White streaks lined the sky. The first in weeks. Maybe activities had returned to normal at the star port.

Heinrich doubted it. He'd arrived here the previous night and it was only late afternoon now. More troops? No, that didn't make sense either.

He watched the shuttles bank as they descended.

Bank? They're less than fifty klicks from destination? What the...

All three shuttles lazily came to a full turn.

They're not headed for the port. Here! They're going to land just in front of the damn city!

He flicked on his sensors and turned magnification to max. His readings would be analysed and an answer given long before he could search his own memory for the origins of those shuttles, so he satisfied himself with giving his suit computer as much data as possible to use. It only took a few seconds, would have taken far less but for algorithms checking against possible countermeasures. When he got the requested information he drew in a long breath of air.

Red News. Wallman's Bloodhounds. They were infamous. Arthur may have been a genius in holo casting, but someone had to dig up whatever dirt the newscaster no longer believed should stay hidden. He was rumoured to have personally trained them in the digging part of the job. There were other exaggerated rumours surrounding the news team as well; like being able to land a shuttle on a mountaintop—and still have the pilot on the ground with holo cams ready before the shuttle came to a full stop. That was ridiculous of course. Only TADAT did that. Then Heinrich remembered that a full third of the Bloodhounds were retired TADAT. Well, he thought, there's a reason we retire at fifty. Pilot's gotta stay in cockpit until the thing stops. He smiled and silently agreed that in most cases that overblown reputation had been hard won.

He called to Chang over the com. There hadn't been time to destroy the transmitters before they headed here. A violation of the law, but he believed Keen would find a way to overlook his transgression this time. With sixteen hundred trigger happy maniacs based at the star port they really had little choice in the matter.

Above him a few birds veered away from the unexpected intruders and he hastened out into the training grounds to make sure the illegal landing at least didn't cause any casualties.

There was no need to. Whoever piloted those shuttles were experts and they came to ground with a minimum use of thrusters. To his disappointment the crews took their time to open and unload their cargo as slowly and securely as any civilian trader.

Three shuttles, a team of eighteen. Two shuttles for cargo only apart for their twin pilots. The crew transport unloaded and men and women went to work offloading cargo with an efficiency that told of long years of work together. The first to come out was a small hovercraft, and by the time Heinrich arrived ready to give them a verbal bashing they were already busy loading the tools of their trade onto it.

"You are violating just about every agreement with a foreign government," he started. He searched the faces as they turned. "Who's in charge here?"

"I am, Heinrich," a female voice came from inside one of the shuttles. "We're violating nothing. Red News is registered with the Republic of Mars."

That voice? Where have I heard it?

"We haven't signed anything for the simple reason you federation people kept us away from here and we, until now, accepted that one sided agreement."

But who the...

"And let go of the supremacy play. Only Erwin ever got away with it, and you know it!"

"Gran? Granita?"

"Old Juanita indeed. Wipe that snotty smile from your face and show some respect!"

"Yes, Ma'am," the answer came out as a reflex he couldn't stop. Granny Jita was one of the ugliest women he had ever had the honour to serve with and a full twenty years his senior.

"That's better! Now, will you give us a hand?"

He got his bearings back again. "Now what the hell! You're TADAT no longer, and if you were I'd pull rank to begin with."

She showed a toothy smile. "Had to try."

"What are you doing with them?" He pointed at the news team who were still loading the hovercraft. They barely looked back.

"Declined officer's training. Never wanted driving a desk, and when they allowed bat commands back in the field it was too late," she said as if it explained everything.

He stared at her. Still strong as an ox, and still looked like one. "I mean Mars."

"Made citizen. Feds had me stationed around that red ball of dust for so long I thought I might just as well make it home." She grinned at him. "Good to see you too."

Heinrich blanched. "Sorry. Eh, welcome, or something. Still a damn stupid thing to do," he added and pointed at the shuttles. They'd have a few minutes before men from Keen's cavalry reached them. The shuttles had touched down at the southern end of the fields.

