I am at how different you are."

Deia allowed herself to smile back at Myke. "Isn't that the truth. Sometimes I wonder if we're from different planets."

Myke gently traced the outline of Deia's mouth with his finger. "It's nice to see you smile again." He put his arm around her shoulders, and they leaned against the bulkhead. He said thoughtfully, "Just be there when he needs you. That's really all you can do. The rest is up to him."

"I know. But still, it tears me up to see him in pain. I just wish he wouldn't be so stubborn!" Deia forced herself to smile. "I'm sorry to be so glum."

Myke took Deia's hand in his again. "C'mon, let's walk."

They walked for an hour or so, sometimes talking, sometimes simply strolling. They ended up at Deia's compartment about ten minutes before curfew.

Deia leaned against the bulkhead. "This has been such a wonderful evening. I hate for it to end."

"It has been a nice evening, hasn't it? You know, I really enjoy being with you, Deia. You're interesting and a lot of fun. And I'll have to admit, being seen with a girl like you is good for my reputation." He caressed her cheek with his finger. "None of the guys I know can, as hard as they try, figure out why a beautiful, classy lady like you would even speak to a guy like me."

Deia lifted her hand to touch Myke's. "Beautiful? Classy?" She laughed a little. "Those words I always reserved for Lena, and I guess if I'm at all that way it's only because I don't know anything different." She looked at Myke thoughtfully. "And you believe in yourself too much to be fooled by what the guys say or to let them bother you. And more than anyone else, even Paul, you understand the way I am about these things, I think."

Myke smiled and nodded once. He understood completely.

Deia gazed at him tenderly as he brushed her hair away from her forehead and cheeks and gently stroked it. He was so different from any young man she had ever known. He was kind and affectionate, yet assured and forceful in personality, an unusual combination of traits, but one she found fascinating. Moreover, he was fun to be with and very handsome, and they were so comfortable together. She wished she could spend every moment of every day with him.

He cradled her head in his hands, returning her gaze with equal tenderness and passion. After a moment, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. It was a simple kiss, but it was so full of feeling that it left Deia breathless.

"Thank you for such a wonderful evening," Deia whispered.

As Myke lowered his hands, he delicately ran his fingers over her jaw, savoring every touch. "Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast."

Deia turned and slipped her name tag into the door slot. "Good night!" she said as she slipped into her compartment.

As the door slid shut behind her, she saw that Jacquae was leaning against Tevaronia's upper berth, gushing with the details of her evening with Paul. Kristina, a willowy black girl, was lying on her lower bunk, reading from her handheld computer.

"So . . . how'd it go?" Tevaronia asked in excitement when Deia entered the compartment.

Kristina sat up and leaned forward so that she could see Deia. "Mmmm, lady! You look as though you've been dancing on some star in another universe!"

"I have been!" Deia walked over to her bunk, stepped out of her shoes, and started removing her jewelry.

"Whoa!" Tevaronia exclaimed. "It must be love! Tell us all about it!"

Jacquae giggled. "Did he kiss you? I'm just dying to know if he's a good kisser!"

Deia smiled. "Sort of. He kissed me on the cheek right before I came in." She removed the blue waist sash and quickly unfastened the silver buttons on her tunic.

"On the cheek?" Kristina said in amazement. "I've never had a guy do that before. They always go straight for the mouth, and half the time I would rather they didn't!"

"Oh, but Myke's kiss was worth a thousand times more than all the other kisses I've had on the lips. I've never had a kiss with so much emotion, never."

"Oooh, how romantic!" Tevaronia said.

Jacquae grinned impishly. "He likes you an awfully lot, doesn't he!"

Deia gracefully slipped into fatigues. "Ohhh . . . I think he might."

"Oh, Tev and Krissy," Jacquae said, "she's just being modest! You should've seen the way he looked at her all during dinner. I don't think I've ever in my life seen a guy so crazy about a girl!"

Deia lay down on her bed. "He's so affectionate, and when I'm with him, he makes me feel like a princess!"

"Wouldn't it be nice!" Kristina said. "I haven't seen any real affection since I left Earth."

"Deia, you are a lucky girl!" Tevaronia bubbled. "Myke sounds like he's sensitive--so rare in the military--and he's so adorable!--I'd definitely rank him among the best-looking of the new cadets--and such a personality! Those blue, blue eyes, and he always looks like he's up to something, boy, I just could've died when he came into the lounge last night in his gym clothes--I mean, he stuck out like a shuttle in a squadron of fighters!"

"Well, what do you expect?" Jacquae said, still giggling. "He grew up in Hawaii. You know those people don't have any sense of culture--"

"Don't let his appearance fool you," Kristina began on a more serious note. "He's brilliant. Probably the most brilliant engineer among the cadets."

Deia sat up in her bed, interested. "How would you know that?"

Kristina shrugged. "I thought he looked familiar, so I approached him last night about it. I found out we graduated in the same class at TIST. I didn't know him then, probably just remember him from seeing him in the halls or something. Anyway, he told me that he spent his senior year with Briggs Spacecraft Development on a co-op program, then became full-time as soon as he graduated. He worked on engine design for fighters."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Deia asked.

"Let me finish! Briggs develops spacecraft for the military and such, and it's very picky about who it hires--everyone in a technical field on Earth knows that. The company gives a few advanced school scholarships and job opportunities to some intermediate school students, but you nearly have to be a genius for them to be interested in you. And he worked there for two years, so they must have been impressed." Then she added with a grin, "But brains or no brains, he doesn't have bad looking legs!"

"Oooh . . . I like his legs," Deia cooed.

"I'll tell you whose legs I'd like to see," Tevaronia said in excitement. "Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce's. Boy, is that guy built!"

Jacquae shrugged. "They're not that great."

Deia's eyes widened. "How would you know?"

"I got stuck testing new cadets with him."

"You know," Tevaronia continued, lighting a taffuao, "fencers always have the very best legs, and it's a shame they have to wear those stupid knickers and we never get to see them in action!"

Jacquae kicked one of her legs high in the air. "Take a good look, ladies! The legs of a fencer!"

Chapter 12: THE DANCE

The commons was a rumble of voices and laughter under a supernova of brassy rock when Myke arrived at the cadet welcome dance at 2010 the next evening. He couldn't believe no one was dancing.

He scanned the smoke-tinged room and finally saw Dr. Luciani and Connor standing near the food table, also wearing their dress uniforms. Jacquae and Kristina were nearby, rearranging some of the food on the buffet table.

"Hey Myke! Where's Deia?" Connor said as Myke approached him. "I thought couples were supposed to come together!"

"You'll never give up, will you? She's coming with Paul."

