"I know," Gallen said. He squinted at the morning sun, pulled his robe tightly about him to keep out the cold. They rode their bikes downhill, hit the highway, and turned north.

They drove for twenty minutes in silence. A creepy sensation stole over Gallen, as if he were being watched. Once, the feeling was so powerful that when they entered a valley, he was forced to stop and gaze out over the white, empty hills. There were no trees, just small bushes and rocks to give shade. No birds sang from the bushes; nothing moved. Even the wind was still. Yet Gallen felt watched.

Veriasse stopped beside him. "Do you feel it, too?" he said. "My bones are trembling in anticipation."

"I haven't seen anything. Nothing has moved," Gallen answered.

Veriasse glanced slowly from side to side, only his fierce blue eyes moving. "That is what bothers me. Gallen, listen with your mantle. See if you can hear any radio conversations. Let it scan for military channels." Veriasse pulled off his gloves, raised his hands in the air as if he were surrendering.

Gallen closed his eyes, freed his senses. The thrusters on their airbikes sounded suddenly loud, but Gallen listened beyond that, began picking up radio frequencies. Images flashed through his mind from commercial holo broadcasts, music played from radio stations. Beyond that, he could pick up some chatter—pilots to the north seeking landing clearance in a city.

"Nothing," Gallen said at last.

Veriasse put his hands down, shook his head. "The same here. I smell nothing. Last time I was here, the dronon had a fairly strong presence on Wechaus. Don't you think it odd that you would hear no military calls at all?"

Gallen agreed. Yet there was nothing they could do but go forward. He hit the thrusters. The bike lifted and hummed down the highway, until at last in the distance he saw smoke rising from a small compound of buildings.

Veriasse pulled beside Gallen. "There's a good inn ahead. Let's stop and see if we can get some news."

As Gallen neared the inn, he could discern white limestone buildings around green pools of steaming water. There were many swimmers near the pools, shivering in the cool air, eager for the water. Gallen had not bathed in several days. He felt grimy, tired. It looked like a good place to stay.

They pulled up to the front, stopped their airbikes, looked through the windows. The dining room was nearly full, dozens of young couples eating breakfast, smiling, some of them laughing.

Gallen felt disconnected from them, found it somehow abhorrent that these people were laughing when he felt such profound pain. Orick was dead, and Gallen wanted the world to mourn with him.

Everynne and Veriasse got off their bikes, but Gallen just sat for a moment. There was an odd smell of smoke in the air, as if something had burned nearby.

Veriasse went to the door, and it slid open at his approach. A golden serving droid rushed to greet them, and Veriasse looked back at Gallen questioningly. "Are you coming?"

Gallen shook his head. "You eat. I'm not hungry. I'll keep watch out here." Gallen arched his back to loosen muscles tightened by too much driving.

Everynne said, "Are you sure? You'll feel better if you come inside where it's warm. Please, come in with me."

"I want to be alone," Gallen said.

Everynne squeezed his hand, went inside. He watched Everynne and Veriasse through the windows, saw them take a seat. A soft breeze stirred, and Gallen used his mantle, listened to the swimmers laughing at the pools. Yet there was something odd, a sound of whispering in the back parking lot. Gallen could not be certain. It might only have been reeds rattling in the wind, but he needed to stretch, get off the bike, so he climbed off and walked nonchalantly around the left side of the building.

The back parking lot held several dozen aircars and magcars. He stared at them a moment, wondering. It seemed that the lot held more cars than the inn could warrant.

His mantle picked up whispering ahead and to his right, at the back of the building. Gallen crept around a small potted tree, looked at the back of the building. Fifty feet away, three men hunched over a box that was linked to an absurdly large transmitter antennae. They wore white cloth combat armor. One of them looked up at Gallen guiltily.

Gallen did not have time to think. His mantle did it for him. He pulled out his incendiary rifle and fired. At this range, to hit one was to hit all. The chemical discharge slapped over two men. They blazed white as the sun. Gallen flinched, looked away, and found himself running to the front of the building.

Just as he rounded the corner, he met four men in cloth combat armor. He holstered his rifle and pulled out his sword in one move, whipped it overhead and decapitated the first in line. He leapt in the air, kicked one man in the face and sliced through two others, then bellowed as he reached the front door of the inn.