"We think not. By the way, say welcome to our official reason to come here. Mr William Anderson, meet," she eyed Heinrich's body walker, "Major Heinrich Goldberger. Heinrich, meet Chief of Finance Anderson."

A tall Martian jumped out of the shuttle as she spoke. It was, Heinrich thought, time to bring Erwin in on this. Red News made news. With a member of the Martian government on the passenger list it was going to be big news. Too big for a simple major.

He turned his caster on again. "Chang, belay that. Get Erwin. We've got a diplomatic envoy for dinner."

"Oh shit! I mean, yes Major"

"Oh shit is good enough for me. You can tell the admiral that from me. And tell him old Granita decided to pay us a visit as well. You may have heard of her."

He only received a long stream of curses in return. All of them made him smile. Chang didn't look anything like Juanita, but they definitely shared the same colourful language.

He sighed ruefully as the crew made the hovercraft ready and watched the arriving horsemen. Imperial Guard, Erwin had told him. Supposedly the best of the best in Keen. Heinrich didn't doubt it. He knew next to nothing about horses, but anyone handling several hundred kilos of biting and kicking flesh like a body walker had to have received a thorough training. For all their fancy uniforms the riders looked like they ate and slept in the saddle. From the looks on their faces they probably ate those saddles for breakfast, and now they had come out for lunch.

He settled back as comfortably in his straps as possible. He intended to enjoy the shouting about to start. Of course neither party knew the language of the other, but he suspected the choice of words would be rather limited, and that they really needed very little in the way of translation.

He was right. Juanita made no secrets about her opinion concerning the cavalry commander's probable heritage and Heinrich had heard the word gherin enough times to know that the replies were as flattering.

Guard commander and Juanita went through the fauna of Earth and Otherworld and made certain no bodily orifice was forgotten in the verbal exchange.

At his side the Martian minister grinned and laughed. Heinrich looked at him. In his pink, of course it had to be pink, jumpsuit he looked nothing like the powerful government official he was.

"A pity they don't understand each other," William said. "The conversation would have been so much more colourful if they had."

Colourful? They're armed and dangerous, and you think it's a joke. "I think they get the basic meaning," Heinrich said instead. He looked at the tall Martian. "You're the official contact then?"

William just nodded and continued laughing.

Heinrich grinned back. Not his problem. Erwin would have to handle this. As long as the exchange of insults didn't turn violent there was little reason to do anything but enjoy the show. Besides, Granita had been an insubordinate old bastard as long as he could remember. No point in telling her officers training would have been a bad idea anyway. Old harridans from the old school didn't have much of a future with the TADAT after they were reformed into an independent organization. The naval version hadn't turned out too successful, even though the disasters could hardly be blamed on the poor troopers in their shuttles.

He shrugged. Three out of the first eight back here. Almost cause for a celebration. They were legends and idolized. He knew that and had no problems with it. Being a hero sometimes made life easier, and in difference from Erwin his life wasn't visible enough to bring much of the disadvantages that came with fame.

No matter what. Until a few days ago he'd joined the choir screaming bloody murder at the thought of an entire news team landing here. Now, well, it would make his life safer if not easier. They had to get Arthur Wallman away from the city, and it would fall to him to make that escape come true. With Red News present he saw a possibility to change his plans. Why sneak away when they could leave to the sound of blaring trumpets?

***

Arthur took his reins and rode past Whore's Crotch where they had spent a day during harvest festival last year.

He looked back at the great, red walls of Verd. Men already manned the leftmost tower, or rather the telegraph mounted upon it. Frames cluttered with yellow and black squares went up and down, each frame shouting a message Arthur had never learned to decipher to someone he had never seen. Legend had it the tower had been a jump tower long, long years earlier, allowing mages with the gift to jump to arrive safely on the very walls of Verd. If so, no one remembered, or at least didn't care to do so in public. Mages were executed in Keen. Hunted down like vermin, more likely.

Arthur sighed and tugged his coat closer to keep the rain out. He felt good to be on the road again, even if it meant getting wet. Even if it meant joining another caravan. Different from the one he remembered.