Dr. Luciani looked at Myke knowingly. "Just because she's coming with Paul doesn't mean she'll leave with him. If you'd like, we'll even stay out of our compartment for a while so that you two can pick up where you left off last night. And we won't even charge you . . . this time." He and Connor chuckled lustfully.

"You're reading this thing between Deia and me all wrong. We're just friends. And besides, nothing happened last night."

"You were with one of the most beautiful girls in this sector of the galaxy, a girl, which I might add, is crazy about you, and nothing happened?" Connor shook his head. "I'm no fool."

"Come on, Zarek," Dr. Luciani said. "At least tell us if she's a good kisser. With Deia, I doubt you'd know any more than that yet."

"Nothing happened!"

Dr. Luciani looked at Myke skeptically. "If Deia didn't kiss you, it's only because you didn't give her a chance. You did try, didn't you?"

Myke shook his head. "I told you, we're just friends."

Connor groaned. "You didn't even try? Where in the galaxy is your drive?" He looked at Myke uneasily. "You do like girls . . . don't you?"

Myke laughed. "I love girls!"

A few moments later, Jacquae joined Dr. Luciani, Connor, and Myke, her makeup applied exotically, her hair up, and wearing earrings that looked like real pearls. She reached for the bottle of Star Room champagne that was sitting on the table in a bucket of ice and opened it with a corkscrew that was lying nearby. Dr. Luciani and Connor reached for the goblets that were sitting on the table with the champagne.

Jacquae poured champagne for herself, Connor, and Dr. Luciani, then they all, including Myke with a cup of punch, held their glasses up for a toast. "To the band!" Jacquae said. "May someone compliment them and dance!"

Suddenly the four heard a familiar voice from behind them exclaim, "What's wrong with this party? Why isn't anyone dancing?" They all turned to see Paul and Deia approaching them from an entrance behind the buffet table.

Dr. Luciani set his drink on the table and lit a taff. "These things are always slow to get started."

"Not where I'm from!" Paul said. He faced Deia, took her hand in his, and kissed it. "May I have the first dance with the Sovereign's loveliest lady?"

Deia smiled modestly. "How can I refuse?"

Paul held out his arm for Deia. "Let's show these people how to dance!" Deia looked back at her friends and smiled as Paul led her to the middle of the dance floor near the laptop that was rhythmically projecting laser beams of various colors.

The next song was just starting, and it was a slow, flowing jazz number. Paul and Deia were both wonderful dancers, especially Paul, and they were perfect partners for each other. They moved gracefully, Paul occasionally spinning Deia and sometimes dipping her. When the number was over, everyone in the commons clapped and cheered.

The next number was rock with a Latin feel, heavy on percussion. When the number began, Paul let out a yell of excitement, and Deia laughed and uninhibitedly shook her head. Then they started dancing again, clapping with the beat and moving energetically across the floor, coordinating their movements. This time they were joined by several other couples.

"They really can dance, can't they?" Connor said.

"Probably learned at all those high-class parties they go to," Jacquae said as she sipped her champagne.

Myke loved watching Deia. She was so elegant and expressive, and he was amazed at how every time he saw her, she was more beautiful than before.

Connor shook his head. "You know, guys like Paul have always made me sick. He has everything! Style, looks, athletic ability, brains, women, and for most of his life anyway, money. Why couldn't it have been me?"

As the dance ended, Jacquae elbowed Myke. "Why don't you ask Deia to dance?"

Myke shook his head. "Not right now."

"Well, if Myke isn't going to ask her to dance, I will," Connor said, holding his glass out to be refilled. "Dr. Luciani, pour me some more champagne." Dr. Luciani picked up the champagne bottle and poured a little more into the glass. Connor drank it in one gulp and hurried to the dance floor.

A minute later, Connor returned, appearing disappointed. "I tell you, I have all the luck. Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce beat me to her."

Dr. Luciani shrugged. "I could have told you he'd make a play for her."

"Just look at how he's trying to dance close and she's pushing him away!" Connor said. "She's going to have a broken arm by the time the dance's over!"

Myke watched Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce and Deia curiously, thinking they were an attractive couple. They were both poised and refined, and they danced well together. Moreover, Pierce appeared to be interested in her.

"I should've known Pierce would like Deia," Jacquae said resentfully. "She's just his type, quite a prize. He's such a haughty son of Abomination."

When the song was over, Pierce walked Deia to the buffet table. He approached Jacquae, wearing a bold smile. "Would the sword-shrew like to dance?" Everyone standing nearby burst into laughter.

Jacquae glared at Myke. "I'm going to get you for that."

Myke shot her a look that said, "I dare you!"

Pierce held out his arm for Jacquae. "Well, come on, babe!"

"Do I have to?"

"Yes," Pierce said firmly and without hesitation.

Jacquae smiled seductively at Pierce as she took his arm and walked with him to the dance floor. Tevaronia approached the buffet table, nodded a greeting to everyone, and poured herself a glass of champagne.

"I sure never thought I'd see those two dance together," Myke said.

"Haven't you heard?" Dr. Luciani said. "They're supposed to be having an affair. Secretly of course. Pierce would never publicly defile himself with a piece of Eslavu trash like my sister."

"Pierce and Jacquae?" Connor blurted. "Never in a million years!"

Tevaronia shrugged. "That's been the big news on the grapevine for months."

Deia shook her head. "Now I've heard everything." She looked at Dr. Luciani doubtfully. "Do you think it's true?"

Dr. Luciani lit another taffuao. "How should I know? Neither one of them tells me anything." He paused, taking a draw on his taff. "Personally, I don't think there's ever been anything more than a attraction on Jacquae's end and an amusement on Pierce's. Jacquae always goes for the aristocrats. Haven't you noticed how quickly she started working on Paul? What I don't understand is why the aristocrats always go for her--she has a body like a taff."

"I think you overlook some of your sister's admirable qualities," Connor said in amusement.

"Maybe so." Dr. Luciani set his empty glass on the table and handed his partially smoked taff to Tevaronia, who immediately put it to her lips for a draw. Dr. Luciani turned to Deia and smiled flirtatiously. "Well, kid," he said, "how about a dance with your mentor?"

Deia grinned. "Promise you'll be good?"

"Promise!"

After Deia danced with Dr. Luciani, she danced with Connor, then ended up dancing exclusively with Pierce. Paul was enjoying dancing with a different girl every dance. He was popular with all the girls--they were standing together in a group, waiting for their chances to dance with him--and on a few fast numbers he danced with two or three at a time. Dr. Luciani and Connor danced occasionally with girls who appeared interesting, Dr. Luciani dancing slow numbers only. Myke didn't dance at all and was content just to watch. Dr. Luciani and Connor tried to persuade Myke to rescue Deia from Pierce. He always said he would, but he never did.