He could see Veriasse inside, sword in hand, swinging like a madman. A dozen "patrons" of the inn had him surrounded, and they held small stunners. They were trying to knock him down, but their weapons had no effect. Everynne was down, half sprawled across a table, blood pouring from her nose, apparently unconscious. A dozen warriors with heavier arms were rushing from the back apartments beside the pools.

Gallen leapt through a large glass window, landed on a table. He pulled his incendiary rifle, fired at the side doors, hitting a droid that had scrambled for cover. The resulting fire effectively sealed the door, and Gallen jumped, giving a flying roundhouse kick to the back of the head of one of Veriasse's opponents.

Within seconds, Veriasse's sword put down the nearest attackers, and he scrambled for Everynne's pack, pulled out the Terror and tossed it to Gallen.

"This is what they want!" he shouted. "Gallen, send the arming code."

Gallen held up the Terror as if it were an icon, and every eye in the room fastened on him. People froze at their tables. No one moved.

"All of you get back!" Gallen shouted. "I've instructed my mantle to detonate this if you don't give us the road!" Gallen could only hope that his ruse would work.

"We've got jammers! We've got jammers!" one soldier yelled.

"You mean the jammers that were out back?" Gallen shouted. "I fried them."

"We have a backup!" the soldier shouted, trying to rally his people.

"Are you willing to bet the lives of everyone on this world that your jammers will work?" Veriasse asked.

That seemed to cow them. The soldiers hesitated. None dared step forward.

Veriasse pulled at Everynne's arm, turned her on her stomach and lifted her, cradling her like a child. He began walking toward the door, and Gallen stalked behind them, holding the Terror high.

Outside, Gallen got on his bike. Dozens of infantrymen in white cloth body armor were rushing from the back apartments. Gallen began counting. There had to be over two hundred of them. He looked at the patrons in the dining hall. None had shock on their faces, no expressions of horror. Only anger, disappointment. He suddenly realized that all of them were military personnel.

Veriasse got Everynne on her bike, and one man walked forward. Gallen could not mistake his stride. He carried himself with dignity and a calm assurance. He had been in charge of this operation.

He was an older man, with long dark hair and eyes as black as obsidian. He wore a small goatee. "Well done, Veriasse," the stranger said. "We meet again."

Veriasse nodded at the man. "Jagget."

"Yes, Commander Jagget, of the planetary defense forces. To tell you the truth, Veriasse, I was not sure I would be able to take your Terror away, but I had to try. No offense, I hope."

"Of course not. But I am curious—why do you call yourself planetary defense forces when this is a dronon world?"

"I work under their direction now," Jagget said, "The dronon appreciate competence, even if it does come from the hand of an old enemy. I was able to convince them that we could handle this situation better than their green-skinned oafs. The element of surprise, you know."

"I find your wavering loyalty unsettling," Veriasse said. "In fact, I cannot believe it. Primary Jagget would never give his loyalty to an alien usurper. I would expect more from even one of his mad clones."

Jagget shrugged. "Believe as you will. I caught your act on Fale, Veriasse. The incident is being broadcast all over the galaxy." He looked at the Terror, licked his lips, glanced at his men, as if trying to make a decision.

Then he gazed deep into Gallen's eyes. "Young man, if you really are linked via ansible to Terrors on eighty-four dronon

worlds, detonate them now, this very second. And if you feel you must, destroy this world, too!"

Jagget stepped forward threateningly, walked several paces toward Gallen. Jagget's eyes went wide, and Gallen could tell that he planned to die. He was trying to force Gallen's hand. He wanted to start the war.

"Stay back!" Veriasse shouted, pulling out his incendiary rifle.

Jagget raised his hand in a commanding gesture. Three men among the crowd shouldered their own weapons. Jagget clones.

"Young man," Jagget said, walking up to Gallen, looking deeply into his eyes, "ignite it, now! Other worlds have burned themselves down in order to keep from falling to the Dronon Empire. It is a worthy trade. Release the Terrors, and someday this sector of the galaxy will remember your name in honor!"

Gallen held the Terror aloft, looked out over the warriors. These were humans whose genes had not been twisted by the dronon. They could not have been subjugated long enough even to feel any loyalty to their conquerors, yet for the most part, they had sided with the dronon. They would have captured Everynne if they could, would have turned her in. As it was, she was unconscious, and Gallen could not tell how badly hurt she might be. And they had killed Orick.