He glared at the hovercraft trailing them. Damn Bloodhounds had found him in the end. No, bloody good for nothing Rear Admiral Erwin Radovic had all but dragged him to his old news team.

He was escaping Verd for very much the same reason he'd escaped Belgera. Stationed around the launch port the Federation army had fulfilled almost every prejudice he had against the military and even threatened Keen with an armed extraction if they didn't comply and turn him over.

The council had refused. Brigadier Goodard made good of his threat and only the presence of body walkers on the city walls and the very visible launch of one of the famous walker flares had stopped the advancing soldiers. Anyone in the solar system knew what those flares meant. TADAT, hot landing, requesting immediate assistance.

He winced at the memory. The city population saw an impressive spectacle as the rocket went screeching into the sky. He guessed all visitors from home had at least thought of taking shelter. Only an idiot wanted to be in the target zone of a ship to ground bombardment, and the more selective assault drops weren't much better. Most of the Bloodhounds had come back puking after he blackmailed the police to allow them to join an assault on a pirate base he had located.

Juanita, who joined his crew less than half a year before that, fired all her missiles before landing inside a housing dome venting all its air into space. A third of the inhabitants died, either as a result of decompression or severe burns when Juanita turned the shuttle on its end and made a vertical landing with rear thrusters at full power.

He was certain that had been the result of her age, or lack of training, or both. The returning TADAT had spoken about her with a mix of awe and admiration though. The hundred million FEM shuttle was all but wrecked, and as far as he knew even the military tried to keep their vehicles so they could get back from whatever hell hole they were sent into.

He grinned as the memories came back to him. Old times, and a different Arthur Wallman. He turned that spectacular mishap into one of his golden shows. It had paid off twenty fold. As far as he knew Red News still made money from it.

He returned to more recent memories. No bombs and no shuttles ever came down from the sky, but Orbit One fired a railgun once. One tracked vehicle was replaced by a crater in the ground. The flare had done its job. Brigadier Goodard retreated back to the launch port and made no new attempts to negotiate at gunpoint. That didn't mean he'd given up, something Arthur had reluctantly accepted when Admiral Radovic explained.

Arthur didn't like to run, but he was a danger to the city now. Not even the news about Ulfsdotir being taken captive in Belgera and then released again made him change his mind, and so here he was, on horseback again.

They rode the southern highway. On their way to Krante, a town he had never visited, and one with a history of its own as he had learned in Belgera.

Passing the training fields took enough time for him to watch the soldiers marching up and down. Foot soldiers these. Not as well clad as those he'd grown used to inside the city walls, and a far cry from as well trained. He didn't need to be one himself to see that. Half a year with the caravan escort had told him more than he wanted to know about soldiers, and the young men he saw here would have had the escort captain, no, General Trindai de Laiden now, bellow with displeasure.

Arthur rode with Ken at his side. Ken had been adamant about joining them. To watch and Weave.

The highway was wide enough for a dozen men to ride abreast with room to spare. They watched the road, the fields they passed and waved greetings to people they met, trying very much not to pretend they even knew about the fantastic menagerie of outworlder machinery all around them. A few times they exchanged sentences about nothing but for most part each man kept his silence, which suited Arthur just fine.

It was not that Ken was impolite, but he did have an air of superiority around him, and Arthur couldn't for his life guess what made the stranger think so highly of his own importance.

When evening came the steady drizzle that had followed them throughout the day gave up on them as if it had known they were making for a roadhouse where it would be unable to reach them.

They mounted their horses early next morning and rode the next day in as eerily as silence as the one before. Arthur, like Ken, preferred riding to sitting idle inside the hovercraft.

Ken wanted to reach Krante before beginning his lessons. Krante may have boasted a Taleweaver's Inn just like any other sizeable town, but Arthur suspected Ken just wanted to leave the one in Verd behind, as if Arthur had tainted it somehow.