Two hours passed, and the revelry became louder and more uninhibited as the cadets became more intoxicated. Since the following day was designated for Worship, all the cadets but a few upperclassmen and mentors who worked rotating shifts had it free. Curfew was always lifted on Friday, so everyone assumed the band would be playing well into the night.

Dr. Luciani was filling a plate at the buffet table, Connor was on the dance floor, and Myke was standing alone when Pierce walked Deia to the buffet table after a dance. As Pierce began filling a plate, Deia slipped away from him and approached Myke. As the next number began, Deia held her hand out to Myke and smiled. "Would you like to dance?"

Myke was abashed. "I--I don't know how to dance."

Deia couldn't contain her astonishment. "But I thought everyb--" She took his hand. "Come on. This is an easy one to learn on. All you have to do is feel the music and move!"

Myke followed Deia reluctantly onto the dance floor, where an energetic song with a heavy rock beat was just starting. Deia immediately started moving with the music, and she motioned for Myke to dance with her. Myke looked at her skeptically, then glanced at others to see what they were doing. Then he slowly began moving his feet and arms to the beat.

After several moments of dancing, Myke said loudly, "This is fun!"

Deia smiled. "Now see what you've been missing?"

Myke nodded and continued dancing. He enjoyed it so much that he started getting bolder in the moves he tried. He ended up dancing with such coordination and with such a unique style, that many of the other cadets gathered around him to watch.

Myke loved every second of it. Once he noticed the attention he was getting, he started playing comedian. He strutted, clapped, and winked at the girls as everyone laughed.

Myke decided that this moment in the spotlight provided an excellent opportunity to get a feel for the loyalties of his cadets peers and to learn whether his superiors on the Sovereign knew he was a spy. Seized by an irresistible urge to see just how many cadets he could offend, he pushed his long sleeves slowly, provocatively, up to his elbows, unbuttoned his tunic a bit at the neck, and removed his waist sash.

Dr. Luciani, Connor, and Jacquae were laughing so hard they were crying; Paul's mouth was open in astonishment; and Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce was watching the entire proceedings with skepticism and disgust. Myke was disappointed to see that only a few of the cadets shared Pierce's disgust. Were the cadets that irreverent? Or were they just too intoxicated to care that their sacred uniform was being desecrated?

Myke twirled the sash over his head and swaggered with the beat of the music to his friends. He brushed the sash over Kristina's face and winked. Kristina smiled back and fluttered her eyelashes.

Deia was laughing and still dancing as Myke moved to Jacquae. He shot her an alluring look, then slipped the sash around her neck. Jacquae smirked, then grabbed him by the head and gave him a passionate kiss.

Myke's eyes widened, and he waved his arms helplessly in the air as Jacquae kissed him. Everyone watching laughed even harder. Once Myke managed to pry himself away from Jacquae, he smiled at her knowingly. "That'll be a hundred dollars!"

"A hundred dollars?"

"You didn't think you'd get it for free, did you?" Myke danced back over to Deia, took her hand, and spun her around a few times, and they laughed and danced together for the last few seconds of the song. When the song was over, everyone in the commons clapped, whistled, and cheered as Myke bowed.

Myke put his arm around Deia and pushed her quickly toward an exit. "I need some air!"

Once they were in the passageway, Deia looked at Myke and giggled. "And you said you didn't know how to dance!"

"That's the first time I've ever done that, honest!" Myke said, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

"Oddly enough, I believe you! I guess you just have natural rhythm."

"Did I embarrass you?"

Deia shook her head. "I think I had just as much fun as you did!"

When Myke and Deia walked back into the commons, a dance had just ended and a new one with a slow, romantic beat was beginning.

"Would you like to dance this one too?" Myke asked.

Deia took his arm. "I would love to."

Myke led Deia deep onto the dance floor, turned, and awkwardly placed his right hand on her waist and took her right hand with his left. Not knowing what else to do, he moved in rhythmic steps to the beat in a small circle. Deia politely refrained from commenting on Myke's lack of experience on the dance floor, and she let him lead.

During the first minute or so of the song, they talked lightly as they danced, and Myke relaxed. They moved closer together and their conversation dwindled; they were content simply to gaze at each other, oblivious to all the other activity around them.

As they continued moving with the music, their awareness of each other intensified. They simultaneously dropped hands, Deia's arms encircling Myke's neck and Myke's arms tightening around her waist as they pressed even closer to each other and snuggled their heads together.

Myke and Deia swayed romantically with the music, their movements natural and effortless. The trumpeter played with such skill and emotion that Myke felt as if he had been transported to a foreign existence where his dreams were meeting reality in a moment of pure ecstasy. The scent of Deia's perfume was invigorating, and he felt feverish and giddy. He could feel her breathing, and he could even feel her heart beating, or at least he imagined he could. He felt his lips caressing her neck, then heard her sigh. She gently stroked his hair and pressed even closer.

Myke released Deia slightly, reached up and touched her hair with his hand, and gazed at her lovingly. Her eyes were half open as she gazed back at him, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were trembling. At that moment he would have kissed her, but the music stopped and the spell was broken.

Myke suddenly felt sick. He abruptly released Deia and quickly walked her back to the edge of the dance floor, not saying a word. Deia was immediately asked to dance by someone she didn't know, so she didn't see Myke bypass their friends and leave the commons.

Once Myke left the dance, he walked briskly down the passageway toward his compartment, then began to run. His body ached and he felt as though he were on fire. He couldn't spend another moment with her in the same room.

In only a minute, he was standing in front of his compartment door and inserting his name tag into the slot. After the door slid open, he rushed to the lavatory, turned on one of the sink faucets, and splashed the icy water on his face. He leaned on the sink, panting and his face dripping, and stared at himself on the mirror.

You've been a complete fool, he silently told his reflection. Stupid! Idiot! Your mission is in enough danger as it is!

Myke now realized that his friendship with Deia, with all of its spiritual intimacy, was just as much an intense emotional and physical fascination, and he felt incredibly naïve for not realizing it sooner. Even more maddening was that his feelings for Deia had caused him to lose such control of himself. He should never have seen her formally, and he never, ever, should have danced with her. He should have put a stop to the whole thing long before that explosion on the dance floor. He sighed in despair. He had never wanted to put a stop to it. He loved her--it was as simple as that.

He leaned back and dropped to the deck, laughing bitterly to himself. What a time to be in love! And who was this girl, anyway? She seemed so sincere, but then they always did. He had been warned about this.