Well, he had the time to spare. Each day got him further away from Verd and the train from the launch port. From, not to. There was no fear in going there any longer. It was what was bound to arrive from there that scared him now, and if Ken preferred his silence as they made their escape from what Arthur wanted to avoid he wasn't one to complain.

Three days later they passed the gates of Krante, paid for rooms at a run down hotel close to the Taleweaver's Inn. They each had a bath, and, by unspoken agreement headed directly for the inn. It was time to share both a meal and tidings alike.

***

There was little learning to be had. Not that Ken avoided it, but the madness that had erupted took new shapes, new methods in its insanity, and it grew. Arthur had expected the religious fervour to die away as days came and went, and for a while it looked as if he'd been correct. Then night fell again, the new star still the brightest in the sky. It didn't matter. Mothers and fathers brought their entire families into the streets and crowded the squares in silent prayer or singing.

Krante may not have seen riots, but what had obviously been an important but boring town was now a centre of dissent.

Old men with canes sat on stools brought out from inns telling tales of the last time a god had been born. Old, but not old enough to have seen it with their own eyes, Arthur guessed, and Ken confirmed his suspicion.

They had planned to exchange Weaves in the Inn, but for once no one was interested. Taleweaver's might be a once in a lifetime experience. Gods took to the stage more seldom than that.

Ken convinced Arthur to leave the next day. Krante was becoming dangerous he said, and even though Arthur wanted to watch the madness he accepted Ken's wisdom in this case. A few fights had broken out in the darkness, and the wall of silence that met questions of if anyone had been hurt made him uncomfortable. There was an ugly undertone to how neighbours chose factions after just two nights, and they were strangers, sacrosanct or not. The outworlder presence didn't help neither.

As they rode south on the highway Arthur thought he saw smoke behind him, but he accounted it to his imagination, or hope.

They met more people than he remembered seeing the last time he made use of the white highways of Keen. It was more of an unplanned migration than an exodus. There were as many heading south as they met, and he soon stopped making any attempts at guessing the reasons for each individual to take to the road. He'd expected his own shining caravan to create more of an uproar than it did, but mostly they just received sullen stares.

From time to time he saw soldiers in uniforms coloured to stand out from the rest of the population, or from enemy soldiers on a field of battle. From what he had learned they massed soldiers on as a flat piece of ground as possible and marched into each other. The art of staying hidden was still ahead of the killers of this world. A few, he noted, mixed with the people among them. Some had discarded all but their trousers, but others kept their uniforms on, acting like guards protecting their favoured assembly of believers.

Fields lay deserted on both sides of the road, not all of course. Most were worked by men and women who shook their heads or made angry gestures at the madness passing them by.

As the days passed the randomness turned into order, or rather several kinds of order. Each roadhouse they slept in, and they got rooms only because Arthur made the most of his being a taleweaver, had tales of people gathering at shrines and temples far from the road. For each new one they visited those tales had more elements of armed protection and a little less of friendly gatherings, and it only took a few eightdays before the first story about a pitched battle around a shrine reached them.

Ken stopped Weaving at that time. He had more need of learning than of retelling, he said, but as far as Arthur was concerned he only found a comfortable excuse to avoid the risks involved in stopping the violence. We don't take sides, we don't take part. We Weave, he had said.

That was cravenness taken to the extreme, and Arthur refused to abide by it. The very next night he entered the stage knowing well ahead what he was about to Weave. They needed to understand the dark road of religious fanaticism and where it would take them.

He filled his mind with what he knew about Earth's old witch hunts. Not enough. The Spanish Inquisition would have been good enough, but Keen had one of its own. In the end he decided on the German madness that had put Earth to the torch eight hundred years earlier and gave it religious overtones that had nothing with history to do. He was there to teach them a lesson, not as an advocate of rigid adherence to facts. He imagined a modern inquisition, placed a theocracy in the place of the rulers of the time, recalled as much of the atrocities he could. He mixed it, coloured it and made himself believe it, as if he had experienced it himself. Then he carried that anguish and fury foremost to his mind, and he Wove.