And what if she were sincere? Her involvement with him would put her in danger just as surely as his father had been killed by the Executioners, and the very thought of someone hurting her in any way because of him made him feel terrible. Everyone in the commons had seen them dance, and every person they knew was aware of the relationship. How could he have been so stupid?

He was going to have to hurt her, and that was going to be painful for both of them. She was what she appeared to be, he felt it in his heart, but he needed more time to observe her and the others. He had to be sure. He just wished he had never let it go this far. Perhaps there was still a chance to undo what had already been done.

He slowly stood and walked into the compartment's main room. He changed out of his uniform and hung it in his locker, then dressed for bed. He lay down on his bunk and closed his eyes.

A little later, Myke heard the door buzz. His eyes flew open and his heart nearly sprang out of his chest. It was her. She probably felt as miserable as he did. He gritted his teeth and lay totally still. If he didn't answer, she would probably go back to the dance. Maybe she and Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce would get together after all. The thought of it revolted him.

Myke relaxed after a few minutes had passed and he was sure she had left. He lay there, depressed, for hours, unable to sleep. Very late, probably about 0200 or 0300, Paul, Jacquae, and Connor stumbled into the compartment, laughing and acting silly. All three of them were slightly drunk, Paul a little more than Connor and Jacquae.

"Hey Myke!" Paul roared. "You missed one great party!" He sat down on one of the chairs and pulled Jacquae to his lap. They kissed several times, very sensually.

"Oh, Myke," Connor began, "your beloved Deia was looking for you. Think she left early too. So sad . . ."

Myke turned and stared at the bulkhead. He hoped none of them would make any smart remarks, at least not yet. Fortunately they didn't. They continued joking and laughing for another hour or so before Jacquae left and Paul and Connor collapsed into their beds.

Chapter 13: REJECTION

Daniel Stewart removed a cup of coffee from his suite's synthesizing machine and lazily sat down on his couch with his handheld computer. He had been on the Sovereign of the Stars for a week, sent there on special assignment by Sanel King himself. Stewart smiled in satisfaction. His record as an agent with the Department of Internal Investigation was impressive, and obviously the Defense Office was aware of his unique talents. If anyone could complete this assignment, he could, and completion of the assignment would make him a rich man.

As Stewart read the news, he felt telepathic communication enter his mind. I'm ready to report.

Stewart sipped from his cup of coffee as he transmitted his thoughts to one of the cadets he had hired to help him. Your progress appears to have been better than that of your competitors.

The thoughts were triumphant, Yes, he does prefer me, overwhelmingly so.

Good . . . very good. Strip him of his virginity, and the $2000 is yours.

He's a sweet, naïve child, but he has moral reservations and he isn't stupid. It may take some time.

You have six weeks. All I require is that you sleep with him once. After that, you can do what you want with him.

Deia didn't sleep for more than a few hours that night, and when she awoke, she was still tense and agitated, and her sheets were damp with sweat. She slid out of bed and quickly changed her sheets, being careful not to wake her roommates. After a long shower, she slowly dressed and stood in front of the tiny lavatory mirror, wiping away the steam with the back of her arm.

She ran her fingers through her hair and examined her features. What was it about her he didn't like? Did he prefer lighter hair or darker skin? Green eyes? Brown eyes? Was she too thin? Not thin enough? What? Or had he been offended when she asked him to dance? Maybe he didn't like girls to be aggressive.

No. He had told her she was lovely, beautiful, classy, and even fun. His hand trembled when he touched her. His cheeks became redder, and when she held him, he seemed so hungry for affection--desperate even. She had been so certain he had kissed her neck when they danced. Had she been imagining things? No. Surely not. He had gazed at her as if he had never seen another girl in his life, and had the song not ended, they would have kissed for real.

Deia pressed a towel against her face, removing the beads of moisture. She combed her hair, dried it, and applied her makeup, while every minute she had spent with Myke replayed itself in her mind over and over. She tested every theory she could think of against the things he had said and done, but she kept coming back to the belief that a relationship of passion and significance was beginning to develop between them. Certainly he felt it too. So why in the galaxy had he run out on her like that?

Deia went to breakfast, hoping Myke would be there alone so that she could talk to him. He wasn't there, and neither were any of his roommates. After thirty minutes, she gave up and went to the lounge to play the piano. He didn't show up for another hour, and when he did, he floated around the room talking to people. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, willing him to come to her. After a while he left without glancing in her direction.

Astonished and mortified, Deia struggled to continue playing as if nothing were wrong, but she couldn't keep her hands from shaking. Her vision blurred and the keys wavered, turning into black and white swirls under her fingers. She gritted her teeth and blinked away her tears and played the day away. When she finally arose to go to dinner, her legs tingled and her arms were like jelly and the tears still felt as if they were stuck in her eyes.

Deia sat down next to Connor, across from Myke, her heart pounding fiercely. "Hello, Myke. What have you been doing today?"

Myke shrugged. "This and that."

"Do you have to work this evening, Deia?" Connor asked.

"No. Dr. Luciani's off. What a relief!"

Deia continued chatting with Connor, trying to draw Myke into the conversation. Myke said little and avoided looking at her. Eventually he left. Paul showed up a few minutes later and sat down across from Deia with Jacquae. "What's the matter?" he asked.

Deia crumpled her napkin, then smoothed it out between her fingers. "Nothing."

"Oh come on, Deia. You look as though you're getting ready to scream at me."

Deia began tearing her napkin into strips. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Are you upset Myke ran out on you last night?" Jacquae asked in concern.

"I just don't understand it," Deia erupted. "I thought Myke and I had something going. Then last night he disappeared, and today he's been trying his best to avoid me. Do you think I've been misreading him?"

Paul shrugged. "I suppose it's possible, but I think it's unlikely. You two have been extremely friendly this whole week, and you seemed awfully intimate when you danced."

Jacquae nodded. "If you misread him, then the rest of us did too."

"But he's been colder than a winter day. What do you suppose is wrong?"

Paul shrugged. "Who knows with him?"

"Well, I think he's crazy!" Connor interrupted. "To think he's giving up a chance for a beautiful girl like you. If there wasn't so much competition, I'd go for you myself!"

Deia couldn't help but smile. "Thanks, Connor."

"Why don't you go talk to him about it," Paul gently suggested.

Deia stared at her plate for several silent moments. Then she threw her napkin strips down and strode to the door.

Myke lay in a corner of the lounge on the deck since there were no empty couches, his eyes closed and his fingers interlaced behind his head. Feeling movement, he opened his eyes and saw Deia sitting next to him.

"May I talk to you?" Her eyes were strangely glassy and her cheeks were flushed.

"Sure." Myke sat up and faced her, his muscles tensing.

Deia took a deep breath. "I really don't know where to begin." She averted her gaze and stared at the deck for a moment, then looked up, directly into Myke's eyes.

She was so beautiful, and Myke both longed to hear what she had to say and dreaded it. "Deia . . . don't."

Panic filled her eyes. "Please don't shut me out, Myke. Please let me--"

Myke pressed his fingers against her lips, shaking his head adamantly. "What happened between us last night should never have happened. This last week should never have happened."

She removed his hand from her mouth and held it. "How can you say that?"

Myke tried to pull his hand away from hers but she gripped him so tightly her fingernails dug into his skin. "I never . . . meant . . . to lead you on." He breathed deeply and continued in a rush, "What I've done to you makes me sick, and I'm more sorry than I can say, but I don't want to get involved."

A tear spilled from Deia's eye, which was more than Myke could bear. He shifted his gaze away from hers and focused on other items in the lounge.

"Is there someone else?"

Myke pursed his lips and looked at her again. Telling her he had a girlfriend back on Earth would be an easy way to get out of this mess, but he couldn't lie to her that way. He shook his head slowly. "There isn't anyone else."

"Then I don't understand."

Myke ached with desire to draw her into his arms. Instead he said, "Deia, you have to trust me. It's better for both of us if we don't get involved. But I'd like us to still be friends."

Deia's lips moved, but her voice was barely audible. "We were never meant to be just friends."

Myke gazed at Deia longingly. He pulled his hand away from hers abruptly and mumbled, "I've got to go." He sprang to his feet and hurried out of the lounge.

Myke burst into the compartment and opened his locker without saying a word to anyone. He grabbed his athletic bag and hurried out the door.

"That was strange," Jacquae said after Myke left.

Dr. Luciani shrugged. "He must've dumped her. Otherwise they'd be in a corner somewhere really getting to know each other. I guess he's not as crazy about her as we all thought."

Connor shook his head. "I don't know. I still think he likes her. I wonder what his problem is."

"My feelings exactly," Paul said thoughtfully. "You know, if it were anyone but Myke, I'd say Greg Pierce scared him off."

Dr. Luciani and Connor looked at Paul curiously.

Paul shrugged. "You know how Greg is. He's interested in Deia, and most guys would be scared off simply by that kind of competition. Any others would be scared off by the threat of his physical strength, but not Myke. He doesn't scare."

Dr. Luciani and Connor still appeared puzzled, so Paul continued, "The first day we were here, Myke had to fight Greg in combat training. You remember that, Jacquae."

Jacquae nodded.

"Well, Myke isn't a little guy, and he's in excellent shape, but Greg is bigger, and he has the training. Any guy in his right mind would have been petrified, but not Myke. There was absolutely no fear--only extraordinary self-assurance. Didn't it seem that way to you, Jacquae?"

"It sure did, and it did to everyone else too. Myke gave Pierce a good fight as far as new cadets go, and Pierce definitely gave the all-around better showing, but it seemed to me and everyone else that Myke had just played with him."

Paul nodded. "Exactly. And when the fight was over, Myke wasn't even sweating. I felt at that moment that he could have killed Greg if he had wanted to, literally, or at least could have given him a fight to remember. Greg felt it too, I could tell, and it didn't make him too happy."

"Furious is more the word," Jacquae said. "If there's one thing Pierce can't tolerate, it's to be humiliated. I think he would've accepted the whole thing better if Myke had at least given it his best."

Dr. Luciani laughed sadistically. "Sounds like our man of surprises found the perfect cure for Pierce's inflated ego."

Jacquae's lips curved into a mischievous smile. "I'm rooting for a rematch. To see an engineer shame the cadets' most supreme combatant--especially when it's Pierce--that would be the ultimate!" Everyone laughed in agreement.

Paul jumped down from his berth and headed for the door. "Where're you going?" Connor asked.

"Lounge," Paul replied with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

Paul found Deia in the lounge at the piano, poignantly playing the Adagio of Beethoven's "Moonlight" Sonata. When she was done, she laid her hands gently on her thighs and looked sadly up at Paul.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" Paul asked.

Deia nodded quickly and stood up.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Paul asked once they had left the lounge.

Deia bowed her head. "He doesn't want to get involved."

"Did he say why?"

"No. He just said it would be better for both of us this way." She sighed. "I just want him to hold me."

They stopped, and Paul looked down at Deia in concern. "I've never seen you like this before. Why is Myke so different from all the others?"

"I wish I knew. I was thinking earlier that maybe with everything that's happened to me in the last week I just needed someone. He's been sweet about everything and he really understands, and he's tried so hard to cheer me up."

"He's done a good job of it too. Until last night."

"Yes, he has. But as I was thinking about it, I realized that even if I had met him in Tryamazz at some other time, I would feel the same way about him as I do now. We understand each other so well, most of the time, and we talk so comfortably together. And he's interesting and a lot of fun, and I really care about him. I wish I could spend all of my time with him."

"It sounds as though you're in love with him."

"Don't be ridiculous! We just met!"

"All right, then you're in lust."

"Paul!"

"Which is it, Deia, love or lust?"

"Do you really think I'm in love with him?"

"Yes, I do."

They walked in silence for many minutes. When Deia finally spoke again, she said, "I wish Lena were here. It isn't fair that she died. I still need her."

"Even if she hadn't died, you would still be here, or you'd be traveling around the galaxy with Phillip Moreau, so she still wouldn't be in much of a position to help you."

"I guess you're right, as usual." Deia paused thoughtfully. "You know, Paul, it's so difficult for me to believe that Lena didn't love Sanel."

Paul grunted. "That's not hard for me to believe."

"I know, I know. You hate him, so how could anyone love him?"

"Deia, she shook her head when you asked her! And she said that she 'might as well be Eslavu'!"

"I know, but still, it makes no sense that she never felt anything for him."

"You can’t actually believe she lied!"

"No, of course not. It's just that Lena always used to talk about love and marriage as if she were acquainted with both."

"I think know what you mean. And do you want to know what else I think? I think that even though Myke says he doesn't want to get involved, he really does, and that he's as much in love with you as you are with him."

Deia started to speak, but Paul stopped her with a look. "I've been watching him. Now don't you glare at me like that! When a guy starts paying attention to you, I pay attention to him! Anyway, that first night I met him, I knew he was smitten, and as time went on, it became even more obvious, just in the way he looks at you and talks about you."

"I know his feelings for me are as strong as mine are for him--I could tell when I talked to him. That's what's so confusing."

"I just thought of something. Your relationship with Myke has the potential of becoming serious. What do you suppose would happen if it did?"

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Say you do become seriously involved. Where does it lead? Are you going to be his lover, sneaking around and stealing moments of privacy where you can find them, not knowing when or how it will end? Now Deia, that just isn't your style, and I'm certain it isn't his either. I don't know Myke that well, but he seems like the type who would want to get married, and we all know very well that cadets aren't allowed to get married. It's my guess that this is the reason he doesn't want to get involved."

"Do you really think so?"

"It's either that or he's terminally ill!"

"Well, we know it isn't that, or he wouldn't be here at all!" Deia shook her head. "It just makes me so angry that any of us even have to be here. Myke doesn't want to be here any more than we do, and if we could be on Earth right now, we wouldn't have all these problems."

"Isn't that the truth."

"Have you ever thought about falling in love?"

"We're talking about you, not me, remember?"

"No, really, Paul. Have you ever wondered what it would be like or thought about the type of girl you would like to love?"

Paul shrugged. "I suppose I've thought about it at times, but not much. I doubt any girl would ever fall in love with me."

"That's an awful thing to say about yourself, and very untrue!"

"No it isn't. Girls don't really like me. They're just in love with my image. Frankly, I don't know if there is much more there."

"But Paul, there is!"

"You're just saying that because you're my sister."

"It's because I'm your sister that I can say that. I have seen you at your very best and your very worst, and yet I love you. I couldn't care less about your silly 'image.' You just can't be so afraid of showing people who you really are."

Paul stopped walking and looked gravely down at Deia. "But not everyone cares as much about my feelings or who I am as you do. The universe is full of vultures, Deia."

"Maybe. But you'll always have me, whether you like it or not. And I'll always need you." Deia put her arms around him, squeezed him tightly, and whispered, "You are the best brother and friend I could ever have."

Chapter 14: STUDIES

"Deia, the Mazzjazz needs a pianist, and Trev specifically requested you. You just have to join the band!" Connor pleaded.

"Mazzjazz . . ." Paul said thoughtfully. "Do you suppose they're any relation to the Tryamazz Jazz?"

"Probably," Deia said, "but it doesn't matter. I don't have time to be in a band right now. But Connor, if the band can find someone who plays, that person is welcome to use my keyboard."

Myke sat across from Connor at dinner that evening, next to Kristina and across from Deia, barely listening to the conversation. Everyone but Dr. Luciani was there: Paul and Deia, Connor, Jacquae, Kristina, and Tevaronia. Even Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce was there, sitting with Paul. As they conversed, Myke reached out with his spirit and gently touched their spirits with his, testing their powers of resistance.

Pierce leaned forward and looked down the table at Deia. "I don't know what could be so important that none of us ever get to see you."

"I just spent all afternoon in sickbay!"

"And she's a dedicated student," Tevaronia said. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone who studies so much."

Connor frowned slightly as Myke's spirit touched his. Good . . . very strong. Resister, but much too afraid to ever let anyone know. Kristina: resister. Tevaronia: flightiness an act . . . resister.

"Don't laugh at me! My classes are extremely difficult, and I'm having a horrible time trying to understand everything."

"Why don't you take a break tonight?" Connor suggested. "Play for us in the lounge."

"Connor's right, Deia," Paul said. "You have to take a break sometime. I've really missed hearing you play."

Paul: resister, extremely strong mind power. Jacquae: same as Paul. Pierce: resister. Of course; he'll be one of Earth's greatest leaders in a few years. Deia: resister. Myke felt troubled about Deia, however. Her mind power was strong, but she had resisted with such desperation that he concluded she wasn't aware of her mind's potential.

"But I have an anatomy exam tomorrow. I'm meeting Dr. Luciani in his compartment as soon as he gets out of a meeting, and he's going to help me study."

"Ton's helping you study again?" Jacquae said.

Tevaronia smiled knowingly. "Well, we all know what he wants from you."

Deia frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, come on, Deia!" Kristina blurted. "Even you aren't that naïve! Ton never studies with anyone, especially novices. Even when they're his own!"

Deia's face tensed and her eyes flashed. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe he's just helping a friend?"

Tevaronia shook her head emphatically. "No. Not Ton. Never."

"Ton doesn't know how to be a friend," Kristina said. "He doesn't care about anyone but himself, and he might as well be a machine for all the compassion or consideration he ever shows to anyone. Ask anyone on this ship who's known him for a while."

"Face it, Deia," Jacquae said. "He's a user, and the sooner you come to terms with that fact, the better off you'll be."

Jacquae, Tevaronia, and Kristina's comments about Dr. Luciani disturbed Myke, but before he could speak, Deia exploded, "He isn't a machine! Or an Eslavu! And I wish you all would quit saying he is! It's awfully nice of him to take more time with me than what's required, and he does it only because we're friends. He's a wonderful person, but none of you would even know because you never give him a chance!"

Deia stood up abruptly, grabbed her plate, and stormed over to the trash recycling bins to dispose of her plastic utensils and paper napkins, then left the commons.

Tevaronia shook her head sadly. "Boy, she is really naïve." Everyone agreed but Myke.

"I'll have to agree with Deia," he said. "You were a little hard on Dr. Luciani, I think."

Paul looked at Myke in surprise. "How could you, of all people, say that?"

Myke shrugged. "What kind of person would I be if I couldn't take a little teasing? Besides, Dr. Luciani may be opinionated and outspoken, but he's really not such a bad guy."

Tevaronia shook her head at Myke in incredulous amazement. "You have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. You may be even more naïve than Deia."

Myke shrugged. "Perhaps."

Myke entered his compartment later that evening after spending an hour and a half at the gym, then another hour playing games in the commons with Connor. Deia was sitting at the table with Dr. Luciani, laughing and talking with him. They both appeared exhausted. Myke recalled that Dr. Luciani, and therefore Deia, had been on duty in sickbay the night before. Deia turned off her handheld computer and turned toward the door as Myke walked into the compartment.

"Sorry if I'm disturbing you," Myke said.

"Oh, no!" Deia said. "I've had enough of Dr. Luciani's quizzing. I think he's been harder on me than my instructor ever would be."

Dr. Luciani pulled himself up from his slouched position in his chair and took a bite from his sandwich. "Well, kid," he said to Deia, "you'll do just fine, as long as you take a break. Myke, why don't you take her to the lounge and force her to sit at that piano for a while."

Myke walked over to the table. "I wish I could, but I have some reading to do. Deia's beautiful piano playing is much too distracting."

Deia looked anxiously at Dr. Luciani. "Do you really think I'll do all right?"

Dr. Luciani's expression was one of seriousness, touched with concern. "You know the material. You'll do fine as long as you concentrate."

Panic immediately replaced the anxiousness on Deia's face. "But that's the problem!" she said shrilly. "What am I going to do, Dr. Luciani? What am I going to do?"

"Relax . . ." Dr. Luciani soothed.

Deia put her palms over her temples and shook her head. "I can't, I can't!" Then after a moment, she inhaled and exhaled very slowly. Eventually she stood up and stretched. "Ohhh, my brain is jelly, so I don't suppose it would do any good to study anymore, anyway. You come to the lounge in a little while, Myke, all right?" Myke nodded that he would. Deia picked up her handheld and left the compartment.

"She isn't doing well in her classes, is she," Myke said when Deia was gone.

Dr. Luciani shook his head slowly. "The schedule's too much for her. And it's a shame. She really is a bright girl."

All of Myke's muscles started for the door to overtake Deia and be with her in her suffering, but they were quickly restrained, sending his body and spirit into a state of chaos. He seized his handheld and lay down on his bed as casually as he could manage.

Dr. Luciani quickly ate the rest of his sandwich and hurried out of the compartment. Once Myke relaxed, he finished his required reading quickly. When he was done, he stared at the screen without really seeing it and contemplated his immediate situation. Unfortunately he was nowhere near determining which cadets he had met in the past twelve days he could trust. Coming to a final decision would require quite a bit more observation.

During the past several days, Myke had devoted his energies to becoming acquainted with as many of the Sovereign's cadets as possible. He had come to know several from his classes, a few guys at the gym, and had concentrated particularly on getting to know his roommates, their friends, and Deia's roommates. His time was limited, however, and he felt there was much about his cadets friends he still didn't know. He had found no opportunity since his first day of classes to look at the ship's personnel files, and he had found few chances to study the information he had received in orientation about the ship.

Myke thought for a moment about those whose powers of resistance he had tested that day. He had tested several in his classes, several at the gym, several random cadets in the commons with whom he was not acquainted, and of course, his roommates and their friends. He concluded that the percentage of cadets who were resisters of the Divine Emperor's communication was small and that he had already met most of them.

Myke didn't think that Star Force, under normal circumstances, would have assigned the majority of cadet resisters to the same two compartments, but Myke felt certain, having received no reproach or reprimand of any kind for his exhibition at the dance, that his Sovereign superiors knew what he was and were cooperating with the D.I.I. Even if they weren't, any competent D.I.I. agent would consider it simple to break into the quartermaster's computer files and rearrange the compartment assignments anyway he wished.

Myke thought about Paul and Deia, the mysterious twins, potentially his greatest allies or his greatest enemies. Either they were doing the obvious thing, working for their uncle, or they were completely sincere and were simply a ruse to lure him into trusting someone else. But which? Even if they were sincere, their uncle might later buy them with promises of discharge and resumption of their former lifestyle in Tryamazz. Morbid realization struck. They were so emotionally bound to each other that they were each other's highest price.

Connor was also a primary candidate for a plant. He was always friendly, but only as much as any well-bred person would be when sharing his living quarters. And since he was new, no one really knew what his true character was. Even so, Myke felt that the D.I.I.'s bargaining power with Connor was fear, and if that was the case, he could be an informer and still be living up to his present character. But would he go to Novaun? Perhaps. He had grown up in Melbourne, Australian State, the son of a businessman. He was from an upper-middle class family with three children and had been taught from his youth to be a good citizen. (Typical.) He had joined Star Force to see the stars, as he had explained, but Myke sensed rebellion in his action and a desire to be independent. He might be enticed to go to Novaun by money, or better, his desire to be forever free of his fear of being discovered as a resister.

Then there was Jacquae. She was in a unique situation, able to get close to him from several angles, all subtle: 1. Dr. Luciani was her brother. 2. She was Deia's roommate. 3. She and Paul had been spending more and more time together. Myke didn't doubt he could buy her with money, but he couldn't give her the one thing that might mean more to her--power.

Tevaronia: daughter of a former Star Force nurse and a Star Force lieutenant commander. The planet Shangri-La was her original home, but she had lived in several places throughout the Empire, a veteran of Star Force life. Although Myke had no idea how strong her religious beliefs were, her ties to Earth were strong. Even so, Myke felt it in his best interest to keep her in mind. Money would probably be her price.

Kristina: from Tryamazz, both parents intermediate school teachers. A brilliant girl who possessed an analytical mind and was serious in nature. She, like Tevaronia, was close enough to be a plant, but she might be persuaded to go to Novaun by the knowledge of the true nature of Earth's government and its plans for the galaxy. Either that or money.

Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce: Pierce was a resister, but Myke knew he would never go to Novaun under any circumstances. In fact, Myke was certain Pierce would do his patriotic duty and shoot him if ever even approached. For this reason Myke assumed he was not a plant.

None of the guys from the gym were resisters, so they weren't possibilities either way. From his classes, however, there were several who were basically the same breed as Connor.

Last, Myke considered Dr. Luciani. Dr. Luciani was an enigma. What could Myke or a D.I.I. agent use to buy him? It seemed that his career was the most important thing to him, something he already possessed, but was there more? He didn't seem concerned about much of anything--his family, money, power, how people regarded him, or even a discharge. Myke hadn't tested him for resistance yet. He sensed his mind power was extremely strong, perhaps refined enough to detect Myke as the tester. If Dr. Luciani's mind power were that strong, then he would be a perfect choice for a helper, but would he go? His life was Star Force, and of all of Myke's friends, he would have the most difficult time adjusting to Novaun's culture. Perhaps he would go if the price were right, but what in the universe was his price?

Myke thought again about Deia. She was the one friend he really wanted to take with him, but even if she would go, he wasn't sure she was capable of using the spirit dimension formula. Her mind power was strong enough, and he sensed that she had known to resist the Divine Emperor's communication from her "Day of Awakening" or tenth birthday and that through resisting had gained considerable strength, but he also sensed that she resisted without being able to see the communication trap working on her mind. Helping her refine her Awareness wouldn't be difficult and it probably wouldn't take long, but how could he do it without her or anyone else questioning his motives?

Even if the opportunity did arise, Myke wasn't sure it would be in his best interest to get that close to her. He knew that he would grow to love her even more deeply than he already did, which would make him more vulnerable and might cloud his judgment. At present, the only way he could keep his head clear was to spend a lot of time at the gym and even more time away from her.

As Myke lay in bed, he stared up at Paul's pale blue berth, and Deia's image slipped into his mind, as it often did, and he remembered everything she had ever said to him, everything about her, her smile, her touch, her voice. He could almost feel her silky dark curls under his fingers and smell the delicate scent of her perfume. He pursed his lips and quickly shattered the image, his heart and body aching.

Those first few days after the dance had been pure agony. The only way he had kept himself from breaking down and expressing his feelings to her was by avoiding her whenever possible. He was finally to the point where he could be friendly without worrying about losing control, but he still kept his distance.

Nobody had said anything about what had happened except Dr. Luciani and Connor, of course, and he had dealt with them easily enough by ignoring them. Finally they had given up for lack of interest. Although no one else had said anything, he had received so many strange looks from Deia's roommates that he wondered what she had told them.

As for Deia herself, she seemed indifferent--except for an occasional love-filled glance when no one was looking, glances he always avoided--and it was rumored that she was interested in Saint Cadet Vahro-Pierce.

Myke turned off his handheld and laid it on his chest, reaching deep into his mind to seal the nerve impulses from his shoulder to his brain. His spirit was almost devoured by the burning pain, so he quickly withdrew from the trance. He closed his eyes and rubbed his shoulder, wishing he could make the painful burning disappear and that Deia could be there with him, comforting him with her caresses.

A few moments later, he set his handheld on his bed, slowly stood up, and headed toward the door, hoping Deia would still be playing in the lounge.

Chapter 15: THE ZIONITE

The next evening, after spending some time at the gym, Myke entered his compartment to find Dr. Luciani sitting impatiently on the table and Paul and Jacquae, just back from fencing and still dressed in their white jackets and knickers, hanging Paul's foil and mask in his locker.

Moments later, Deia and Connor entered the compartment. "Hey, Dr. Luciani," Connor said, "I found her."

Dr. Luciani slid off the table and stepped toward Deia. "I just spoke to Dr. Addams, and he's finally given his approval!"

"Dr. Luciani, that's wonderful!"

"We start tomorrow."

"We?"

"Yes! That's the best thing about it. You won't assist me in surgery yet, of course, but you will help me generate the new tissue in the lab."

"Let us in on the secret," Jacquae demanded, approaching the table. "What in the universe are you two talking about?"

"Dr. Addams is finally going to let Himes and Irwin and me help him with his research."

"What is this research you're so anxious to be involved in?" Myke asked.

"Currently there's a lot of research being done on the use of mind power in healing. The idea is that mind energy can actually stimulate the body's power to regenerate itself. Scientists, including Dr. Addams, have made progress in stimulating cell division in laboratory samples of blood, skin, organ tissue, and such with thought transmissions, but they're still searching for the key, the telepathic formula, that would provide the intensity of mind power necessary to regenerate on a full-scale basis."

All doubt about Dr. Luciani's telepathic abilities disappeared, and Myke felt a rush of excitement. The spirit energy formula was the formula Dr. Luciani's supervisor was working to develop. It had been discovered thirteen years before by a group of Novaunian physicians. Novaun possessed telepathic medical skills and technology that Dr. Luciani had never even dreamed existed. Could those skills and that technology be his price?

Myke was interested to find out what else Dr. Luciani knew about the spirit energy formula, so he asked, "What kind of full-scale regeneration?"

"We've already had great success in using the patient's regenerated nerve tissue in reconstructing the nerves that are injured and destroyed by neurodarts. We can use thought transmissions in combination with our synthetic nerve tissue to create new nerve tissue, a method that allows recovery of more function and sensation than using the synthetic nerve tissue by itself. With the brain energy formula to regenerate on a full-scale basis, we wouldn't have to use synthetic nerve tissue at all.

"As for brain surgery, the possible applications are endless. Now we can replace damaged sections of the brain with the combination tissue, but often the body rejects the tissue it perceives as foreign and the patient wakes up non-functioning. With more intense mind power, we could take healthy brain cells and use them to produce new brain tissue, perhaps eventually even an entire new brain, all with the patient's own tissue. Our recovery rate in all types of reconstruction operations would increase drastically."

Connor shook his head in awe. "I don't know much about medicine, but research like that sounds exciting!" Dr. Luciani nodded in reply.

Paul closed his locker door and approached the group. "I've read about it too. That key you're referring to is labeled 'the mind energy formula,' but I've never heard of it being used for medical purposes. Only military."

Connor hoisted himself onto his bunk. "What would the military want with something like that?"

"The military has an obsession with perverting scientific finds that would be extraordinarily beneficial to mankind and turning them into weapons," Dr. Luciani said.

Paul leaned against Connor's bed and looked up at him. "The idea behind the mind energy formula is that the energy produced by the brain, right now in the form of thought transmissions, could be intensified and concentrated to such an extent that it could move or heat objects."

Connor still appeared puzzled, so Dr. Luciani continued with the explanation, "When you transmit your thoughts to someone, you look inside of yourself and alter the highest brain mechanism, which is the neuronal process in your higher brain-stem that corresponds with the action of your mind, or in other words, the process that makes thought and consciousness possible. The mind energy formula would simply be a much more complicated formula that would utilize the neuron action of the entire brain and would allow the energy that is already there to be released."

Paul nodded. "Exactly. And the military's primary interest in it is as a fuel source. It's a proven fact that mind power working directly with arelada is the fastest source of power in the universe, demonstrated, of course, by the speed of interstellar communication. Well, the theory behind the mind energy formula as a fuel source is that it would enable a spaceship, such as a fighter, to actually travel in a thought wave. Therefore, a ship or a person would travel instantaneously, just by thinking."

Connor nodded, his face radiating understanding and fascination.

Their primitiveness repelled Myke. How could they be so confused about such a simple theory?

"Whew . . ." Jacquae breathed, as fascinated with the whole idea as Connor. "Modern hyperspace travel would become completely obsolete, not to mention our current methods of warfare!"

"It would change everything," Paul said, "which is why it's the hottest research topic in the galaxy right now." He looked over at Dr. Luciani. "And it'll be interesting to see who discovers it first, the medical scientists or the military scientists. But we can all be certain of one thing. If the military discovers it first, the medical community will probably be the last to learn about it, and if the medical community discovers it first, the military will grab it and classify it so fast that we can all be guaranteed that none of us will ever know anything about it!" Everyone nodded in agreement, everyone but Deia.

Deia had remained silent and uneasy during the entire discussion. "Dr. Luciani," she said weakly, "I'm not qualified to help you."

"What kind of a stupid idea is that? Of course you're qualified."

"You don't understand. My mind power isn't strong enough."

"That's nonsense," Dr. Luciani said. "I agree that your mind power isn't very refined yet, but it's strong enough and it'll increase. Trust me."

Myke listened to the entire conversation curiously, finding it revealing, and he realized that this was the opportunity for which he had been waiting. Their opinion of him would change drastically, but it was time. "If you'd like," he said to Deia, "I can help you increase your mind power abilities. I learned a lot from my father, who was a telepathy scientist."

"You're a Zionite!" Jacquae blurted in amazement.

"That's why you don't drink or make love to

INTRODUCTORY MATERIAL

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS